D'var Torahs

Are You Living By Chance? The Torah presents us with two very different ways to live. One is a life of connection. A life lived with awareness of Gd, with the belief that our lives have meaning, that we are guided, and that nothing is random. That Gd is with us and has a plan for the world. The other is what the Torah calls keri. Keri means casualness. It is not an outright rejection of Gd. It is something much quieter and more subtle. It is living as though everything simply

The Whisper of Holiness, In this week’s parsha, the Torah opens with: “Emor el hakohanim… v’amarta aleihem” “Say to the Kohanim… and say to them.” The question is asked as to why the Torah repeats itself. What can we learn from the double language of say… and say? One beautiful mystical teaching suggests that the repetition hints to a softer kind of speech. It hints to a whisper. To the revelation of a secret. Moshe is asked to whisper this truth to the Cohanim (the pr

Joy in the Heart of Darkness Achrei Mot opens in the shadow of unimaginable loss: “after the death of the two sons of Aharon.” The Torah does not move on quickly. It anchors us there. In the after. As if to say: life itself is now divided into a before and an after. This is the reality of grief, of tragedy, of those moments that alter us forever. And yet, the parsha does not remain in the darkness. It begins to teach us how to live, how to come close, how to build holiness ag

From Nega to Oneg – Where is Your Ayin Parashat Tazria–Metzora introduces us to the phenomenon of tzaraat, a spiritual affliction that appears on a person’s body, clothing, or even home. The sages teach that this is not a medical condition, but a spiritual wake-up call. It is a reflection of something misaligned within the person, most often connected to lashon hara, negative speech. The Torah calls this affliction a nega which is spelled with 3 Hebrew letters (nun, gimmel an

Shemini "Where Words Cannot Go."" The Torah describes one of the most searing moments in a few simple words: “Vayidom Aharon,” and Aaron was silent. After the sudden loss of his two sons, Nadav and Avihu, in the very space of the Mishkan, at a moment of intense closeness to Hashem, Aaron does not cry out. He does not speak. He is silent. This forces us to examine whether silence is the ideal response to unimaginable loss. Perhaps Aaron’s silence is not emptiness. Perhaps it i