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1) Compassion Without Limits
At the end of Parshas Emor, the Torah describes the megadef, who was placed in confinement while Moshe awaited Hashem’s ruling. Rashi notes that he was held alone, even though the mekoshesh eitzim was also awaiting judgment. The Torah’s wording - “vayanichuHU” - teaches that they were not placed together.
R. Frand quotes a R. Azriel Lankeh (Sefer Ikvei Erev) who explains that the distinction was intentional. The mekoshesh was already known to deserve capital punishment, while the megadef’s fate was still uncertain. To place him together with someone effectively on death row would have caused unnecessary anguish - inuyei hadin. Even at this stage, the Torah avoids imposing emotional suffering beyond what is warranted.
This sensitivity is nworthy. Even a person guilty of such a severe sin must be treated with care and dignity. If the Torah is so concerned for the feelings of a megadef, how much more must we be attentive to the emotional well-being of those around us in everyday life.
See the full piece here.
2) Haftoras Emor - a Shiur
While many haftaros compliment their Torah reading, Yechezkel 44 contradicts many laws in Parshas Emor. These contradictions are so troublesome, that Sefer Yechezkel was almost excluded from the canon of Tanach. The Gemara in Chagigah (13a) credits a Chananya ben Chizkiyah with the extraordinary work needed to “save” the sefer.
Rav Yigal Ariel of the Moshav of Nov (in Ramat HaGolan) has written a series of sefarim on Tanach that form the heart of many of my shiurim on Tanach. See here for his treatment of this strange perek and lessons to be learned from the haftara and from Channaya ben Chizkiyah.
3) Handicaps in the Mikdash: Why Does the Torah Discriminate?
The Torah teaches that a Kohen with a mum may not serve in the Beis HaMikdash. Some of these limitations are understandable; others are more difficult to understand. In many cases, the Kohen could perform the Avodah perfectly well! How could the Torah exclude individuals on the basis of what appears to be an external limitation? Can we not look past it? Does not HaKadosh Baruch Hu look past it?
Rashi compares the mumim of a Kohen to those of a korban. Just as a sacrifice must be whole, so too the one who offers it. And yet, the comparison is striking - an animal’s value may be diminished by a blemish, but a human being’s worth before Hashem is infinite.
The Rambam, in Moreh Nevuchim, offers a practical answer. The issue is not how Hashem sees the Kohen, but how we do. Human beings are not always capable of seeing past external differences. The Beis HaMikdash demands awe, reverence, and focus; if those serving there would distract or diminish that perception in the eyes of the tzibbur, the purpose would be compromised. It is a difficult answer, because it forces us to confront our own limitations more than anyone else’s.
Perhaps one can suggest that the Beis HaMikdash was never meant to be just a place of avodah as much as a vision of a perfected world. Its imagery evokes Gan Eden, Har Sinai, a reality suffused with the presence of Hashem. In such a world, there is no death, no impurity, no brokenness. At Har Sinai itself, Chazal tell us that physical limitations were temporarily lifted. No one objected; no one argued that such conditions should remain so as not to discriminate against the disabled! We instinctively understand that the ideal world is one of wholeness.
Perhaps, then, the exclusion of a Kohen with a mum is not a statement about the person, but about the world we long for. It is not, chas v’shalom, a judgment of human worth, but an unspoken tefillah: that one day the world itself will be healed. Those who live with these challenges know better than anyone how difficult they are. The Beis HaMikdash, in its very structure and standards, expressed a yearning for a reality in which such struggles no longer exist - a world of perfection, dignity, and closeness to Hashem.
4) Holding onto the Omer
From the second day of Pesach we count the “days of the Omer,” beginning with an offering of barley and culminating in the Shtei HaLechem, made of wheat. The classic explanation is well known: barley is animal food, wheat is human food. We begin in a more instinctive, undeveloped state and strive toward the refined, intellectual level necessary to receive the Torah. But if that is the case, why do we continue to define the count by the Omer—yom… la’Omer? If the Omer represents what we are leaving behind, why does it remain our frame of reference?
R. Shlomo Fischer (Derashos Beis Yishai, 7) explains that we are not meant to abandon the “animal” dimension altogether. There is something within it that must be preserved. An animal’s bond is total - unconditional, instinctive, and unwavering. By contrast, human relationships can be calculated, measured, and reserved. Our relationship with Hashem began on Pesach with a leap of faith - following Him into the desert without provisions, without certainty. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered trust - described by the Navi as the chesed ne’urayich.
As we move toward Sinai, we add depth, understanding, and intellect - but we dare not lose that original, primal connection. That is why we count within the Omer. Each day builds not away from that instinct, but upon it. The goal is not to replace simple faith with sophisticated thought, but to integrate them - to arrive at Torah with both a devoted heart and a discerning mind.
(Brought down by R. Immanuel Bernstein in his Sefer on Aggadah)
5) See last year's Chomer Here.
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