According to Rashi, God counts the Jewish people repeatedly out of affection. Just as a person repeatedly counts precious gems, the Divine counts people to show that each individual is noticed, and no one is overlooked. To be numbered is to be seen, to matter, to belong. As we stand at the edge of the wilderness together, Bamidbar reminds us that community is not abstract. Rather it is made up of specific, irreplaceable people.

Parashat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim contains some of the strongest ethical writing in the Torah. We are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves, leave the corners of our fields for the poor, and to not stand idly by if our neighbor is injured. But, this double parsha also contains two verses that have been used, for a very long time, to tell LGBTQ Jews that they do not belong in our communities… And yet, I return to these verses each year, as do we all, because wrestling with Torah, even when it is hard, is one of the most Jewish things any of us can do.

What impacts many readers is Aaron's silence following the deaths of Nadav and Avihu. The Torah tells us simply, "Vayidom Aharon," and Aaron was silent. Aaron does not rage, does not question aloud, does not perform his grief for anyone watching. He holds it.

In a season when life can feel rushed as Spring and a myriad of activities come into full bloom, this Jewish practice offers us something quietly radical: a reason to pause, every single day, and take stock of where we are. Each count is a small act of presence. The Omer is a moment to ask ourselves, "Who am I becoming? What am I carrying with me in this season of life as we move towards the wisdom and revelation of the Torah?"

If we slow down and look a little closer, we discover that these ancient rituals are speaking directly to something we all wrestle with every single day… Ritual is how we say, again and again, "this life matters; I matter, and so do you."

In these verses, the attacker must pay “life for life”, “nefesh in place of nefesh,” only if the mother dies. There is an essential distinction between the mother and the fetus. The mother is considered a nefesh, a soul, and her death is a capital crime. The loss of a fetus, which is not considered a nefesh, carries a lesser penalty. Jewish tradition engages with this text as part of a broader conversation about harm, responsibility, and the value of life and well-being. 

Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh, I will be what I will be, pushes the boundaries of who and what God is to humankind.

In Judaism, there are many paths to understanding God’s presence in our world and our lives. We all have an ever-evolving connection to the world and to the Divine.

Both Chanukah and Parashat Vayeshev invite us to pay attention to the flickers of light and possibility in our own lives. Sometimes this is bright and obvious, shining strongly; sometimes it’s faint and difficult to see, consumed by the darkness.

Oh God,

Creator of every living thing,

who made all of humankind in Your Divine image,

I cry out to You,

asking that You hear my voice,

rising up like smoke from the altar, impossible to ignore.

Ruakh HaHayim, Maker of beginnings and endings,

You remember how fragile life is,

and recognize what can no longer be held…