Hearing the Call

Wandering in a Sublime World: Reflections on Vayikra and the Search for Redemption

The weather in Jerusalem has turned sublime. Spring has quietly crept into the city. The almond blossoms have already fallen, and wildflowers now scatter across the hills. Cafés buzz with life. The sun warms the ancient stones of this timeless city. The clocks have changed, and with them, a subtle sense of renewal has arrived.

I’m looking forward to celebrating Passover with my family—watching my grandchildren ask Ma Nishtana (the four questions) and tasting the first summer fruits at the shuk. I dream of picnics in the Jerusalem forests, laughter in the wind, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this is what a perfect world looks like.

Almost.

But then something shifts. Beneath the blue skies, there’s a heaviness. Protests rumble through the streets—not just here but across the world. Hatred rises like an unwelcome wind. On the surface, Jerusalem glows. But under the surface, there’s uncertainty. A quiet unease. Certainty, once taken for granted, feels fragile.

And this year especially, it feels impossible to ignore the deeper tension. Some of our children are not preparing for picnics or family seders—they’re waiting. Guarding. Fighting. Some are stationed on borders, in tunnels, in shadows. Others are on call, their uniforms hanging by the door, their phones never on silent. The war may not be on every headline today, but for many families, it’s still at the centre of their world.

When we set the table for the Pesach seder, one chair is empty—for the hostages. The unknown fills the room. Worry lingers in every glance. We say “L’shana haba’ah b’Yerushalayim,” next year in Jerusalem, and we glance at that empty chair. The unspoken prayer echoes louder than the words.

We live in a time when the whole world feels shaken by a crisis of certainty. Some cling to rigid answers. Others drift in confusion. And I wonder: Are we simply wandering? Or are we being called to act, to resist this moral collapse, this distortion of history and truth, this attack on our people and our ancestral homeland?

In this space—this contrast between the sublime and the unsettling—I turn to the book of Vayikra (Leviticus), which we start to read this Shabbat. This book is so often dismissed as dry, too detailed, too priestly. But to me, it might be the most human of all books. It holds sacred contradictions—rules amid wilderness, offerings in the absence of a home, and a God who calls out.

The Israelites are no longer in Egypt but not yet in the Land. They are free but not yet settled. And like them, we find ourselves in a world that is no longer what it was—and not yet what it should be.

Vayikra doesn’t give us sweeping stories or epic miracles. Instead, it draws us into the quiet, uncertain moments. The daily attempts at holiness. The rituals remind us that, even in a world of wandering, we can still imbue the mundane with meaning.

As we journey toward Pesach, the festival of freedom, I reflect not only on the Exodus from Egypt but also on the redemptions we are still waiting for: personal, national, and global. What does it mean to be free in a world that feels unstable? What does it mean to be a Jew today, with the weight of history and the urgency of the present pressing on our souls?

Perhaps redemption isn’t a sudden event but a slow unfolding. A walk through the wilderness. A response to the call of Vayikra—that each of us hears in our own way.

As we enter the book of Vayikra—known in English as Leviticus—I’m drawn to reflect on the nature of sanctity, calling, and a dynamic Judaism.

The book of Vayikra opens not with thunder or commandments—but with a calling:
“Vayikra el Moshe” – “And He called to Moshe…”

It’s a quiet invitation. A whisper. A divine call—not to the nation, but to an individual.
God is calling. Are we listening?

Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach teaches that God is always calling us—not always with words but through the moments and movements of our lives. The opening word—Vayikra—means “And He called.” God calls through love, pain, and encounters with others. The question is: Are we tuned in?

On October 7th, God called us—not only as a Nation, but each one of us. Something awoke in our hearts. How do we carry this forward? That day was a desecration of God’s name. It cracked open a Pandora’s box of antisemitism, Jewish and Israeli hate that now echoes across the globe.

Rabbi Carlebach reminds us that God doesn’t always speak through thunderous miracles but through the quiet, through the brokenness, through our personal journeys. Through the events of the world, God calls us to act, heal, rebuild, and make a difference.

Each of us hears a different call, summoned in our own way. But together, if we listen and respond, we can build something holy.

I want to carry that theme into this year’s reading of Vayikra: To Hear the Call.

So, how should we respond? How do we make sense of the call after October 7th? How do we reconnect to the essence of our Judaism?

Rabbi Adin Even-Israel Steinsaltz, in his classic Chumash, writes that “the concept of sanctity, which characterizes the Temple and sacrificial rites, and the concept of ritual purity are closely related.” Without the Temple, many of these laws seem irrelevant. But he reminds us that where the light of sanctity shines, the shadows of impurity are most exposed.

This tension—between purity and impurity, sanctity and the mundane—is at the heart of Vayikra.

But Rabbi Steinsaltz goes further. Sanctity isn’t confined to the Temple—it’s meant to manifest in every corner of our lives. “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy.” Vayikra invites us to live with holiness, not only in the rituals but also in how we walk through the world.

Still, Vayikra is not an easy book. Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo admits as much in his reflections on Leviticus. What does God want from us in all these rituals? He contrasts two Torahs—the Torah of Aaron, rooted in structure and ritual, and the Torah of Moshe, born in struggle, faith, and personal connection with God.

He reminds us that modern Jewish life—our synagogues, prayers, and customs—is not a literal continuation of the Temple service but an evolving expression of the same yearning for connection. Judaism lives in that delicate dance between the fixed and the fluid, the sacred structure and the soulful spark.

Our modern challenge is to take the Torah of Aaron—the structure—and let it sing through the Torah of Moshe—the searching, personal Torah.

This week, Vayikra asks us to pause and listen:

• Where is God calling you right now?
• What in your life is asking for more attention, intention, and sanctity?
• What offering—of time, presence, forgiveness, or service—can you bring closer to God?

Reflection for the Week:
In a world full of noise, how can I quiet myself enough to hear the sacred call within my own life?

Footnote: In Memory of Menachem Begin – A Man Who Answered the Call
Today marks the yahrzeit of Menachem Begin—a leader, a warrior, and a man of deep humility and faith. Begin didn’t seek power for its own sake. He answered the call of Jewish destiny with courage and principle, always placing the dignity of the Jewish people above political gain. Whether fighting for the survival of the State, making peace with Egypt, or weeping at the loss of soldiers, Begin embodied the Torah of Moshe—a leader shaped by struggle, moral clarity, and profound responsibility. He reminded us that even in the face of overwhelming odds, we must act with purpose, rooted in our heritage and in our hope.

May his memory be a blessing.
Watch this powerful tribute to Menachem Begin on YouTube.