This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on March 21, 2026.
Over a period of 30 years, UCLA professor Benjamin Karney studied 1,000 newlyweds. Specifically, he studied their arguments. He put them in a room together and asked them to discuss a topic they disagreed about. Does this sound like a nightmare scenario yet? Then he would hit record on a camera and walk out of the room. After 8 minutes of fighting, Dr. Karney would take the video back to his lab for him and his colleagues to analyze. What did they look for?
Is the couple compromising?
Are they blaming?
Are they criticizing?
Are they withdrawn?
Are they engaged?
Are they affectionate?
And after analyzing, he would invite the couple back in six months, and they’d do it all over again. Here’s what they found. Healthy fighting didn’t guarantee a fairy tale relationship that stays intact forever, but it significantly ups the chance that you’re going to be happier together.
What’s healthy fighting? And a healthy fight is where you’re not fighting about who’s right; you’re thinking of each other as a team, and you’re both curious about what you need as individuals. A good fight isn’t about who’s right; it’s about making things better for both partners.
We probably know deep down that how we respond matters just as much as what happened in the first place. And that concept is true well beyond the bounds of a relationship between two people. If only there were a guidebook that might help us apply this idea in a broader sense.
Parshat Vayikra opens the book of Leviticus with a detailed description of the sacrificial system. It’s not exactly the stuff of dinner table conversation: offerings of bulls, sheep, birds, and grain. But beneath the surface, these קורבנות (korbanot) are not about appeasing God through ritual alone. The word korban comes from the root karov, meaning “to draw close.” These offerings are about repairing distance, between ourselves and God, between ourselves and others, even within ourselves. They give structure to accountability, a path back when something has gone wrong.
The opening verse reads, “וַיִּקְרָא אֶל־מֹשֶׁה / And God called to Moses…” (Leviticus 1:1). Rashi famously notes that this calling, Vayikra, is a language of affection, of closeness, used by angels. Before any instruction, before any correction, there is a call rooted in relationship.
And perhaps that’s the point. Even when we err, even when harm has been done, the Torah insists that the response begins not with punishment, but with a call toward reconnection and responsibility. It’s not about who’s right, it’s about making things better for all. Sound familiar?
But Vayikra doesn’t ignore wrongdoing; it names it clearly. There are offerings for unintentional sins, yes, but also an insistence that when harm occurs, it must be acknowledged. Protection of life and dignity is non-negotiable. We are not asked to be passive in the face of harm. Judaism has never required that of us.
And yet, the הדרך, the path, matters. Even when provoked, even when justified in our anger, the Torah calls us to respond מתוך קדושה, מתוך אחריות, with holiness and responsibility. To protect without becoming destructive ourselves. To hold firm boundaries without losing our moral center.
I say this all the time, but like so much of our Torah, this feels particularly relevant today. We know what it means to feel vulnerable, to need protection, to insist on safety. And at the same time, we must be equally clear: acts of violence, even when born of fear or ideology, that harm innocent people, are not our way. We can name wrongdoing, including the painful reality of violence perpetrated by Jews in places like the West Bank, and say with clarity: this is not who we are meant to be.
Vayikra reminds us that accountability is sacred work. That drawing close requires honesty, restraint, and a commitment to חיים, to life.
So what does this ask of us?
To be a people who protect, fiercely and unapologetically, the safety and dignity of Jewish life. And also to be a people who remember that כוח, power, is not a license to harm, but a responsibility to act with integrity.
This week, when you feel that moment of provocation, big or small, pause. Hear the quiet vayikra, the call to respond not just from instinct, but from your deepest values.
Because the truest offering we can bring today is not from the herd or the field, but from the heart: a choice to act with courage, with restraint, and with a commitment to peace, even when it’s hardest.
That is how we draw close.
Rabbi Eve Posen 