A Message From Rabbi Weitzman: Shabbat Message 5.01.26

Shabbat Shalom,

This week's Torah portion, Emor, invites us into a layered understanding of holiness, one that speaks not only to ancient priests and sacred rituals, but to the rhythms and responsibilities of our own lives.

At first glance, Emor can feel distant. It speaks of the holiness of the priests, of restrictions and expectations placed upon them because of their proximity to sacred space. It details which offerings are considered whole enough to be brought forward. These chapters raise an uncomfortable but important question: what does it mean to be "fit" for holiness?

But then the Torah shifts. In Chapter 23, holiness is no longer limited to a select group of people. It is democratized through time. Shabbat. Festivals. Sacred seasons. Holiness is placed not in the hands of a few, but into the calendar that shapes all of us. We are all given access. We are all invited in.

And then, at the end of the portion, a story interrupts the rhythm.

A man, the son of Shulamit, utters a blasphemy in the midst of conflict. It is one of the only narratives in Leviticus, and it lands with force. Words, once spoken, cannot be taken back. The community responds harshly. The result is not only punishment, but rupture.

This story hits close to home. We are living in a time when our society continues to ratchet up its rhetoric. Anyone who holds a different point of view is too often shouted down or mocked. And beyond the challenges of our national politics, this is happening within our own Jewish community, especially around conversations about Israel and Palestine.

Too often, we find ourselves divided into camps. Those on the right can dismiss or attack those with more progressive views. Those on the far left can refuse to engage with those who see the world differently. And in the process, our language can become demeaning. Our disagreements can become curses.

Young Jews, in particular, are sometimes made to feel that there is no place for their questions, no room for their moral wrestling, no seat for them within the tent if they do not align with a single perspective.

But if Emor teaches us anything, it is that holiness is fragile.

It can be built, in how we mark time, in how we gather, in how we elevate one another. And it can be broken, in how we speak, in how we exclude, in how we respond to difference.

What if we read the story of the blasphemer not only as a warning about words, but as a mirror? A reflection of what happens when a community cannot hold complexity, when there is no space for someone who sees the world differently because of their experience.

It is time for us to open our tents wider. To engage, not silence. To listen, not label. To seek common ground, even when agreement feels far away. We need to hear from one another, not push each other out. We need more blessings and fewer curses.

Holiness is not only found in sacred people or sacred times. It is found in the way we treat each other, especially when it is hardest. 

May this Shabbat be a reminder that holiness is within reach. In our words. In our choices. In our willingness to stay in relationship, even across differences.

Wishing you a Shabbat of peace, rest, and deep connection.