This Shabbat we begin to study the third book of the Torah, beginning with Vayikra, meaning “and He called.” G-d called Moses to speak with him and commanded him the laws concerning the different sacrifices to be brought in the Sanctuary. 

There are different types of sacrifices each brought for a specific reason. The Chatat is a sin offering brought to atone for a transgression. The Olah offering was not eaten by anyone and was completely burned atop the altar. The Shelamim offering was split between the priests, the altar and the one who brought it. The Mincha was not an animal but rather a mixture of flour, oil and frankincense.

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The haftarah for Vayikra (Isaiah) begins with praise for the Jewish people, followed by rebuke for offering sacrifices to idols instead of G-d. It then assures the coming of Moshiach and affirms that G-d alone is supreme, concluding with a prophecy of redemption.

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This haftarah highlights G-d’s deep love for every Jew. The verse “This nation I formed for Myself; they will tell My praise” raises key questions: Why “this nation” instead of “Children of Israel”? What does “formed” signify? Why “for Myself”? And why the certainty that they will praise Him?

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The term nation emphasizes unity, encompassing all Jews, regardless of status or observance. “This nation” implies distinctiveness—Jews are universally recognized as G-d’s people. “Formed” signifies that G-d not only chose our souls but designed our bodies. The word li (“for Myself”) means this bond is eternal. “They will tell My praise” is certain because our very existence, against all odds, is a testament to G-d’s greatness.

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This teaches us to cherish every Jew. Just as G-d’s love for us is unconditional, we must embrace and respect one another. Through this unity, we will merit the final redemption and the coming of Moshiach—may it be soon.

The Sanctuary was inaugurated on the first day of the Hebrew month of Nissan of the year 2449 from creation. Beginning on that day, and continuing through the first twelve days of Nissan, the tribal leader—the nasi—of each of the twelve tribes of Israel brought inaugural offerings as the representative of his tribe.

It is our custom to commemorate the  inauguration each year by reading, on each of these twelve days, the verses from the Torah which describe the offerings of that day’s nasi. 

The reading is followed by a brief prayer, in which we say: “May it be Your will, L-rd my G-d and G-d of my fathers . . . that if I, Your servant, am from the tribe of ——— whose section of the nasi I have read today in Your Torah, may all the holy sparks and holy illuminations that are included within the holiness of this tribe shine upon me, to grant me understanding and intelligence in Your Torah and my awe of You, to do Your will all the days of my life . . .”

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In Tanya, we read: “It is known that the messianic era, especially the period after the Resurrection of the Dead, is indeed the ultimate purpose and the fulfillment of this world. It is for this [purpose] that [this world] was originally created.”

Having G-d reveal Himself in our physical and mundane world is the achievement of creation’s purpose. Every act that we do makes this world a little more ready for G-d’s revelation.

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This week, I had a great week. Outside the sun was shining, just as brilliantly as my inner sun.

I was productive. I wrote essays; the ideas flowed from my pen. I taught extensively, returning from each class exhausted but exhilarated. I was flying high, exuberant. I was meeting people, connecting and touching them deeply just as I was being touched by them. Instead of becoming tired or depleted, the more I did, the more energized I became.

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Life was smiling at me. Hey, I even got an unexpected check in the mail that I had given up on. The week flew by in a dizzying haze of contentment.

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How different this week was from last week. Last week, my work was stunted. My ideas were disjointed. I felt ill at ease with my life and with my accomplishments. There seemed to be a perpetual cloud over my home. No matter what I was doing, I felt restless, uninspired. I couldn’t find my equilibrium, no matter how much I relaxed or how much I worked. I couldn’t find solutions to my inner confusion. In the supermarket or on the streets, people seemed impatient; my friends and family sounded annoyed. The news I read reported tragedy and sadness, and the bills on my desk were unsettling.

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Isn’t life like that? Some days, we’re riding high. Other days, we’re in the pits. Some days, it’s natural for us to do good things; the more we do, the higher we climb on an upward ascent to even more positivity. Other times, we get stuck on a downward spiral of circumstances that rob us of opportunity, and before we know it, we’re in a rut, depleted of energy and initiative.

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Vayikra begins with G-d calling Moses:

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And G-d called to Moses; and G-d spoke to him out of the Tent of Meeting, saying: Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: A man who shall bring of you an offering to G-d …

The book of Leviticus teaches the laws of sacrifices. Interestingly, the last letter of the first word in this book—Vayikra, G-d’s call to Moses—is written with an unusually small aleph. A scribal mistake? What does it tell us?

There are all kinds of “offerings” we can give to G-d: our energy and talents, our dispositions and thoughts, our words and deeds. These all create a kinder home for G-d in this world. When the world is smiling at us, when we are feeling “big” and productive, it can be easier to feel connected to G-d. But what about during the drudgery or pettiness of life, when we are feeling unfulfilled and uninspired?

Maintaining our connection—finding our “offering”—in times of dullness and restlessness remains our greatest challenge. And perhaps that’s when we most need to remember: Vayikra, G-d is calling to us, even in these moments of smallness and loneliness, inviting us to bring our offering and to come close.

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Chana Weisberg

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