Tikkun Olam Begins with Emor

Tikkun Olam Begins with Emor

The weekly Torah portion Emor opens with a single word: “Say.” In the language of Torah, no word is accidental. This verb is not merely an instruction to speak — it is a spiritual imperative. To say means to declare, to speak with courage, to refuse silence in the face of sacred truth. Knowing what is right is not enough. One must voice it, carry it forward, make it resonate. Silence invites distortion. But speech, when guided by faith and responsibility, becomes an act of creation in the spiritual realm.

Emor lays out laws regarding the holiness of the priests, the appointed festivals, and the sacrificial order, but woven through these details is a profound spiritual principle: “The reward for a mitzvah is another mitzvah; the reward for a sin is another sin.” At first glance, this phrase appears symmetrical, but its essence is paradoxical. When a person fulfills a mitzvah, it draws them closer to the Divine. The soul is filled with light, and that light calls out toward the next sacred act. This movement — upward, inward, toward meaning — is itself the reward. The connection with the Source becomes stronger, more rooted, more alive.

On the other hand, sin creates spiritual distance. It dulls inner sensitivity, weakens the voice of conscience, and clouds the ability to perceive truth. One misdeed leads to another. This is not external punishment, but internal consequence: the further one strays, the harder it becomes to return. In this sense, the “reward” for sin is not a blessing, but an ongoing descent. This is the spiritual inertia that Kabbalah reveals — a self-reinforcing trajectory that, left uncorrected, pulls the soul into deeper detachment.

And yet, even within descent, hope remains. This is the message behind the mitzvah of Pesach Sheni — the Second Passover — which falls on the 14th of Iyar and is read during the same days as Emor. In the Book of Numbers, we read how a group of Israelites, unable to bring the Passover offering on time due to impurity or distance, approached Moses with a plea: “Why should we be left out of this mitzvah?” This was not a complaint, but a yearning. They did not wish to be cut off. Moses turned to God, and the Divine response was clear: grant them a second chance. Thus, a new commandment was born — one that arose not from heaven, but from below, from the longing of the human soul to restore connection.

This event teaches one of the most powerful lessons in the Torah: a mitzvah can emerge from the human heart. Even if the opportunity was missed, even if it was one’s own fault — a sincere desire to return can bring about a new opening. Never say “never.” This is the path of the Jewish soul — to resist distance, to reject separation, and to seek repair. That is our strength, and that is our mission.

But this process requires more than intention. It requires voice. It requires speech. One must be willing to say — to say to God, to oneself, and to the world: I want to be part of this. I want to be near. I do not wish to be left outside. This is why the portion is called Emor — “Say.” Say it, and it will be heard.

Say also something else. Say that the Torah is ours. Not with arrogance, but with responsibility. The Torah is not just a book we read. It is a covenant we carry. What the world now calls “the Bible” is, in fact, the Torah that was revealed to them through us. The translation by the seventy sages was the first bridge that carried Torah beyond the people of Israel, but that translation was made by Jewish hands, hearts, and minds. We did not merely preserve Torah — we shared it. We gave the world the Ten Commandments. We gave the world the prophets. We gave humanity a moral compass born of revelation.

All the prophets — they are ours. The language of prophecy — ours. King David, from whom the Messiah will come — he, too, is ours. We are the chosen people. Not because we are better, but because we accepted the covenant. We are not students of someone else’s message. We are the source. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Why should anyone feel entitled to rewrite what was given directly to us? Why does anyone claim our Torah, our land, our prophetic heritage as if it were theirs? We are obligated to speak clearly and truthfully: the Land of Israel is a gift from God to the people of Israel. This is not a political argument. It is a matter of truth. It is a covenant, established in Torah, confirmed by the prophets, and sanctified through history.

This truth cannot be erased. It cannot be redacted from the hearts of our people or replaced in the pages of law. It lives as long as the Jewish people live. And so we say: yes, we are the people of the covenant. But with that covenant comes responsibility — to bring that light into the world, to be the hands of divine intention, to repair what can be healed. This is what we call Tikkun Olam — the repair of the world. It is not an abstraction. It is a call to action: to protect the vulnerable, to build a just society, to mend the broken, to elevate the fallen, to light the path. This is what it means for the Jewish soul to live in practice — to bind heaven and earth, Torah and life, the divine and the human.

And when we fulfill our part, we bring closer the day our ancestors dreamed of — the day when the world will be filled with the knowledge of God as the waters cover the sea. The day when truth will shine without resistance. The day of redemption, justice, and peace. And may we merit to see the coming of the Messiah in our time.

Amen. Ken yehi ratzon. May it be Your will, God.