Parashat Vayikra
Leviticus 1:1 – 5:26
The Quiet Call to Bloom

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

“Vayikra el Moshe…”
“And [God] called to Moses…” (Leviticus 1:1)

This calling takes place not in a palace or a grand sanctuary, but from the Tent of Meeting – a simple, portable structure in the wilderness. And the Hebrew word “Vayikra” – “He called” – is written with a small Aleph at the end, a mysterious scribal tradition that has sparked conversation for centuries.

Why shrink the Aleph, the very first letter of the Hebrew alphabet? The mystics suggest that this small Aleph represents humility, the kind of quiet ego that makes room to hear a sacred call. When the world is noisy – full of announcements, alerts, and opinions – Vayikra reminds us that some of the most powerful callings are gentle, subtle, and intimate.

Our friend, Moses, who was first hesitant to lead because he was slow of speech, is now the one who receives the call. He has grown into his leadership – not through force, but through deep listening. And maybe that’s the message for us: each of us is called, in our own way, in our own time – and we hear that call best when we quiet our egos and open our hearts.

Parashat Vayikra often falls during early spring. Nature is beginning to awaken – tiny buds on trees, longer stretches of sunlight, the occasional warm breeze that hints at what’s to come. In the Jewish calendar, this season holds profound meaning: the month of Nisan is approaching, the month of Pesach, our festival of freedom and renewal. Just as the earth stirs from its dormancy, so do our souls.

The Torah portion introduces us to the world of sacrifices – korbanot – which can seem distant or even uncomfortable for the modern mind. But here’s something remarkable: the Hebrew root of korban – karov – means “to draw near.” These offerings were not about appeasement; they were about relationships. A person who brought an offering wasn’t checking off a religious box – they were saying, “I want to come close.”

We may not bring animal offerings today, but the desire behind them still burns in the human heart: the desire to connect to something bigger, to something deeper. And the desire to connect with one another and to God. The question is not “What do I have to give up?” but rather, “What can I bring of myself that is real?”

This is where the values of volunteerism and service come in.

In our time, volunteering can feel like a kind thing to do – an extra, a bonus. But in Jewish tradition, service to one’s community is holy. The Talmud teaches that All of Israel is responsible for one another (Shavuot 39a). The mystics go even further, suggesting that each soul has been infused with a unique spark of the Divine. When we lend our hands, our time, our hearts to others, we are performing a sacred act. When we perform a mitzvah, not only do we bring ourselves closer to the people we help, but even more importantly, to the Divine itself.

Today, our sacred offerings take a different shape, morphing into the teen who shows up to tutor a younger student, the retiree who delivers meals to the homebound, a busy parent who volunteers at the synagogue, or the person who quietly ensures that everyone feels welcomed and valued.

None of these acts will ever make it into the Torah – but every one of them is recorded in the eternal scroll of the human heart. These are the offerings that still rise upward, like the ancient smoke of the altar – not to the heavens, but into the spaces between us, where holiness is born.

Vayikra describes fire on the altar that was never allowed to go out – Esh tamid tukad al hamizbeach, lo tichbeh (Leviticus 6:6). The Chasidic masters interpreted this fire as the inner fire of the soul – a yearning to do good, to serve, to connect. But just like any fire, this spark needs tending if it is to thrive.

Spring reminds us that even after long winters – literal and emotional – growth is possible. The same sun that warms the earth can warm our spirits. Vayikra invites us to notice the divine whisper that calls us to act, to help, to heal, to be present.

And the beauty is: you don’t have to be Moses to hear the call. You just have to be yourself – with your quirks, doubts, talents, and compassion. The small Aleph is a reminder that greatness doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it volunteers, at times it comforts, and at other times, it just simply shows up.

As we stand at the beginning of Vayikra, may the blooming of the season inspire the blossoming of our hearts, drawing us ever closer so we can deliver ourselves fully, honestly, and lovingly, as sacred offerings to one another.