Vayikra focuses on the kohanim, Aaron's sons, but we take the laws and information in there and see how it applies to the larger nation as well. Parshas Emor opens with the oft-discussed restrictions on the family members whose funerals a kohain may attend. For some, it seems shockingly restricted. Attending a funeral is a means of demonstrating love and true respect for the departed, and that that should be denied feels, from certain perspectives, almost cruel. 

 Something that feels cruel, however, does not, in Torah law, supersede that which is necessary. It is necessary for the kohanim to maintain their distance from death because it affects their ability to serve in their role of spiritual channel.

 Kohanim were meant to live their lives differently than the rest of Klal Yisrael - not better, not worse, just differently. Differently, however, can be abused. Differently can cause society to split into haves and have nots, and it seems as if, perhaps, in the first half of Vayikra 22, the Torah is making certain to guard the Kohanim from falling into an abuse of their status. 

 Vayikra 22 begins: “Instruct Aaron and his sons va’yinazaru from the sanctified donations of Klal Yisrael and not to profane My holy name; these that they dedicate to Me, I am Hashem.” Va’yinazru is an interesting word that is interpreted in one place as ‘to be scrupulous” and in another as “they must abstain” and in the Rav Hirsh translation as “keep themselves apart from.”

 The Kohanim received the offerings of Klal Yisrael, and it is very clear from other halachot that once an item is sanctified for donation, it holds a unique status. Some of that which is donated to the Mishkan/Beis Hamikdash is burnt up in sacrifice and some is given to the Kohanim to consume. From an outside perspective, this may seem to offer the Kohanim a rather substantial boon. After all, at the most basic level of all trade is the need to gather food, and here the Kohanim have food delivered to them. 

 Vayikra 22 protects the Kohanim from abusing their largesse. First, the parsha makes clear that a kohain in a state of impurity may not eat from the consecrated food. Although it did not take long for a kohein to purify himself, it is still a reminder that he is at this table purely because of his unique role. More significantly, the Torah delineates that the sacred donations may not be eaten by a layman, by a non-kohein who is residing with the kohein, or by a hired worker of the kohein. A slave owned by the Kohein may eat. 

 These laws emphasis that the right to consume the consecrated food should not be taken lightly. One might also see in this the idea that the access a Kohein has to the consecrated food, which was of the highest quality meats, could not be used for outside influence. A Kohein could not invite a neighbor from whom he wanted a favor, a potential business partner, or even his future son-in-law if he wasn’t a Kohein, to partake in this food. This food, Hashem is stating is for you and yours alone. 

 But what of the daughters. The Torah clearly states that if a Bas-Kohein marries a layman, she may no longer eat of the sacred gifts. The only way she would return to her family’s consecrated feast would be as a childless widow or divorcee. And now, once again, it could be argued that this feels cruel. 

 According to the Torah, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husband’s tribe. A kohain's wife, whether born into a family of kohanim or not, may eat of the consecrated food, so too the daughter of a kohain who becomes part of another tribe may not. There is equivalency. There is in this also a level of protection from lower scruples. For most of history, marriages were arranged based on a perspective of benefits to each party. By stating outright that a bas-Kohein becomes of the other tribe, it nullifies...

This week’s parsha is Parshas Acharei Mos Kedushim. It is well known that this double parsha has an incredible number of mitvos in it. Many of these mitzvos make perfect sense to us, such as revering our parents and not swearing falsely. Others need a little more explanation. Like most things in the Torah, however, taking a deeper look at these mitzvos, reading the parsha from a different angle – so to speak, provides a new perspective on the world. 

One law that does not appear to need explanation is “Anyone among the Israelites, or among the strangers residing in Israel, who gives any offspring to Molech, shall be put to death; the people of the land shall pelt the person with stones…” (Vayikra 20:2). Molech was the deity figure of a cultish religion in the region of Israel. The followers of Molech practiced child sacrifice; they sent their children into the flames.

It is fair to say that it is inconceivable to us today that someone would sacrifice a child, that people would join a cult that specifically required one to burn a child to death. Children are the future. 

Actually, Jewish tradition is intriguingly bi-lateral: On the one hand, we believe that our elders and those who came before us are closer to Torah and are to be given absolute respect. As it says, also in this week’s parsha: “You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God: I am Hashem” (Leviticus 19:32).

On the other hand…Well, don’t get in the way of a Jewish mother… so many of our halachos are focused on teaching our children and preparing them for the future. Every child is a bracha, a gift from Hashem, so how is it possible that anyone would be tempted to join a cult that glorifies killing children?

The answer is zealotry. Misdirected zealotry turns people into monsters. The Torah has made clear that Hashem wants people to celebrate life, not death. And we see this distinction even in modern times. Think of the famous Golda Meir quote: “We will only have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate us.” Far too many young people have died in the last year and a half conflict, and we – as a nation – grieve every death, even as our enemies embrace it. 

Zealotry leads one to embrace a death cult; perhaps such drive stems from an insatiable desire to prove one’s fervor, to demonstrate one’s righteousness. Perhaps it is a drive that comes from wanting to experience a tangible sacrifice, something one can always hold on to and announce how loyal one is, what one was willing to sacrifice. Yet, as we learned in the recent parshios and as is vaguely referenced in the title Acharei Mos, Hashem does not want uncalled for offerings. 

What happens when one “wakes up” from zealotry, when one calms and looks to move forward in life. If one acted like a zealot but followed one’s own council, then the next step might be regret. If one acted like a zealot and offered one’s child to the powerless false god of Molech, then one might feel anguished over the possibility destroyed. 

And now, if you think about it, it makes sense that the 4 pasukim in Vayikra 20 that are stressing the prohibilion against Molech are followed immediately by, “And if any person turns to ghosts and familiar spirits and goes astray after them, I will set My face against that person, whom I will cut off from among the people” (20:6). We often find connections between side-by-side passukim, so how does turning to ghosts and familiars connect to Molech? Perhaps this pasuk is alluding to causing death and regretting it. Perhaps these two verses are set against each other because when the mania of zealotry comes down, one may be so bereft as to seek out the dead. 

Interestingly, Vayikra 20:6 is not ...

Last week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, is weighed down by the distressing details of the death of Aaron’s two sons. While these deaths are dealt with completely in that parsha, it is interesting to note that the parsha we read next week is “Acharei Mot, After the Deaths.” It is not the fact that Nadav and Avihu’s deaths were significant enough to mark a time connection that is particularly interesting, but rather it is the fact that Shemini and Acharei Mot are separated by two parshios (that are generally read as one). Perhaps, there is something to be learned from these two parshios breaking the narrative of the deaths and the divine instruction that follows thereafter.

The first of these parshios is Tazria, and the primary subject matter of Tazria is the diagnosis and “treatment” of tzaraas. In reading the biblical description of the disease, it seems almost strange that this was consistently translated simply as leprosy since there are so many permutations of the ailment. More importantly, tzaraas is not a medical condition; it is a unique spiritual malady with an underlying pathogen that is actually a disease of the tongue - lashon harah (Though, to be fair and honest, there are other aveiros that are connected to tzaraas as well). The treatment for tzaraas is isolation and repentance, because this is how one begins to repair - to whatever extent it is repairable - the discord sown by lashon harah.

Parshas Metzora, the second parsha, continues the topic of the resolution of tzaaras and also discusses the transference of the marks of tzaraas from a person to an inanimate object and how to deal with it.  One of the correlations of tzaraas and lashon hara is the factor of pride, of ego. Lashon Harah most often stems from our need to feel more significant than someone else, or, said more succinctly, to put others down. 

So now back to the original question. Why does the narrative of the inauguration of the Mishkan, the deaths of Nadav and Avihu, and the aftermath commandments of Hashem have tzaraas interrupting it? Perhaps it has to do with Hashem knowing how humanity works. Here in the Torah is a story that is ripe for the picking for lashon harah. These men were struck down in front of the entire congregation. Everyone witnessed their ‘sinning.’ Everyone witnessed their consequence. Public information, right?

 Wrong. Discussing what happened to Nadav and Avihu is important because we are meant to use every part of Torah to grow, spiritually. Speculating on salacious details because they are interesting or they are relatable, however, is no longer l’toeles. Let’s be honest with ourselves, there are a wide range of Torah based suggestion to what Nadav and Avihu did that day… and there is a reason that the most widely remembered is that they were drunk.

 Tazria-Metzora is followed by Parshas Acharei Mot, which begins: “Gd spoke to Moshe after the death of Aaron’s two sons, when, having drawn near to Gd, they died. Gd said to Moshe: ‘Speak to your brother Aaron, and tell him that he must not come whenever he wishes into the Sanctuary beyond the partition Curtain…’”

 After the completion of the inauguration, Hashem provides Aaron with instructions on proper etiquette in the Mishkan. The Torah demonstrates learning from what happened without hashing it out to pieces.

 If you think about it, the placement of Tazria-Metzora – parshios in which the dangers of lashon hara is a constant theme - in the middle of the story of Nadav and Avihu is brilliant. There are few other such places in the Torah where there is wrong-doing and consequence, and yet, respect for the righteousness of those who received the consequence all at once. The sages have made many postulations as to what... https://cthedawn.blogspot.com/2025/05/parshas-tazriametzorah-not-random.html

This week’s parsha, Parshas Shemini, contains one of the most unsettling narratives in the Torah: The death of Aaron’s sons. The parsha describes the activities of the inauguration of the Mishkan on the eighth day after its completion. In the middle of the long inauguration service, Aaron’s sons, “Nadav and Abihu each took his fire pan, put fire in it, and laid incense on it; and they offered before Hashem foreign fire, which had not been enjoined upon them.” (Vayikara 10:1). Their motivation is examined and discussed by the sages and throughout the commentaries of all ages. There are those who condemn them for levity or intoxication, and there are those who focus on their misplaced inspiration. Whatever the reason for their bringing an offering that had not been required, the result was the same: “And fire came forth from Hashem and consumed them; thus they died before Hashem”(10:2).

It is obvious why this story is upsetting. Aaron’s sons died - publicly, dramatically, and in the middle of the most auspicious ceremony Klal Yisrael had endeavored upon. Even more discomforting for many people is the fact that Aaron and his two remaining sons could not stop the inauguration and absorb their shock. They had to go forward and complete the inauguration before reacting to the loss of their immediate family members, which is odd in itself because in Jewish tradition the death of an immediate relative puts one in a state of limbo until the burial of the body as soon as possible. 

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As humans, as survivors, as the ones who are left behind after a death, we have a hard time seeing the positive for the neshama. We are focussed on what we have lost. Protecting life is the ultimate goal - the primary instinct is, afterall, the survival instinct - because only in life can our neshama grow and flourish. The more our neshama can grow here in Olam Hazeh, the more it will be able to receive the Divine presence in Olam HaBah, and so we focus on the potential of life without, usually, remembering that death also frees the neshama from its battle, or better competition, with the goof, with one’s physical needs and desires. 

When reading parashas Shemini, our immediate reaction is based on our mindset of death as a complete negative. Perhaps, however, from the words that tell us that Nadav and Abihu died before Hashem we are reminded that death is the doorway to a higher plane of existence (when we are ready, ad mesh v’esrim for each of you who reads this!)

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

Why is this night different from all other nights? That famous question may be special to the Seder, but it is also extremely appropriate for tonight. The answer is that tonight (and tomorrow night as a mirror of living in chutz l’aretz) is the only time on the Jewish calendar that we bentch licht with the bracha of lhadlik neir shall Yom Tov and do NOT make a shehehcheyanu. It is the only true “second days of chag” since that is simply the misnomer people use for Shemini Atzeret in order to make planning easier. 

People talk about Shavuos having few distinguishing marks compared to the other holidays, but at least it has a Shehecheyanu. The last days of Pesach is/are the most understated yom tov we have; all that is unique about it are the things that we don’t say – such as the shehcheyanu and the extra perakim in Hallel. 

On the last days of Pesach, we read about the crossing of the Yam Suf, for this was when it occurred. One would think that an event as prominent in Jewish history as the crossing of the Yam Suf would merit a unique holiday; and given how close it is to Pesach, it would have made sense for such a holiday to be structured like Shemini Atzeret – a joined but unique holiday. So why isn’t it?
I can’t answer that question. But I can make some of my own reflections. 

One of the most critical concepts in Judaism is the fact that every person has bechira, free will. Every person has the ability to choose right or wrong. No one is forced to follow the Torah; the world is built on concepts of reward and punishment and consequences for choices and actions. With that in mind, think about the other Shlosh Regalim. 
--On Sukkos we move out of our homes and into temporary dwellings, making an active choice to celebrate trusting Hashem.  Shemini Atzeres is a response to Hashem asking Bnei Yisrael to spend one more day with Him.  We choose to meet His request.
--Pesach commemorates Yetzias Mitzrayim, and it is a well-understood idea that 4/5 of the Bnei Yisrael remained – some say because they did not believe in the possibility of redemption or that they were those too far drawn to Egyptian society, wishing to be like the Mitzrim. These are both choices. Those redeemed were those who chose to accept Moshe as the redeemer. 
--Shavuos is the holiday we say celebrates Hashem giving Bnei Yisrael the Torah, but, in truth, it is the holiday of Bnei Yisrael receiving the Torah. It is not, as one might think, the same thing. Bnei Yisrael said Naaseh v’Nishmah; they chose to accept their role as Gd’s chosen nation. 

The Shlosh Regalim, the primary Yom Tovim, all celebrate choosing.  The crossing of the Yam Suf is one of the most profound moments in the formation of Am Yisrael, indeed of the world. It was not, however, a moment of choice. Bnei Yisrael were surrounded on four sides, three by the enemy and the fourth by the sea.  

Most of us have had moments where we wished Hashem would give us a sign, a personal sign. We want miracles. Indeed, when we talk about the Yam Suf, many of us wonder why we can’t have a neis of our own. The answer, very simply, is bechira. If Hashem showed us open miracles, then we could not choose to put our own will over Hashem’s.

The Shlosh Regalim do not commemorate miracles. They commemorate the choices that are the foundation of Bnei Yisrael’s relationship with Hashem. Perhaps that is why, in the time of the Beis Hamikdash, we would leave our homes and travel to Jerusalem – an action, a choice to act. Miracles happen all around us, constantly. Most of them are understated, as they should be. Most of them we don’t notice, and so we are able to live our lives making choices. The final days of Pesach are understated because  Kriyas Yam Suf could only have happened for those who made the choice to follow Moshe and be redeemed. But the crossing of the sea itself was not a choice, just a miracle.

Parshas Vayikra: Responsibility

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta

If you enjoy antics about the different generations, then you have probably noticed that comments on the generation most recently entered into the workforce are frequently characterized as being irresponsible (ok, every generation seems to say this about those below), unanchored, and lacking a sense of personal responsibility. The last of these characteristics has been a growing concern in Western society, often blamed on a childhood that focused on participation prizes and an emphasis on feeling good. 

You might, at this point, be wondering what this has to do with this week’s parsha. This week’s parsha, Parshas Vayikra, begins the third book of the Torah, the one that appears to have the least narrative and the most repetitive seeming text in its descriptions of the sacrifices to be offered in the Mishkan. When you read it through on a micro level, it is easy to focus on one sacrifice or another, for, indeed, there is a wealth of fascinating insight embedded in Sefer Vayikra. When you look at it on a Macro level, for instance using the “Aliyah Summary” offered on Chabad.org, a different level of insights can be attained. 

It is easy to look at Sefer Vayikra and think “yada, yada, yada…” Not that it isn’t important, but there is no Mishkan or Beis Hamikdash and there are no karbanos being offered, so how is this relevant to me. Obviously, we are all supposed to live with a mind-frame that Moshiach can come at any moment, but that is – in all honesty – an ideal that some of us live up to some of the time (but we always strive to live up to). It is also easy to understand why someone superficially studying Vayikra would want to turn their minds from it, which is a natural reaction to feeling overwhelmed. 

Being honest, Sefer Vayikra is overwhelming; not because it lists so many different types of korbanos, although that is the surface level reason, but because it demands personal accountability and responsibility. This is particularly true when it comes to the sin and guilt offerings. 

It’s one thing to accidentally turn on a light on Shabbas, thus being mochel Shabbas, feel bad about it and, perhaps, make a private statement of apology to Hashem. It is an entirely different thing to accidentally machalel Shabbas and then have to not only demonstrate one’s error in public but also have to be honest with oneself about how much one could afford for the korban. Would one bring a sheep or a bird?

We despair, rightly, of the fact that we live in spiritual galus with Hashem’s face hidden from us. The level of our spiritual galus makes us more and more like that common world generation, makes it harder and harder for us to see and understand our direct responsibility in the world. There is a famous remark of the Chofetz Chaim on how an earthquake in Japan that killed no Jews still had to be seen by the Jewish people as a judgement on their actions in the world. In the days of karbanos, a person had tangible consequences for their actions, even when accidental, and was therefore, perhaps, more inclined toward mindfulness. 

There are many opinions on what it means to be part of “the chosen nation.” While it is a privilege to be member of Bnei Yisrael, it is also a tremendous responsibility. This is one of the things we learn, and relearn, when we examine the karbanos in Parshas Vayira. 

Shabbat Shalom