Near the end of the Sedra (Vayikra 24:5-9), we are commanded to bake the lechem hapanim (showbread) and set it up on the shulchan (table) in the Bet HaMikdash. Reish Lakish says in Menachot 29a that on Pesach, Shavuot and Succot they would pick up the shulchan and proclaim: ”Re’u chibaschem lifnei HaMakom” (“See how beloved you are before Hashem”).

The Gemara explains that they were pointing out the miracle of the lechem hapanim that stayed fresh and hot the entire nine days from when it was baked until it was eaten.

Pirkei Avot (5:8) enumerates the ten miracles that occurred in the Bet HaMikdash. Why does the showbread show Hashem’s love more than any other miracles that occurred? Rav Elyashiv (born 1910) explains that Hashem wants us to learn and love the Torah each day.
When people receive a message from a king, they run excitedly to hear it and abide by it; but after that, it becomes stale and uninteresting. Not so the Torah – our ‘message’ from the King! Each day we should treat it as if it is the first time we are hearing it – “asher Anochi metzavechah hayom” (“as if I [Hashem] commanded you today”).

Pesach, Shavuot and Succot are occasions when we come to the Bet HaMikdash to reinvigorate our love and closeness to Hashem. This is the message of the lechem hapanim. When we bake an offering for Hashem, though nine full days have gone by – enough for it to get hard and stale – nevertheless to Hashem it stays fresh and warm. So too in our Torah learning and service of Hashem
we must reciprocate His love for us with a constantly refreshed attitude towards Him and His Torah.

“You shall observe My decrees and My laws, which man shall carry out and by which you shall live – I am Hashem” (Vayikra 18:5).
The quintessence of Judaism is encompassed in this short verse. The two key words (“vochai bahem” – “by which you shall live”) are the very core of what it means to be a Jew, giving rise to the Torah’s status as the “Book of Life”.

The Sages derive from this expression that the risk to life (pikuach nefesh) overrides any of Hashem’s decrees or laws. Rav Salanter (1810-1883) and Rav Kook (1865-1935) both forbade fasting on Yom Kippur because of the rampant plague of cholera, which affected to a greater severity bodies that were already weakened by hunger.

However, this verse prefaces the chapter dealing with moral purity and therefore the exceptions defined are the three cardinal sins (idolatry, forbidden relationships and murder). Only in these three cases must we allow ourselves to die rather than perpetrate the sin, for what is life worth if we succumb?

This verse therefore teaches us the art of living wisely and happily, crowned with the blessings of robust health and peace of mind. It is clear that Hashem wants us to live by his commandments and we should not perform them apathetically, but rather find within them our primary source of joy, enthusiasm and life.

After giving birth, a woman is obliged to bring two offerings, one of which is a sin-offering. Why a sin-offering? A woman has no command to procreate (the Torah does not command a woman to do something which might endanger her life, as childbirth can). Logically, one would say that there is no sin requiring atonement but rather a mitzvah beyond the call of duty.

Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai said that in the extreme pain of childbirth a woman might swear not to continue living with her husband so as not to have to suffer this pain again; hence she needs to atone for a false oath. Rabbi Avigdor Nevenzal Shlita asks why then she must bring a sin-offering each time she gives birth; even if on the first occasion she did not realise how much pain there would be. He answers: A woman may swear each time after giving birth “never again” yet continue to live with her husband and produce more children, not because she deludes herself that the next time will not be as painful but rather because time is the great healer. At the birth she cannot think beyond the pain; after it has eased and she has the joy of bringing up the baby, she feels differently.

Rabbi Nevenzal sees a positive side to her exclusive initial focus on the pain alone, which we can all apply to our outlook and observance. To relate properly to the celebration of past events on festivals, we need to concentrate our focus so that we feel that we are experiencing them now so as to render them live, rather than historical, occurrences. So on Pesach, as we say in the Haggadah, each person is commanded to look at himself as if he has just experienced the exodus. Similarly Rashi comments that we should look at the mitzvot which we perform daily as being new, as though on that very day we were commanded to keep them.

Only with that approach, i.e. emotional and intellectual, can we relate to the commemoration of past events the way we ought to.

Mystery surrounds the deaths of Dathan and Abiram, and they raise many questions. “And the sons of Aaron, Dathan and Abiram, took …”. (Vayikra 10:1) Why the mention of Aaron before his sons? Does this somehow implicate Aaron, some fault on his part? Could it be linked with his response, Vayidom Aharon (“And Aaron was silent”?). What was the “strange fire” that they put in the censers?
The placement of the neginah (musical accent) known as mercha kefulah (double mercha) under the word asher (one of only five instances in the Torah) seems to highlight the strangeness. And what was their actual sin?

The answers to these questions are many and varied. There about 12 answers offered by the Sages, from Talmudic times onwards, for the offence. It has been suggested that a theme runs through the answers: Aaron’s sons were acting “with misguided, enthusiastic burning zealotry and their punishment fits the crime.” (Drazin and Wagner in Onkelos on the Torah)

Two days ago, we commemorated Yom Hashoah Ve’hagevurah, to give its full name (gevurah means “heroism”). “Strange fires” also featured in the camps but, unlike Dathan and Abiram, bodies were burned completely. For a long time people were silent, traumatised, and did not wish to relate their experiences or what happened to others. Vayidom Aharon – was Aaron likewise traumatised? We, however, can no longer be silent, but must speak up and speak out or, as the Sedra of Ha’azinu has it (Devarim 32:7),” Remember the days of old …” The verbs in this verse are in the imperative and demand that we remember, consider and ask, so that the father and the elders will tell what had happened. The ‘why’ of the Shoah with its various suggested answers parallels the ‘why’ of Dathan and
Abiram and its several answers.

The 18th-century English poet, William Shenstone, said that ‘a liar begins with making falsehood appear like truth, and ends with making truth itself appear like falsehood.’ What are we doing getting rid of our chametz (leaven produce) at Pesach? Why are bread,
pasta and cake wholly permissible throughout the year, yet on Pesach, not only are these foods prohibited, but the chametz-eater also incurs the punishment of karet (spiritual excision) as a result of his heinous crime? Moreover, why is it that unlike other gastronomic
prohibitions, which are only transgressed when one eats a fixed minimum quantity (such as on Yom Kippur), one is liable for eating any minuscule amount of chametz?

We know that our Sages explain that chametz represents the evil inclination and specifically the traits of laziness and arrogance. This is because leaven produce requires idle time to rise and becomes distinctly ‘puffy’ upon rising. However, there is perhaps a deeper message ensconced in the etymology of the two words the Torah uses for that which is outlawed on Pesach – chametz, meaning leaven produce, and se’or, which translates as leaven itself. The bizarre thing about these words is that when read backwards in Hebrew,
they mean the opposing concept of what they mean forwards. When reversed, chametz is tzemach, meaning a new sprouting of spiritual growth, and se’or becomes rosh, ‘uppermost point’ or ‘head’ (since all growth heads upwards).

This could well be the reason for our complete denial of chametz on Pesach. We avoid that which most epitomises falsehood as we embrace G-d and emancipation from the bonds of our own personal Egypt. Chametz and se’or are the archetypal representations of untruth since the words contain the positive ideal, yet subvert them with sickening precision. They portray falsehood as forwards and truth as backwards, expertly fulfilling Shenstone’s telling aphorism.

For all of us, today is the beginning of something new: a new month (Nissan), a new year (we count the months from Nissan), a new book of the Torah (Sefer Vayikra). Even in the non-Jewish world, this last week marked the beginning of spring: a season of rebirth and hope. Indeed it is from Rosh Chodesh Nissan (but not on Shabbat) that we can make the special bracha when we see a fruit tree in blossom for the first time in the year (‘Blessed … for nothing is lacking in His universe, and He has created in it good creatures and good trees with which to give delight to the children of Adam’).

The sedra of Vayikra describes the different sacrifices in the Temple. Interestingly, the chatat (sin-offering) is only to be brought for a sin committed by accident or unknowingly. One might wonder why it is necessary to bring an offering after an accidental sin. But just as someone can still be hurt if I accidentally hit him as I casually throw my table-tennis bat in the air when I have won a game, so our relationship with Hashem may be hurt by an accidental sin. Vayikra tells us that there is a way to make up for our mistakes, to make a fresh start.

Rosh Chodesh too gives the message that light is born from darkness.

Finally, the maftir for Parshat HaChodesh (Shemot 12:1-20) announces that now is the season of our freedom. For my older brother, Sam, these days also herald the beginning of his life as an adult Jew. May all these fresh starts be full of blessing for Sam, for my family, for Hendon United Synagogue, for all Israel, and for the whole of mankind. And, in the words of the bracha, may Hashem’s creations ‘give delight’ to us all.