Vayikra. Offerings and the Art of relationship

When I ride my bicycle through Jerusalem these days, I pass almond trees in white blossom, tiny fig leaves breaking through their buds, and tall grasses in the parks around the olive trees—green in a way they will not be again for the rest of the year.

Between the fall of missile debris that remind us of the darker side of humanity, nature, in its springtime splendor, continues to teach us the generosity of beauty, grace, compassion, and hope in this season of renewal.

So much Renewal today.

We celebrate the new month of Nisan, which is also, according to the biblical account, the first Jewish New Year—the “head of the months” (Shemot 12:2).

We also open a new book, already the third of the Chumash, with Parashat Vayikra.

So many mixed emotions today.

My dear student Lisa is celebrating this Shabbat, as an adult, the bat mitzvah that had been waiting for her all these years.

My friend Shira is getting married, despite the war, in a magical place between West and East Jerusalem—one of the rare cultural spaces where Jews and Arabs come together. A wedding reduced to less than a quarter of the originally planned guests, yet it will indeed take place.

At the same time, the wedding of my dear Michael, the son of my friends Sophie and Philippe—a gentle, kind, smiling young man just finishing his physiotherapy studies—his wedding, planned for next Tuesday, will not take place.

Michael and Anat have had to postpone their chuppah because Michael has been sent to fight in Lebanon.

Please protect him with your prayers.

Pray with me that a lasting peace may settle in the region, and that no one—young or old, man or woman, on either side—will have to fight and, God forbid, leave this beautiful world because of the madness of some.

Yes, this world is so beautiful, despite what human beings sometimes make of it, and turning toward its beauty brings us back to what truly matters.I am speaking of the beauty of the natural world, but also of the beauty of human nature, which is important to remember.

One of the most beautiful things in this life is Relationship.

For me, it always carries something of a miracle—the miracle of transcending the closing of our hearts in order to connect to the life that shines before us, whether in a tree or in another human being.

This is, at its core, the function of korbanot— offerings—whose description in Parashat Vayikra can sometimes seem tedious.

The word korban comes from karov, meaning “close.”

We no longer have a Temple, and the service of offerings no longer exists. But Korbanot are not about the form they take. They are about the Art of relationship they teach us.

The text is to be read beyond the Pshat, as a metaphor—a description of the relational dynamic at its deepest level.

To bring an offering, as described in the biblical narrative, is an act that expresses our desire to draw closer to the Source of Life.

Isn’t that what every relationship is?

By drawing closer to another, we draw closer to the Source of Life.

That is why an offering, in Jewish tradition, is marked by kedushah—holiness: in bringing something that comes from us, we dedicate ourselves to life. Dedication is the literal meaning of kedushah.

It is about giving, rather than always trying—as so often in the world around us—to take.

About Parashat Vayikra, Moroccan kabbalistic rabbi Chaim ibn Attar of the mid-18th century, teaches:

“And you should know that the aspect of holiness does not come first except to one who invites it and awakens himself to it.”

וְיֵשׁ לְךָ לָדַעַת כִּי בְּחִינַת הַקְּדוּשָּׁה לֹא תַּקְדִּים אֶלָּא לַמַּזְמִין אוֹתָהּ וּמֵעִיר עַל הַדָּבָ

Vayikra means “And He called.”

The service of offerings is a call to draw closer to life.

But, as the Or HaChaim reminds us—along with other Jewish mystics such as the Hasidic master Kedushat Levi—if Moses is called, it is because there was already within him a desire to draw near.

Here we rediscover the wisdom and beauty of the relational dynamic at its deepest level:

Relationship—any relationship—is a mirror.

Life responds to the impulse of our hearts. If we reach out, life reaches back.

We are called because we are already calling within our hearts.

Being in a formal relationship—whether as a couple or a family—does not always mean that we are engaged in the art of relationship.

The Middle East, and the world as a whole, will only heal if people choose, instead of zero-sum games, the ethics of relationship.

As we welcome a new month, a new year, and spring in the northern hemisphere, it is time to open a new book. It is time to choose to draw closer, and to dedicate ourselves (lehakdish) to Life through each of our encounters.

This may sound beautiful, but perhaps also abstract. How do we actually do this?

This is where the role of ritual comes in—concrete actions meant to help us embody the principles by which we wish to live.

The offering is there to help us embody this relational virtue.

Sometimes, an offering may be a flower.

Bringing a cake.

A gesture of care.

Sharing a quote that inspired us.

A compliment.

A smile.

What is the offering you wish to give to life, through the ones you will encounter today?