Articles

Parashat Tzav introduces us to the korban todah—the thanksgiving offering. Unlike other sacrifices, the todah is not brought for sin or atonement, but in response to salvation. A person who has emerged from danger—a journey across the sea, the wilderness, illness, or imprisonment—may offer a sacrifice accompanied by loaves of bread, to be eaten in a limited time and shared with others. Gratitude, the Torah teaches, is not just a private emotion; it is something best expressed publicly, urgently, and expansively.

An echo of this idea appears in the Pesach Seder, in the song of Dayenu. There, we recount a series of divine acts—from the Exodus to Sinai to the Land of Israel—and after each one we express our gratitude by declaring: “Dayenu”—it would have been enough. Of course, it would not truly have been enough. The story is incomplete without its culmination. But Dayenu trains us to pause at each stage and recognize the gift within it. Even partial redemption deserves full gratitude.

In Israel today, there are sounds we have come to know all too well—the sharp, jarring alerts, followed by the rising and falling wail of sirens that send us rushing to safe rooms and bomb shelters. These sounds rupture the rhythm of daily life, filling the air with urgency, fear, and vulnerability. They remind us, again and again, that the danger is real, that our security is not to be taken for granted, and that we are still engaged in the struggle for continued existence in our land.

Against this backdrop, Parashat Vayikra introduces us to a radically different kind of sound—or perhaps, to the profound absence of sound.