Vayikra. And God called. (He actually because Hebrew is a gendered language and this is a masculine, singular past tense verb. Yes, today you may learn some Hebrew grammar) Usually, as Myrna will tell you the Torah uses a different verb here. “Vayomer Adonai el Moshe la’mor. And the Lord said to Moses saying.” or “ Vaydaber Adoani el Moses. And the Lord spoke to Moses.”  

Why then is this Vayikra? We use this verb to also mean Proclaim or Read. This morning we are going to read Torah, we are going to publicly proclaim Torah, to call it out. We use the same word for saying the Sh’ma outloud, when we recite the Sh’ma it is called It is called Kriat Sh’ma, in Hebrew. 

This verb ends in an aleph—the first letter of the Hebrew alef bet, and as we know a silent letter. In every Torah as part of the scribal art the letter is written as a little letter. I call it the little alef that could. 

This silent letter is so important. There are a number of midrashic interpretations about why it is small. Perhaps because it points to Moses’ humility. Perhaps it shows a compromise between Moses and God. Moses apparently wanted to write Vayikar, and he happened which is what occurred in the description of Balaam. But this was no chance occurrence. It denotes a meaure of affection and intimacy. Therefore God wanted an aleph, so they compromised; and it was written small. (Bereishit Rabbah 52 and Leviticus Rabbah 1) 

Rabbi Avi Weiss echos that thought when he says, The small aleph of vayikra: Infinite love between God and the Jewish people” 

But what is God calling Moses to do? God calls out of the tent of meeting, the tabernacle, the mishkan to tell Moses to tell the people to draw close to God by offering sacrifices. Leviticus is often complicated for us today. We are not so into animal sacrifices in the mishkan or in the Temples that were destroyed thousands of years ago. And yet, we may long to draw close to God. We may feel called to do so.  

We began this discussion last night. Moses is called. He has a unique job, to lead the people of Israel out of Egypt and to lead them wandering in the wilderness. It appears that he did not get to complete his task, we will learn much, much later in Deuteronomy. Pirke Avot teaches, “Ours is not to finish the task; neither are we fee to ignore it.” 

Moses is not the only person in the Torah who is called.  

וַיִּקְרָ֛א יְהֹוָ֥ה אֱלֹהִ֖ים אֶל־הָֽאָדָ֑ם וַיֹּ֥אמֶר ל֖וֹ אַיֶּֽכָּה׃  

God יהוה called out to the Human, Adam, and said to him, “Where are you?” 

And their answer, they did not draw close to God, instead, Adam and Eve run away from G-d and hide.  

Hearing the silent sound of aleph can be hard. There is another important alef. Rabbi Larry Kushner tells this story in his book, The Book of Miracles, “No one really knows for certain what happened at Mount Sinai. Some people believe that G-d dictated the entire Torah word for word. Others believe that it included the Oral Law as well. Some believe that G-d inspired Moses. In Makot 23a and b, the rabbis of the Talmud were having just such an argument—what happened at Sinai. It teaches us that G-d didn’t give the ten commandments, but only the first two sayings. One who remembers that there is a G-d who frees people and who has no other gods will be religious. Another rabbi argued that it was just the first saying. Still another said that it was just the first word of the first saying, Anochi. But Rabbi Mendl Torum of Rymanov said, “Not even the first word. All G-d said was the first letter of the first word of the first saying, the first letter of the Alef-bet, alef” Now this is somewhat problematic, since Alef is silent. Almost but not perfectly. You see alef makes a tiny, little sound that is the beginning of every sound. Open your mouth (go ahead, do it). Stop! That is alef. G-d made the voice of Alef so quiet that if you made any other noise you wouldn’t be able to hear it. At Sinai, all the people of Israel needed to hear was the sound of Alef. It meant that G-d and the Jewish people could have a conversation.” 

When I first thought I wanted to become a rabbi, I tried to talk about it in the language of call. After all, I grew up in Grand Rapids and I had friends who felt “called”. At that stage, people closest to me thought perhaps it was a mental health issue. That I was hearing voices (I was not) and the Jewish community at that stage was not comfortable with this language, having ceded it to Christianity. Often times in theology that there is a pendulum that swings and now it is more acceptable to talk about the rabbinate this way. But calling is not limited to professional clergy.

Each of us is called to do something. Each of us can hear the silent sound of aleph. Something unique just for us, some role we play. Last night I talked about how for Ken that might be his shofar playing. (He’s still thinking about that) For Gale it might be telling the stories of her parents and Ken’s who were Holocaust survivors. She agreed. 

Teachers often describe their work as a calling. Doctors, nurses, first responders. But not just those. Rabbi Jeffry Salkin in his book Being God’s Partner that I describe as What Color is Your Parachute for Jews tells this story: 

“The boss of the moving crew was a delightful, crusty gentleman, a dead ringer for Willie Nelson. I had never met anyone so enthusiastic about his or her work, and I asked him the source of that enthusiasm. 

“‘Well, you see, I’m a religious man,’ he answered, ‘and my work is part of my religious mission.’ 

“‘What do you mean?’ I asked. 

“‘Well, it’s like this. Moving is hard for most people. It’s a very vulnerable time for them. People are nervous about going to a new community, and about having strangers pack their most precious possessions. So, I think God wants me to treat my customers with love and to make them feel that I care about their things and their life. God wants me to help make their changes go smoothly. If I can be happy about it, maybe they can be, too’” (Jeffrey Salkin, Being God’s Partner). 

A Hasidic disciple once asked his master: “Rebbe, where is God to be found?” And the rebbe answered, “God is found wherever he is allowed in.” The possibility to live a meaningful and spiritual life is right there for the asking. We only have to decide to take the step and open that door in our lives. 

Frederick Buechner, of blessed memory has said that “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” 

Our calling may be our work. It may be something as Buechner suggests we are passionate about whether that is paid work, our vocation or our avocation, those things that we do as our volunteer work. Many of us in this group are retired. We might not want to be defined by our “work.” 

Work in Hebrew is a word that fascinates me. Avodah. It also means service and sacrifice. The Israelites were avadim—slaves and Moses was an eved Adonai, a servant of the Lord. Service and sacrifice helps us to draw close to God.  

Our calling could be being a Girl Scout leader, coaching a soccer team, serving on the board of a non-profit—or even a synagogue, maybe even this synagogue. It maybe donating blood. Or working to eradicate hunger or homelessness or to address environmental issues. It could be bringing the gift of music to life. Or working as an election judge. (Did you know that suburban Cook County still needs 1000 election judges for next month’s election, according to the Chicago Tribune?) For much of Simon’s family it revolves around refugee work coming out of their understanding of how the US treated Holocaust refugees here and the mission from Torah of welcoming the widow, the orphan and the stranger because we were strangers in Egypt. A perfect pre-Passover message. 

Our vision statement includes a plank about meaningful observance. That is a complicated phrase. What is meaningful to you may not be meaningful to me or to the person sitting next to you, in the room or on Zoom. Striking a balance so that most people at CKI can find meaning is part of my calling.  

Finding your unique calling helps you find meaning. 

Victor Frankl, himself a Holocaust survivor having been in four concentration camps himself, wrote Man’s Search for Meaning and discovered that those who had a sense of purpose did better in concentration camps. He concluded that “We can discover this meaning of life in three different ways: (1) by creating a work or doing a deed; (2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and (3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering.” And while he is most known for his work on logotherapy and his work on meaning. The Viktor Frankl website points out that he had a thriving career before the war. “In 1930, at the age of 25, he organized free youth counseling centers in Vienna that successfully combated the epidemic of teen suicides occurring around the time of report cards. Within a year, suicides dropped to zero.” https://viktorfranklamerica.com/viktor-frankl-bio/ That is quite some calling. A purpose. A mission.  

Our recent book group book, Defending Btitta Stein, hints at this search for meaning. Emma, Britta’s granddaughter in debating with co-counsel whether to ask for a continuance of a trial to prove that Britta’s allegations and graffiti are true and thus not defamatory about a “Nazi collaborator” says, “I know, but she doesn’t want us to continue the trial date [She’s 92 and in the hospital]. In some ways I think the trial is giving her energy. It has focus. It’s become her mission.” (page 293) 

Each of us has a niche, like the moving man. A mission like Britta. A calling, a vision, a purpose. It is what gives us meaning and helps draw us closer to God.  

Figuring out what our calling is can be hard.  It can be hard to hear that silent letter Alef. However, if we can be quiet enough, we can hear it.