Parashat Tzav/Passover
March 26, 2026
Rabbi Lindsay Goldman, Middle School Rabbi-in-Residence
This week, I had the privilege of joining our sixth graders for a day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in connection with their social studies learning. Before our visit, we shared a pizza lunch with the sixth graders at Ramaz, who opened their doors to us and generously welcomed us with open arms.
In this week’s parashah, Tzav, we continue the instruction manual for the Mishkan. Amidst the technicalities of the Shelamim, peace offerings, the Torah repeats a chilling warning:
וְהַנֶּפֶשׁ אֲשֶׁר־תֹּאכַל בָּשָׂר מִזֶּבַח הַשְּׁלָמִים אֲשֶׁר לַיהֹוָה וְטֻמְאָתוֹ עָלָיו וְנִכְרְתָה הַנֶּפֶשׁ הַהִוא מֵעַמֶּיהָ׃
“But the person who, in a state of impurity, eats flesh from God’s sacrifices of well-being—that person shall be cut off from kin.” (Vayikra 7:20)
The punishment mentioned here is Karet, being cut off. While some interpret this as a shorter lifespan, the Ramban (Nachmanides) suggests something much more psychological and spiritual. He explains that Karet is the soul being severed from its source.
In our tradition, death is certainly a potential punishment, but we know that there is something worse, isolation from everyone and everything you know. The Torah is suggesting that the ultimate penalty isn’t just physical but a loss of belonging. It’s being “removed from the collective life and memory of the Jewish people.”
In her book People Love Dead Jews, Dara Horn explores how the world often prefers to celebrate Jewish history rather than support Jewish living. She also touches on a profound truth: Jewish life only functions when it is communal and active. Horn argues that our power lies in our insistence on life together, even when it’s messy. Being “cut off” means losing the right to be part of that messy, beautiful, living story.
As we prepare for Passover, we see the antidote to Karet. The Seder is the one night when we are commanded not to be cut off. We say, “All who are hungry, come and eat.” Passover teaches us that the worst thing we can be is alone. The plague of Darkness in Egypt was described by the Midrash as a darkness so thick that people couldn’t move or see their neighbors, unable to connect.
I was impressed to see our Leffell School students including the Ramaz students in their games and offering them a seat at their lunch table. I was heartened when I took pictures of students and they asked other students to join in and wrapped their arms around each other. This Peach, our job is to make sure no one feels cut off. May we all reconnect to loved ones this chag, and push back against the loneliness by pulling our chairs a little closer together.
Shabbat shalom and chag sameach.