Parashat Vayikra
March 18, 2026
Rabbi Abby Sosland, Morah Ruchanit (Spiritual Advisor) and Talmud Department Chair
A teacher’s dreaded question: “Why do I have to learn this?” The question implies that our topic is irrelevant, outdated, or just plain boring. As we open this week’s Parshat Vayikra and we begin a book about sacrifices and purity that can seem strange to modern readers, we may ask ourselves that same question.
We are not alone in wondering about relevance. Even the greatest of the Babylonian rabbis seemed to get a little bored studying all the rules of the sacrifices. The 4th-century sage Rava was learning these laws long after the Temple had been destroyed, and he found the idea of arguing over arcane halachah frustrating, so much so that he interrupted the learning in the study hall one day: “Are we learning halachah for Messianic times?” In other words, why are we wasting breath on a reality that doesn’t exist?
His colleague and debating partner, Abaye, pushed back with a different philosophy: “Study and receive a reward!” (Drosh v’kabel s’char). This is the very principle we try to instill in our students—that even when the text is tough or the relevance isn’t immediate, there is an inherent reward in the journey of deep engagement.
A similar message can be found in the sacrificial system itself. One opinion in the Talmud suggests that the hardest of all the jobs in the Temple—one of the few described as a truly difficult labor—was one that might have seemed the simplest: taking a kometz, “a handful of choice flour and oil, as well as frankincense.” (Vayikra 2:2).
How could taking a handful be difficult? The difficulty lay in the precision. To perform the kemitzah, the Kohen had to use his middle three fingers to scoop the flour, while using his thumb and little finger to level the edges, ensuring not a single grain overflowed or fell away.
Consider the context: The wealthiest citizens brought bulls and rams, but the poorest of Israel brought a simple measure of flour. They would stand there and watch as the Kohen—a high-ranking official—performed such a complicated hand motion to handle their modest offering. Because the gift itself was economically “small,” the Kohen’s effort added the value. He didn’t use a measuring cup; he used his own hand. The difficulty of the technique was the point—it signaled to the donor that their small gift was worthy of his absolute, 100% presence.
The Kohen’s meticulous actions parallel Abaye’s reminder to Rava. It’s not about the bounty or the takeaway. “Study and receive a reward” is a message about the transformation that happens when we pay attention to things that seem insignificant.
In the end, Rava was right, but perhaps not in the way he intended. We are studying for Messianic times, but because we build a better world every time we refuse to find something “irrelevant.” When we give our full attention to a struggling student, a “boring” text, or a “small” task, we are working toward a world where nothing and no one is overlooked. The “reward” isn’t just in the knowledge gained; it’s in the realization that everything is worth noticing.