Parsha Emor

May 1, 2026 | Torat Devorah

Parashat Emor (Vayikra 21–24) opens with a striking, almost redundant phrase: “Speak to the Kohanim, the sons of Aharon, and say to them…” (21:1) Chazal famously ask: why the double language — emor… ve’amarta? Rashi, quoting the Midrash, explains: “lehazhir gedolim al haktanim” — to warn the adults regarding the minors. The Kohanim are commanded not only to guard their own sanctity, but to actively ensure that the next generation lives with that same sensitivity to holiness.

This is not simply about education. It is about modeling restraint.Because the laws that follow are not laws of action — they are laws of limitation The Kohen is restricted in whom he may marry, where he may go, what contact he may have with death. Holiness here is defined not by what the Kohen does, but by what he refrains from doing. And this theme quietly runs through the entire parasha.

In the modern mind, holiness is often imagined as inspiration, passion, spiritual highs. But Parashat Emor presents a different picture: kedushah as discipline. A Kohen may not become tamei to the dead except for closest relatives. The Kohen Gadol may not do so even then. Certain physical blemishes disqualify a Kohen from the avodah. Offerings must be without blemish. Time itself has boundaries — Shabbat and the festivals are precisely defined. Even blasphemy at the end of the parasha is punished not for an action, but for crossing a boundary of speech. Kedushah is the art of knowing where the line is — and not crossing it. This is why the parasha opens with the Kohanim. They are the living embodiment of a life lived within careful borders.

We live in a world that glorifies boundary-breaking. “Follow your feelings.” “Express yourself.” “Take every opportunity.” “You only live once.” Parashat Emor whispers the opposite truth: holiness lives in the spaces we do not enter. The Kohen does not go everywhere. He does not marry everyone. He does not touch everything. And because of that, he becomes a vessel for the Divine Presence. And the Jewish people do not treat every day the same. We step back from time itself, carving out sacred islands.

The parasha begins with the word Emor — speak. Holiness begins with awareness. With words. With the ability to articulate what is sacred and what is not. When adults speak about kedushah, and more importantly live it, children absorb it naturally. The Kohanim were the teachers of restraint for the nation.And the nation, through Shabbat and the festivals, becomes a nation of Kohanim in time. Holiness is not found in intensity. It is found in intentional limitation. That is the quiet powerful message of this week’s parshah.

~Devorah Abenhaim

Parsha Tazria-Metzora

Apr 17, 2026 | Torat Devorah

A person who contracted the skin disease of tzora’as – leprosy –  was not allowed to enter the Sanctuary. Thus, when a person’s skin color indicated that he might have the disease, he was examined by a Kohen. If the Kohen, after examining the spots or scabs on the person’s skin, was unable to make a definitive determination that the affliction was indeed tzora’as, the person was placed in isolation for seven days and then examined again. If the appearance of the skin remained unchanged, the person was isolated for another seven days. Then a final examination was made. If the marks had not spread, the person was declared ritually clean. However, if the blemish had spread, the person was declared to be a metzorah – a person afflicted with tzora’as. He was then sent to live outside the camp of assembly, with his clothes torn off and his hair unkempt. He was told to call out “Unclean, unclean!” as a warning for others not to touch him. When the tzora’as subsided, the person was again examined by a Kohen outside the camp to make sure that the recovery was complete. The cleansing ceremonies, which were quite elaborate, took place over an eight day period. On the first and last days, special rites were observed. Sacrifices were then offered by the priest, and both cedar wood and hyssop were used in the process of purification.

The laws of tzora’as applied to both a house and a garment as well. If a garment showed signs of tzora’as, it might need to be burnt. If a house became marked by green or red streaks, it was boarded up for seven days. If the streaks then spread, the affected stones of the house were removed and replaced with new ones. The house was replastered; the old stones and dust were thrown into a specially designated unclean area outside the camp. If the signs lingered, the building might need to be demolished.

The Kohen had the ultimate responsibility to examine the person afflicted with tzora’as and to declare them pure or impure. The affliction seems to be historically related to leprosy except that in those days, leprosy was incurable and this affliction did seem to “run its course” in a matter of days or weeks. The sages interpreted this disease to be a punishment for loshen hara (evil speech). Miriam came down with the symptoms of tzora’as immediately after speaking out against Moses. In the Talmud, the word metzora is linked to the phrase ‘motzi shem ra’ which means “one who issues evil.” The sages spent an enormous amount of time and space in the Talmud discussing the evils of slander and gossip. In tractate Chullin (89a), the Gemara states: “What is a person’s proper craft in this world? He should make himself as though mute.” The Jerusalem Talmud relates loshen hara to idol worship. When a person worships an idol, they deny the existence of Gud. When a person speaks loshen hara, they may talk about someone “behind their back”, thinking that what the person does not hear, will not hurt them. This is also denying God, since He hears and sees everything.

​​​​​​​The prophet Micah (7:5) writes: “Guard the entrances of your mouth.” The sages compare the mouth to the entrance of a house. Just as we guard the front door of our house to prevent evil from entering, so to we must guard our mouths from making sure evil speech (loshen hara) does not leave. The Talmud states that loshen hara “kills” three people: the speaker, the listener, and the target of the slander or gossip. Additionally, the Torah in Sefer Bamidbar (19:15) states: “And every open vessel that has no bound lid on it, is ritually unclean.” The sages interpret this verse to apply to one’s mouth as an open vessel that becomes defiled with evil speech and is unfit to utter praises to God.

~Devorah Abenhaim

Parsha Shemini

Apr 13, 2026 | Torat Devorah

This week, we read the portion of Shemini, which means “the eighth”. It refers to the eighth day of the opening of the Tabernacle in the desert, which was actually its first day of regular activity, after seven days of inaugural rituals and sacrifices performed by Moshe, Aharon, and the other priests. On this celebratory ‘opening day’, we are told that the following tragic event took place: “Now Aharon’s sons, Nadav and Avihu, each took his pan and placed in it fire, and placed on it incense, and brought it before the Lord; a strange fire which he had not commanded them. And a fire went out from before the Lord and consumed them and they died before God. And Moshe said to Aharon: this is what God was referring to when he said ‘with those close to me I will be sanctified, and before the entire nation I will be honored’, and Aharon was silent.”

It is remarkably unclear what exactly Nadav and Avihu did wrong when they offered their ‘strange fire’ before the Lord – there are many hypotheses about what their sin or mistake was. Rabbi Shimon Felix comments: “I would suggest, however, that Aharon’s silence is a function of his role as parent, not as high priest, and tells us this: ultimately, there are things that one’s children do about which parents have nothing to say, decisions that children make that are beyond a parent’s ability to intelligently or productively comment on, explain, judge, influence, or take responsibility for.

In Jewish tradition, when a child turns bar or bat mitzvah, there is a somewhat strange blessing for the parents to recite – “Blessed be He who has exempted me from being punished for this one.” The idea is that our children, when small, are our responsibility; they are our responsibility to such a degree that we deserve to be punished for anything they may do wrong. Once they reach adulthood, however, this is no longer the case, and parents are no longer liable for the acts of their children. At the age of 12 or 13 (maybe a little later than that nowadays, I’ll grant you), parents need to begin to understand that children must, and will, go their own way, whether they like it or not; the “Blessed be He who has exempted me” blessing tells us that.”

Aharon’s silence is a similar expression of distance from the acts of his adult children. At some point, Aharon’s silence tells us, parents need to understand that they ultimately have nothing to say about the decisions made by their children, for better or worse.

​​​​​​​Whatever it was that his sons were doing in the Tabernacle, whatever place it was that they had arrived at in their lives, Aharon, their father, was not there. It was not his place, and, therefore, as a father, he had nothing to say about it. His silence is the only possible response to the fact that his children had, on their own, come to a very strange religious decision – one that he could not agree with, accept, or even comment on. Whether this is a good thing – as Moshe seems to argue – or not, is beside the point. For Aharon, the point is that he understood that his sons had acted as children ultimately must: independently, and there is nothing a father or mother can say or do to change that.

~Devorah Abenhaim

Shabbat Chol Hamoed Pesach

Mar 31, 2026 | Torat Devorah

The Rambam, in his philosophical work the Moreh Nevuchim, (3:43) offers a reason for the Mitzvah of Sefirat Haomer, noting that Matan Torah was the goal of Yetzi’at Mitzrayim. The Rambam explains that we anxiously await our Matan Torah commemoration (Shavuot) after we have commemorated Yetzi’at Mitzrayim on Pesach. Just as one who anticipates meeting a loved one counts the weeks and days until he sees him or her, so too we anxiously count the days and weeks until we will reenact Matan Torah on Shavuot.

The Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 306), though, poses a question on the Rambam’s explanation. He points out that someone anticipating meeting a loved one will count down the days until the appointed time. He will count five days until the meeting and then four days until the meeting, etc. We, however, do not count forty days until Shavuot, thirty- nine days until Shavuot, etc.; instead, we count upwards. According to the Rambam’s approach, we should have been counting down the time until Shavuot. The Chinuch answers that since the road to Shavuot is long, it would discourage us if we began counting forty-nine days until Shavuot. It is more palatable to commence the countdown by focusing on what wehav “accomplished” one day has passed, two days have passed, etc. Even when we get closer to Shavuot we continue to “count up” because we do not change counting style in the middle of the Sefira.

The Rav notes that the approach of the Chinuch is reminiscent of a parable presented by the famed Dubner Maggid in another context. The Dubner Maggid was asked why in the past few centuries there have been Gedolim who have publicized their calculations when the Mashiach will arrive, if the Gemara (Sanhedrin 97b) specifically condemns those who make such calculations. The Dubner Maggid responded with a parable about a father and son who were taking a trip from Vilna to Warsaw. A few minutes after leaving Vilna the boy asked when should we get to Vilna. The father responded that the question was inappropriate. A few minutes later, the child again asked “are we there yet?”. The father again told him that it is inappropriate to pose this question and he asked the son to refrain from asking this question further.
Hours later, the father asked the wagon driver how far they were from Vilna and the wagon driver responded. The son upon hearing his father’s question was puzzled. The son asked his father why when he asked the question how far they were from their destination he was rebuffed and yet the father posed the same question to the wagon driver. The father responded that when one is so far from his destination, it is not appropriate to inquire how far we are from the end of the trip. However, when one is drawing close to the end of the travel, then it is a relevant question to know when we expect to reach the destination. Similarly, said the Dubner Maggid, at the time of the Gemara it was inappropriate to speculate about the time of the arrival of the Mashiach because there was a long road ahead. In later generations, though, we are close to the arrival of the Mashiach and thus it is appropriate to investigate when we should expect the Mashiach to arrive.

Rav Soloveitchik, though, presents another explanation for why we count the Omer upwards and not downwards. He cites the Ran (at the conclusion of his commentary to Masechet Pesachim) who states that in the absence of the Beit Hamikdash and the Korban Omer we count the Omer today to reenact the counting of days after we left Mitzra’im until we received the Torah. Rav Soloveitchik suggests that Hashem did not tell the Jews when they left Mitzra’im the precise date when they will receive the Torah. The basis for this suggestion is that we find that Hashem did not tell Avraham his destination when He commanded him to move to Israel and later to bind Yitzchak at one of the mountains that I will show you. Similarly, Hashem does not reveal the place where the Beit Hamikdash will be built in Sefer Devarim. Rather, the Torah refers repeatedly to Jerusalem as the place that Hashem will choose. We, in turn, do not know the time when Hashem will send the Mashiach, but we wait patiently with great faith for his arrival. According to the Rav’s suggestion, the Jews had to count upwards to Matan Torah because they did not know exactly when they would receive the Torah. Today that we reenact our ancestors countdown to Matan Torah, we also count upwards as our forefathers did after they left Mitzrayim. Thereby we experience an element of uncertainty, which is an integral component of religious experience.

~Devorah Abenhaim

Parsha Tzav

Mar 31, 2026 | Torat Devorah

“A constant fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall never go out.” (6:6)

Throughout their journeys in the wilderness, the Jewish People carried with them the Mishkan. The word Mishkan comes from the word in Hebrew which means “to dwell.” Through the Mishkan, G-d caused the Divine Presence, the Shechina, to dwell amongst the Jewish People.

There was an altar in the courtyard of the Mishkan. On it burned three different fires. On the eastern side of the altar was the maracha gadola, the “large arrangement”. On this largest fire, the korbanot sacrifices were offered. On the southwestern corner there was another fire that was used solely to ignite the pyre of the golden altar inside the Mishkan on which the incense was burned.

And there was a third fire which had no fixed place but could be made anywhere on the outside altar. This fire had one purpose and one purpose only to fulfill the words of the Torah in this weeks portion : “a constant fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall never go out.” Come rain or shine, weekdays and Shabbat, this fire never went out. It burned all the forty years that the Jewish People were traveling in the desert. In fact, it burned without interruption for a total of over one hundred years, in the desert, fourteen years in the Mishkan at Gilgal, and fifty-seven years in the Mishkan at Nov and at Givon. Two pieces of wood had to be added to the fire twice a day. One in the morning at the time of the morning offering, and one in the afternoon at the time of the afternoon offering.

One might ask, why were three fires necessary? Wouldnt one have sufficed?

Rabbi Sinclair explains: “These three fires can be understood as three aspects of our relationship with G-d: The large fire represents our external service; the performance of the mitzvot, the obligations of prayer at its fixed times throughout the day and throughout the year. Because it was the largest fire, it was the most visible, just as our external duties as Jews are the most visible, be they the giving of charity or the care of the orphan and the widow. These are things that are as visible as a large fire. However, there was another fire whose function outside was for no other purpose than to kindle an internal fire. That fire teaches us that we must take our exterior service and use it to kindle the interior fire. That internal fire represents the duties of the heart: our belief and trust in G-d and our constant striving to be better people. That’s something you can’t see from the outside, but like the incense that is burned on the golden altar, it emerges from within a person with a scent that is unmistakable. The third fire can me moved anywhere, but it must never go out. This represents the undying fidelity of the Jewish People to G-d throughout our long and difficult Diaspora. Even though we have had to move from one corner of the world, our devotion to G-d has never been extinguished by an unkind world. Whether in the light of morning, or the impending darkness of approaching night, throughout our long history, the Jewish People have always placed the kindling on the altar of our devotion to G-d.

The Torah states: “Then (the Kohen) shall take off his garments and put on other garments and carry forth the ashes out of the camp unto a pure place” (Leviticus 6:4). What lesson to we learn from the ceremonious taking out the ashes from the altar each morning? Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch comments that the taking out of the ashes that remained on the altar from the previous day expresses the thought that with each new day, the Torah mission must be accomplished afresh, as if nothing had yet been accomplished. Every new day calls us to our mission with new devotion and sacrifice. The thought of what has already been accomplished can be the death of that which is still to be accomplished. Woe unto him who with smug self-complacency thinks he can rest on his laurels, on what he has already achieved, and who does not meet the task of every fresh day with full devotion as if it were the first day of his life’s work.
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~Devorah Abenhaim