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| "Let's Get Messy," Preston M. Smith |
Rabbi Menachem Creditor
Vayikra. A new book of Torah begins. A shift from the grand narrative of Shemot, of Exodus, to the detailed, ritual-heavy world of Leviticus. And here we are, at the beginning of Nissan. Pesach is coming. We may not feel ready, but let’s prepare anyway.
Today is also Trans Day of Visibility. And in a world that too often makes it unsafe for our trans siblings to be seen, we will counter that with extra presence, extra light. To our trans friends: we see you. You are created in the image of God. Torah and tradition are yours, just as they belong to every images of the Divine. But today, especially today, we say it out loud.
Which brings us back to Vayikra.
This book is different. Shemot told a story—a painful, powerful story—of degradation, enslavement, and liberation. It was a journey with a clear direction, even through its struggles. But now we enter a different kind of sacred space. The Mishkan has been built. God’s presence is clearer within the community. And suddenly, we are plunged into the intricate world of priestly service, sacrifices, and ritual law.
Many struggle with Vayikra. The blood, the offerings, the precision—it can feel distant, irrelevant. But if we look deeper, we see that Vayikra is about the messiness of life itself. Life is messy. Life is bloody. And the work of holiness is to make meaning within that mess, to find a way to bring order, dignity, and sanctity to a world that often lacks all three.
Today, on Trans Day of Visibility, we must confront the forced invisibilities of our world. Torah calls us to see the unseen. To extend dignity where it has been denied. To refuse the easy comfort of looking away. Vayikra is often read as a book for the priests alone, but that is not true. The priests were entrusted with sacred responsibility, but the laws, the lessons, the call to holiness—those belong to all of us.
The priests worked behind closed doors, ensuring that offerings were made correctly, that blood was handled properly, that the sacred space remained intact. But here’s the truth: holiness was never meant to be contained. It was always meant to flow outward, into the world. And so it must be with us.
To be rendered invisible is to be robbed of life itself. And we, as Jews, know this too well. For 542 days, we have witnessed brutal attempts to erase our pain. We have seen hostages taken, their stories diminished, their humanity denied. We will not allow that to happen. We will not let them be forgotten. And we will not let anyone—trans, Jewish, oppressed, unseen—be erased.
We are here. All of us. And our task is to make sure everyone has the chance to say exactly that.
May we be blessed with the strength to do the messy, sacred work of seeing each other, of honoring each other, of fighting for each other.
