Parashat Emor
Leviticus 21:1 – 24:23

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

Parashat Emor offers detailed instructions about holiness including who may serve as priest, how to approach sacred time, and how to honor the festivals of Shabbat, Passover, and Sukkot. It’s a portion that sets boundaries and structures like who is in, who is out, and when to make offerings. At first glance, it feels governed by the aspect of God we call Elohim, King of Kings. Elohim is the force that creates worlds and sustains cosmic law.

However, hidden beneath this structure is an intimate, glowing presence called the Shekhinah, the indwelling Divine that deeply favors connection than all mighty control.

In Jewish mysticism, the Shekhinah and Elohim are only two aspects of Adonai Echad – the One God; Elohim is the name that represents God’s power, justice, and distance. It’s the voice that created the universe and split the sea. Shekhinah, by contrast, is the divine presence that comes close. She’s the whisper of holiness in our homes, the comfort in moments of grief, the warmth in community. Elohim is the architect of sacred time, Shekhinah is the soul that fills it – one is transcendent, one is immanent. Elohim builds galaxies and the Shekhinah builds homes.  This mystical tension between fire and intimacy, and between transcendence and presence, leads us directly into Lag BaOmer.

Lag BaOmer is the 33^rd day of the counting of the Omer, a short break in a season of mourning. For many, it’s a day of bonfires, music, and joy, though not for its own sake. It is a joy that can be experienced only as it emerges from struggle.

The bonfire of Lag BaOmer is a symbol reminding us that yes, fire can destroy, but it can also connect. The same fire lit the menorah in the Temple, and bakes our challah, keeps us warm, and gives us light. Fire, much like holiness, depends on how we hold and use it.

Emor teaches us how to mark sacred time and Lag BaOmer reminds us to find meaning within that pause. The voice of Elohim calls us to create order, and the presence of the Shekhinah calls us to create connection. Emor prompts us to consider: Where in my life do I need more structure? And how do I keep the fire of meaning lit in my everyday life?

The juxtaposition of Emor and Lag BaOmer reminds us that we need both. We need the rhythm and rigor of sacred structure, and we need the spontaneous spark of spiritual intimacy. We need the boundaries that protect, and we need the sparks and fires that inspire. Elohim gives us law, and the Shekhinah gives us love. One without the other is incomplete.

In our modern lives, so often shaped by deadlines, analytics, and productivity (the energy of Elohim) it is even more important to remember to create space for the Shekhinah. Light candles not just to mark time, but to sanctify it. Make space not just for ritual, but for ultimate presence. Sit around the bonfire not only to celebrate, but also to remember that we are never alone in the dark.

On a different note, I began writing for the Torah blog one year ago when I submitted my copy for Emor 5784. A year later, this blog has become a sort of refuge for my swirling thoughts on God. Thank you for reading along with me!  If you would like me to expand on any topics or if you’d like to offer your perspective, please email me at jsmith@bethami.org. After all, Rabbi Ben Zoma would say “Who is wise? The one who learns from everyone” (Pirkei Avot 4:1). 😊

Achrei Mot – Kedoshim
Leviticus 16:1 – 20:27

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

This week’s double portion, Parashat Achrei Mot – Kedoshim, is not so much a Torah reading as it is a spiritual manifesto. In it, we traverse from the sacred spaces of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) to the intimate, messy spaces of human relationships. These twin portions insist that holiness is not confined to mere ritual. Rather, it is cultivated through justice, empathy, restraint, and caring for the community. At the center of this moral constellation is one of the Torah’s most iconic verses:

Kedoshim tihiyu, ki kadosh ani Adonai Eloheichem – You shall be holy, for I, Adonai your God, am holy (Leviticus 19:2).

This is not simply a command. It’s a theological provocation. What does it mean to be holy in the image of the Infinite? If God is beyond time, space, and limitation, how are finite humans to emulate that holiness?

Enter Jewish mysticism, which offers a radical reinterpretation of this call. The Kabbalists suggest that holiness is not perfection, but integration – the weaving together of the Divine and the earthly. The world, according to the mystical tradition, is suffused with hidden sparks of divine light, remnants of the primordial shattering (shevirat ha-kelim). Each act of moral living – every honest transaction and every lifted soul – is a tikkun, a repair of the cosmic tapestry. In this worldview, holiness becomes a verb – not a state of being. We are not being holy; we are becoming holy through sacred action.

Achrei Mot speaks of atonement and the High Priest entering the Holy of Holies only once a year. Kedoshim, by contrast, democratizes holiness. It brings the Holy of Holies into the proverbial town square with fair wages, honest judgments, and radical empathy for the vulnerable. Together, the two parshiot reflect a tension familiar to many religious seekers: transcendence vs. immanence, sanctuary vs. street.

It is perhaps within that dialectic that we pause this week for a moment of interfaith celebration: Mazel tov to the new (American) Pope!

Now, obviously, there isn’t a papal office in Judaism. We are a famously decentralized tradition with rabbis who argue, communities that differ, and a God who seems to prefer our questions over answers. But in the spirit of Kedoshim, where we are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves – v’ahavta l’rei’acha kamocha – a verse Rabbi Akiva famously called the greatest principle in the Torah and the same verse that Rabbi Hillel used to explain the whole Torah (Shabbat 31a:6); we recognize that holiness crosses denominational lines.

The appointment of an American as Pope is not only a significant moment for Catholics, but for all people of every faith who care about moral leadership. And, from our perch in the modern Jewish world, we can acknowledge this with warmth, curiosity, and yes, with a generous helping of mazel tov, and here’s why: Even in a tradition as richly particular as our beautiful Jewish tradition, we are instructed to rise before the aged, honor the stranger, and not stand idly by the suffering of our neighbors (Leviticus 19). These are not merely Jewish values, they are human values – they are divine values.

The Zohar (a central Jewish mystical text) teaches that the Shechinah, the divine Presence of God on earth, rests where there is justice, peace, and compassion. Perhaps that’s why Kedoshim begins with an address to the entire community – kol adat b’nei Yisrael – not just to the priests or sages. Holiness is not inherited. It is created through action. In a world fractured by war and spiritual fatigue, our Torah portion reminds us that holiness is within our reach if we are willing to engage with the world, serve with integrity, and see each other through a lens of sacred potential.

To world Jewry, the Pope may be an external sort of symbol. But to the soul attuned to the sparks of holiness scattered throughout the world, even surprising elevations in leadership can remind us of our sacred calling: to elevate, repair, and most importantly, to love.

So yes, I say: Mazel Tov to Pope Leo XIV! May he serve with wisdom and humility, and may we, in our own tradition, heed the call of Kedoshim: to invite the Divine into our everyday, and to reveal God’s light not only in our beautiful sanctuary, but in the soul of every single human being.

Shabbat Shalom.

Tazria-Metzora
Leviticus 12:1–15:33 

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith 

Parshat Tazria-Metzora is often seen as one of the more challenging portions in the Torah. It deals with skin conditions, ritual purity, and the mysterious ailment known as tzara’at – often mistranslated as leprosy but better understood as a physical manifestation of a sort of spiritual imbalance. At its core, this double portion is about transformation, healing, and the sacred process of reentering the community. 

When someone is afflicted with tzara’at, they are temporarily removed from the camp – set apart and isolated but not abandoned. The Torah tells us that one of the Kohanim (priests) would visit the afflicted individual, evaluate there situation, and ultimately guide them on the path back into connection. This exile is not for punishment – it is a sacred pause, a healing journey, and a reintegration with blessing.  

In Jewish mysticism, tzara’at is linked to the spiritual energy of speech. The Talmud connects it with lashon hara – harmful or hurtful words. Mystically, we understand the power of speech to shape our reality. The world was created through Divine utterance – “Let there be light” – and we too, created b’tzelem Elohim, in the Divine image, are gifted with the sacred power of words. When we misuse that gift, something in the spiritual fabric tears. And healing requires more than just medicine – it requires reflection, teshuvah, and reweaving the soul’s threads back into the community. 

How fitting that this portion is often read around Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut. 

Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day, is a solemn time when the entire nation pauses to remember those who have fallen in defense of the Jewish state. It is a national tzara’at – a moment of sacred stillness and separation. On this day, Israel feels the grief of over 24,000 lives lost – soldiers, victims of terror, sons and daughters, parents, friends. It is a wound still healing. 

But the day does not end in despair. As night falls, we transition into Yom HaAtzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day. It is not a clean break – it is a delicate pivot. We carry the memory into the joy. Just as the person recovering from tzara’at must bring offerings, immerse in water, and rededicate themselves to life, so too does Israel move from remembrance into renewed commitment to life, freedom, and Jewish sovereignty. 

This shift from mourning to celebration is not accidental – it is deeply Jewish. It is what we’ve done for centuries: turning tears into prayers, prayers into strength, and strength into rebuilding. 

There’s a mystical teaching from the Zohar that says: “There is no light that does not emerge from darkness.” In other words, the deepest joy often comes not by ignoring pain, but by walking through it, naming it, and choosing hope anyway. That is what the Israelites did when they returned to the camp. That is what we do on Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut. And that is what every Jewish soul is invited to do when navigating loss, healing, and renewal. 

So what does this mean for us today?  

We may not be afflicted with tzara’at, but we all know what it feels like to be isolated – emotionally, spiritually, or even physically. We’ve been through pandemics, political rifts, and personal struggles. And we all know what it feels like to yearn to come back – to community, to wholeness, to meaning.  

Parshat Tazria-Metzora reminds us that healing is sacred. That grief and joy are not opposites – they are companions. And that even in our most broken moments, the path to reintegration is possible – through reflection, through ritual, through community. 

And as we honor the memory of Israel’s fallen and celebrate her rebirth, we remember that the Jewish story is not one of endless exile, but of return. Not of despair, but of resilience. Not of silence, but of the sacred power of voice. 

May we use our voices to speak words of peace. May we honor the memory of those who sacrificed so much for a Jewish homeland. And may we, like the one healed from tzara’at, walk the path from isolation to belonging with gratitude, hope, and holiness.