I used to be very on top of things. I never missed a moment, a birthday, a call, an email. And then, as the needs of my children changed, and later as much of the world shifted to online communication, I suddenly wasn’t as on top of communication as I had been. I found myself constantly apologizing for missing reaching out to someone in need or missing those key moments I was previously present for. If you’re like me, you’re now discovering the challenge of reversing a long period of inactivity and disconnection. So how do we re-engage? 

This week we read Parshat Vayikra, and we begin the third book of the Torah, which details the many sacrifices and the daily, active mitzvot of living as an Israelite. This begins with an explanation of the sacrifices that we are to give daily, weekly, and yearly. We learn that there can be a sacrifice made in times of joy and in times of sorrow. There is a special sacrifice for being guilty of a sin and others for complete thanksgiving. As Sefer Vayikra continues, we learn about the laws of how to treat one another, how to engage in holy relationships, and how our earthly needs like keeping our calendar and eating meals should be rooted in our faith.

As we read the extensive list of sacrifices for wrongdoing, I’m drawn to the notion that we’re held responsible, by God, for those things we should have done, but didn’t. I love this moment of Torah. Why? Because it’s yet another reminder that Judaism compels us to act, whether that’s checking in on a friend or standing up to injustice. It reminds us that when we fail to act, we’re guilty of inaction. Have you heard the phrase “easier to ask forgiveness than permission”? It’s true in some circumstances, and it’s one way of looking at the Torah of Vayikra.

This is not to say we should act irrationally or without purpose. Rather, it means that we’re asked to listen to the needs of others and take a stand when required. To me, the idea that I’m held accountable for the times when I don’t act is something of a wake-up call. If you’re looking for an excuse to re-engage, answer the call with me.

The concept of self-care has pushed its way into every aspect of pandemic life. Are you prioritizing care for others over care for yourself? Are you setting aside enough “you” time? Are you respecting the needs of others for their own self-care? Self-care is now the pressure-filled obligation we were trying to avoid by giving ourselves more self-care in the first place.

What if we looked at the entire spectrum of care (care for ourselves, care for others, and everything in between) as general wellbeing? It’s not necessarily prescriptive, but more of a reminder that wellness, wholeness, and care are interrelated. And that concept is actually central to many of the laws of Torah that we receive.

This week we read Parshat Vayikra, and we begin the third book of the Torah, which details the many sacrifices and daily, active mitzvot of living as an Israelite. In the explanation of these sacrifices, we learn that there can be a sacrifice made in times of joy and in times of sorrow. There is a special sacrifice for being guilty of a sin, and there are others for complete thanksgiving. As Sefer Vayikra continues, we learn about the laws of how to treat one another, how to engage in holy relationships, and how our calendar and meals should reflect our innermost values and desires.

In the list of offerings that are made to God, we receive the requirement of an offering of wellbeing. This offering is specifically brought by someone who has something to celebrate. It’s called zevach shelamim in Hebrew, which loosely translates to a sacred gift of (fill in the blank). But why would it be “fill in the blank” instead of the actual gift? The root of the word shelamim is shalem: shin, lamed, mem. If that sounds familiar, it’s because that’s the same root for the Hebrew word shalom, which can mean hello, goodbye, or peace. That leaves the item open to interpretation. Is this supposed to be an offering of peace? Of greeting? What did God mean when this offering was mandated?

I believe this particular offering was left purposefully vague. Sometimes you might need personal wellbeing or peace; other times you might need to “greet” God (or yourself) again. This ambiguity allows us to check in with ourselves to see what we actually need and the flexibility to decide if it’s “me time” or people time. 

Parshat Vayikra and each of these sacrifices listed remind us that our life is built on a multitude of offerings, and those offerings are not only meant for what we give to others but also, and just as importantly, what we gift to ourselves. Another meaning of the root word shalem is “wholeness,” and feeling complete is about filling each of our physical and emotional buckets. Perhaps this is the offering or the sacred gift of finding our whole selves in the work of helping others and helping ourselves.

Believe it or not, I sat down to write this d’var Torah a year ago. I like to at least have drafts done far in advance so that I can pivot and adjust if needed. As I sat here to write, I remember in detail receiving the startling information of a tragic loss in our community that would have ripple effects for years to come. I rushed out of the office (the office was still open at that point) to hold the family and take care of logistics and other pieces before returning to finish this drash. But it was clear to me what I needed to write about. I came back and sat down five days later to try in some way to “become whole” through the writing and my writing process.

This week as we begin Sefer Vayikra, the Book of Leviticus, we find ourselves immersed in the listing of mitzvot (commandments) on how to live our lives. This begins with the explanation of the sacrifices that we are to give daily, weekly, and yearly. We learn that there can be a sacrifice made in times of joy and in times of sorrow. There is a special sacrifice for being guilty of a sin and others for complete thanksgiving. As Sefer Vayikra continues, we learn about the laws of how to treat one another, how to engage in holy relationships, and how our calendar and meals should reflect our innermost values and desires.

One of the offerings we are asked to give is the zevah shlamim. This offering is brought by someone who has had something to celebrate. It is almost always an individual offering, never communal, because gratitude is personal and individual. Further, the word shlamim comes from the same root as shalom, which can mean “to be whole.” The offering is made with a sense of being at peace. The Torah teaches us that this offering must be eaten on the day that it is brought or the next day at the latest. Perhaps this is to encourage those with gratitude to invite others to join their celebration, because typically joy increases when we come together. 

On that fateful afternoon when I was writing this drash I received a call. Vayikra. And that call brought a community together to hold the broken pieces and find a way towards wholeness and towards peace. The Torah is not suggesting that all communal moments must be joyful, and needless to say this moment was not. Instead, our sacred text is meant to give us, on the one hand, guidelines for holding those moments of joy and gratitude and, on the other hand, guidelines for holding each other in grief and sorrow. As we pass another year anniversary, the anniversary of when COVID-19 changed all our lives, it’s yet another reminder that we are still holding broken pieces, and there’s much work left to be done to make ourselves whole again.

I tend to be pretty hard on myself after a mistake or misstep. When I do something or say something that I later regret, especially when it might make someone else uncomfortable or hurt them, I hold on to that pain and regret almost like a security blanket. I tend to beat myself up for days and weeks afterward, thinking about how I could have done better, worked differently, or simply made a better choice. Worse is when I realize my wrongdoing, then apologize, but the person isn’t ready to forgive or even engage in that conversation yet. That leads to my own frustration that I just didn’t avoid the situation in the first place. I’m a people pleaser after all, and because of that, my ideal is creating community and connection with everyone I encounter.

While the first step – recognizing the wrongdoing – might be easy for me, it certainly isn’t the only step necessary on the path to forgiveness. This week we read from Parshat Vayikra, the first section of the third book of the Torah. This begins with the explanation of the sacrifices that we are to give daily, weekly, and yearly. We learn that there can be a sacrifice made in times of joy and in times of sorrow. There is a special sacrifice for being guilty of a sin and others for complete thanksgiving. As Sefer Vayikra continues, we learn about the laws of how to treat one another, how to engage in holy relationships, and how our calendar and meals should reflect our innermost values and desires.

The end of this week’s portion deals with the ways in which we might ask for forgiveness or make strides in righting the wrongs we have committed. Chapter 5, verse 26 ends on this positive, simple note: “He shall be forgiven.” This statement follows an explanation of the actions that might be used to make reparation for our misdeeds. Ultimately, if we partake in the prescribed action and ask for forgiveness, then we are forgiven. 

A Hasidic master taught, “The gates of repentance open for anyone who does wrong and then realizes it and seeks to make amends.” In other words, the road to forgiveness must begin with the desire to get there. I can beat myself up all I want about my misdeeds, but unless I have a willingness and desire to change, those gates remain locked. 

As we read Parshat Vayikra, especially at a time when our community simply is not physically able to come together in person to apologize, to forgive, and to move on, we are reminded that each of us holds the key to our own journey to forgiveness. And perhaps an added benefit of this period of isolation is merely the time to look inward and finally use that key. Shabbat shalom.

As many of you know, I spent the first half of this week in Washington D.C., where I met with representatives and agencies to advocate on behalf of human rights efforts in Guatemala. This was the culmination of the American Jewish World Service Global Justice Fellowship for rabbis. Prior to the Guatemala trip itself, I spent six months learning about the work that AJWS does globally to promote rights-based advocacy and global justice. Then I spent seven days in Guatemala hearing firsthand accounts of the corruption in government, the difficulty of making a living, and the triumph of human beings who fight daily for their dignity.

As life-changing as the experience has been, this was not an easy trip for me to commit to. When I was considering the trip, my list of drawbacks was long. I was hesitant to leave my family for a week with little communication. I was still nursing my son and didn’t want to break that connection. It wasn’t fair to my community for me to take time away. The expense would take funds from other efforts. The list goes on. Apparently I’m really good at coming up with reasons why I shouldn’t do something. My list of why I should attend was simple: I have a moral imperative as a human being to offer help when I’m able. I should find a way and the time to make this happen.

Even once I committed, the concerns remained (and changed). For months ahead of time, I sat in anxiety about the trip. Was I prepared? Was I the right person to do this? How would I be without my daily snuggles from my babies? Should I even go?

I drew strength, as I often do, from my core text, the Torah. This week we read Parshat Vayikra, and we begin the third book of the Torah, which details the many sacrifices and daily, active mitzvot of living as an Israelite. This begins with the explanation of the sacrifices that we are to give daily, weekly, and yearly. We learn that there can be a sacrifice made in times of joy and in times of sorrow. There is a special sacrifice for being guilty of a sin and others for complete thanksgiving. As Sefer Vayikra continues, we learn about the laws of how to treat one another, how to engage in holy relationships, and how our calendar and meals should reflect our innermost values and desires.

As the types of sacrifices are listed, we learn about the “guilt offerings” in chapter 5: “If a person incurs guilt – when he has had a public imprecation and – although able to testify as one who has either seen or learned of the matter – he does not give information, so that he is subject to punishment.” Basically, we are responsible not only for the things we do wrong, but for the things we should have done, but neglected. The Talmud in Tractate Bava Kama calls this “innocent before a human court but liable in the sight of God.”

Ultimately, we can all find reasons for why we “can’t” or “shouldn’t” do something that might help others, especially if it’s an inconvenience to our daily lives or a big step forward; however, our Torah reminds us that the call to action is one we cannot ignore. That when we have the ability to make a change in ourselves or the world, we must take that action.

I spent the week in Guatemala missing my family dearly, but I don’t regret it for a second. Taking the action – making this a “done” instead of a “to do” – meant I was witness to both the atrocities of injustice and the persistence of the human spirit, and now I will speak out about how to help others, not because I should, but because I must.