THE LEVIIM AND THEIR FUNCTIONS

God informs Moshe about the roles and duties of the families of Gershon and Merari, from the tribe of Levi. The family of Gershon was responsible for transporting the curtains and fabric coverings of the Tabernacle when it was dismantled for relocation. The family of Merari was in charge of the structure of the Sanctuary—that is, the wooden beams and pillars. The number of members from the family of Kehat, aged 30 to 50 and eligible for service, was 2,750. The family of Gershon had 2,630 individuals in that age group, and Merari had 3,200. Thus, the total number of eligible Levites assigned to dismantling, transporting, and rebuilding the Tabernacle was 8,580.

PURITY AND IMPURITY

God instructs the Jewish people regarding the laws of ritual purity and impurity, explaining that ritually impure individuals must temporarily leave the camp of Israel until they are purified.

RESTITUTION AND REPENTANCE

The Parasha also discusses the matter of restitution in the case of theft, and the required Temple offering for someone who steals from another person and then swears falsely to maintain their innocence. It also clarifies the laws of restitution when the victim of the theft is no longer alive. Another very important topic in our Parasha is the verbal confession—spoken to oneself—of sins committed, as part of the process of Teshuvah, or repentance.

OTHER SPECIAL CASES

The Parasha also describes the case of the Sotah, a ritual ceremony in the event of suspected adultery by a wife. It also mentions the laws of the Nazir, an individual who takes upon himself additional restrictions beyond those prohibited by the Torah—for example, refraining from drinking wine. In this Parasha we also find the Priestly Blessings (Birkat Kohanim), which continue to be recited to this day.

THE INAUGURATION OF THE TABERNACLE

The longest section of this Parasha—which, by the way, is the longest in the entire Torah—describes the inauguration of the Tabernacle and the voluntary offerings brought by the leaders of each tribe at that time. For example, wagons and oxen to transport the Tabernacle from place to place. God instructs Moshe to accept these offerings, which the Torah describes individually. The final verse of the Parasha mentions how God would communicate with Moshe, His voice emanating from between the two Cherubim that rested upon the Holy Ark.

1st Aliyah
The procedure for the Cohen Gadol on Yom Kippur is established: special garments, personal and communal qorbanot (sacrifices and offerings), and the ceremony of the two scapegoats—one for sacrifice and the other sent into the wilderness. The purification of the sanctuary, the altar, and the atonement for the people are described. The people are commanded to fast and refrain from work.

2nd Aliyah
It is forbidden to offer sacrifices outside the Mishkan. All offerings must be brought to the Ohel Moed. The consumption of blood is prohibited. There are laws forbidding the consumption of meat from animals that were hunted or died naturally (nevelah).

3rd Aliyah
A list of forbidden relationships between family members and other illicit sexual behaviors is given. The people are commanded not to follow the practices of Egypt or Canaan. These behaviors are said to defile the land and were the reason for the expulsion of its previous inhabitants.

4th Aliyah
Parashat Qedoshim begins. HaShem commands the people to be holy. Mitsvot are listed, including respecting parents, observing Shabbat, refraining from idolatry, and laws regarding voluntary sacrifices. The people are instructed to leave part of the harvest for the poor.

5th Aliyah
Stealing, deceiving, false oaths, and oppressing others are prohibited. Employers must pay wages on time. It is forbidden to curse the deaf, place a stumbling block before the blind or ignorant. Justice must be upheld, gossip and revenge avoided. One must love their neighbor as themselves.

6th Aliyah
It is forbidden to mix species in animals, fields, and garments. Laws are given regarding illicit relationships and newly planted fruit trees. Sorcery and the pursuit of hidden powers are prohibited. Cutting the edges of the beard, tattooing, and mourning like pagans are also forbidden.

7th Aliyah
The elderly must be respected, and the foreigner and convert must be loved. Honest and upright conduct in commerce is commanded. HaShem, who brought the Jewish people out of Egypt, now commands them to remove all idolatrous practices from their minds and to fulfill all His laws and decrees.

In the Tora, there are two commandments that regulate parent-child relationships. The first one is “kabbed et abikha ve-et imekha,” which translates to “Honor your father and your mother.” This is the fifth of the Ten Commandments.

A second Mitsva is found in Parashat Qedoshim (Vayiqra) 19:3, one of the two sections of the Tora that we are about to read this Shabbat which states “ish immo veabiv tira’u,” meaning “A person must respect his mother and father.” These two mitzvot are different and, in fact, complement each other, as we will now see .

RESPECTING PARENTS

The language that the Tora uses is “tira’u,” which literally means “to fear.” However, this commandment is not about being afraid or scared of our parents but respecting them.

What is the difference between fear and respect?

“Fear” is associated with a feeling beyond our control that usually paralyzes us. “Respect,” on the other hand, is a proactive attitude: considering the authority of our parents in our behavior.

Respecting parents usually pertains to what we should NOT do.

Some examples:

I cannot call my parents by their names: out of respect, I should address them “mom”, or “dad” .

I cannot disobey or disrespect my parents.

A son or daughter should not sit in the designated place for their father or mother. For example, at the head of the table, in a special chair, or in the father’s seat in the synagogue, etc.

Respect for parents is a way to establish clear lines: “I am the father or the mother, and you are my son or my daughter: I love you, but we are not the same.” This distance is absolutely necessary, not for the parents’ ego but for the children,’s emotional well-being. Why? Because these principles set limits and define authority, without which a child cannot be well-educated. In a practical sense, the Mitzva of “respecting” our parents applies when we are children or adolescents and we depend on our parents. A Jewish child is educated to act with discipline and accept the authority of their parents, something that will eventually train him or her to respect the authority of God. In other words, only when you are trained to respect your parents, you are prepared to respect God.

HONOR

The Mitsva of “Honoring” our parents is a little different. It is not about what we are NOT allowed to do to our parents, but what we should do for them. Essentially, honoring our parents means caring for and looking after them. This is the meaning of the Fifth Commandment.

Our sages explained that honoring parents includes, for example, helping our parents, visiting them, accompanying them, taking them out and bringing them in, and if necessary, feeding and dressing them. This Mitsva emphasizes the duty of gratitude and recognition to those who fed us, clothed us, and cared for us when we were children.

Respect for parents mainly applies when children depend on their parents while honoring parents primarily applies when parents are older and depend on their children.

Israel’s Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terrorism — the numbers speak with heartbreaking clarity.

According to the Ministry of Defense, 25,644 soldiers have fallen in Israel’s wars and military operations since 1860. In the past year alone, 170 more names were added to that list, along with 54 disabled veterans who passed away as a result of their injuries and were posthumously recognized as fallen soldiers.

The circle of military bereavement today encompasses 59,583 family members: 8,420 bereaved parents, 4,872 widows, 14,430 orphans, 31,814 bereaved brothers and sisters, 12 bereaved fiancées, and 35 guardians.

As for civilian victims, the National Insurance Institute records 5,313 civilian victims since the founding of the Jewish settlement in 1851, including 4,587 since the establishment of the State—among them, 810 children and young people. Since the massacre of October 7 and the outbreak of the war known as “Swords of Iron,” 1,017 civilians have been killed.

On this Yom HaZikaron, we remember them all — soldiers and civilians, young and old, those who fell decades ago and those who fell last week.

יהי זכרם ברוך.

May their memory be a blessing.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

The English mandate in “Palestine,” which officially began in 1922, ended in 1948. The British announced that they were withdrawing from the territory on May 15, 1948. The Jewish leaders decided to declare the creation of an independent Jewish State, Medinat Israel, immediately after the British withdrew. However, May 14, 1948, was a Friday, and the British army was preparing to abandon their posts that Friday at 12 o’clock at night on May 15th. David Ben-Gurion and the other Jewish leaders, including many Rabbis, decided that to avoid the Shabbat’s profanation, the Declaration of Independence would be announced and signed on Friday at noon before the British left the country. And so it was! That day was the 5th of Iyar of 1948, 5708 of the Hebrew calendar.

THE ARAB INVASION

The Arabs, for their part, were also preparing for the departure of the English. They declared war and invaded Israel, with the purpose of  “killing the Jews and throwing them into the sea”. During that War of Independence, the incipient Jewish state was more vulnerable than ever. Four thousand soldiers and 2,373 civilians, more than 1% of the total Jewish population (600,000) were killed in that war. Some of the fiercest fighting took place in Gush Etzion, particularly in Kibbutz Kefar Etzion. The origins of this religious Kibbutz date back to 1927 when 160 Jews from Mea Shearim, Jerusalem, established an agricultural colony there. In 1948 the inhabitants of this Kibbutz, together with some Haganah soldiers, tried to prevent the advance of the Egyptian troops who were trying to reach Jerusalem. They knew this was a suicide mission, as they only had a few revolvers and very few bullets and were facing an army with tanks and artillery. But they had to do everything possible to stop or at least delay the Egyptian attack. On Thursday, May 14, 1948, Iyar 4, 5708, after a heroic two-day battle, the defenders of Kefar Etzion surrendered. Abraham Fischgrund, one of the fighters, presented the Egyptian commander a white flag of capitulation, but the enemies killed him on the spot. The Arabs entered the Kibbutz and killed everyone in cold blood, including 20 women who had taken refuge in a cellar. A total of 157 people were killed that day. Only three Jews survived. A day later, as we said, the independence of the State of Israel was declared.

MEMORIAL DAY

In 1951, when the 5th of Iyar was already celebrated as Yom HaAtzmaut, the Israeli government decided that the previous day would be commemorated as Yom HaZikaron, the day of remembrance for the soldiers and civilians who gave their lives fighting and protecting Israel. This date was chosen in honor of the fallen heroes of Kefar Etzion since that battle was emblematic of our people’s sacrifice to obtain their independence.

The numbers speak with heartbreaking clarity.

According to Israel’s Ministry of Defense, 25,644 soldiers have fallen in the country’s wars and military operations since 1860. In the past year alone, 170 more names were added to that list, along with 54 wounded and disabled soldiers  who passed away as a result of their injuries and were posthumously recognized as fallen soldiers.

As Rabbi Eliezer Melamed says, “These soldiers, most of them very young, sacrificed everything so that we can have our land, where we can fulfill our greatest dream: to return to our land to serve HaShem and observe His Tora… we must be inspired by their sacrifice and devotion to dedicate our lives to sanctifying HaShem’s name” (leqaddesh shem Shamayim).”

יהי זכרם ברוך.
May their memory be a blessing.

אל מָלֵא רַחֲמִים שׁוֹכֵן בַּמְּרוֹמִים, הַמְצֵא מְנוּחָה נְכוֹנָה עַל כַּנְפֵי הַשְּׁכִינָה, בְּמַעֲלוֹת קְדוֹשִׁים, טְהוֹרִים וְגִבּוֹרִים, כְּזֹהַר הָרָקִיעַ מַזְהִירִים. לְנִשְׁמוֹת חַיָּלֵי צְבָא הֲגַנָּה לְיִשְׂרָאֵל שֶׁנָּפְלוּ בְּמִלְחֲמוֹת יִשְׂרָאֵל בִּפְעֻלּוֹת הֲגַנָּה, תַּגְמוּל וּבִטָּחוֹן, וּבְעֵת מִלּוּי תַּפְקִידָם, וּלְנִשְׁמוֹת כָּל לוֹחֲמֵי הַמַּחְתָּרוֹת וַחֲטִיבוֹת הַלּוֹחַמִים בְּמַעַרְכוֹת הָעָם שֶׁחֵרְפוּ נַפְשָׁם לָמוּת עַל קְדֻשֵּׁת הַשֵּׁם וּבְעֶזְרַת אֱלֹקי מַעַרְכוֹת יִשְׂרָאֵל הֵבִיאוּ לִתְקוּמַת הָאֻמָּה וְהַמְדִינָה וְלִגְאֻלַּת הָאָרֶץ וְעִיר הָאֱלֹקים. בַּעֲבוּר שֶׁאָנוּ מִתְפַּלְלִים לְעִלּוּי נִשְׁמָתָם, לָכֵן בַּעַל הָרַחֲמִים יַסְתִּירֵם בְּסֵתֶר כְּנָפָיו לְעוֹלָמִים וְיִצְרוֹר בִּצְרוֹר הַחַיִּים אֶת נִשְׁמוֹתָם, הַצְּדָקָה תְּצַלֵּחַ תַּחַת לְרַגְלֵיהֶם וּתְשַׁמְּעֵנוּ קוֹל מִמְּקוֹם זָכוּתָם וְיֹאמַר לָהֶם אָמֵן וְיֵהִי רָצוֹן.

“His tongue is like a lethal arrow… with his mouth, he speaks cordially… but in his heart, he lays a deadly trap.” Yirmiyahu 9:7

Lashon Hara kills.

Not metaphorically. Not approximately. The Sages were direct and unambiguous: negative speech about another person is compared to murder. Just as taking a life destroys a person physically, Lashon Hara destroys them socially, professionally, and emotionally. It kills their reputation, their relationships, their livelihood — sometimes all three at once. The Talmud calls it “character assassination” — and treats it with a severity that, at first glance, can seem exaggerated. After all, what is the harm in a few words?

That is exactly the question the prophet Yirmiyahu answers.

Why an arrow — and not a sword or a knife?

A sword requires the attacker to be physically close — face to face with the victim. The person being attacked can see it coming. They can plead for mercy. The attacker can have a change of heart and return the sword to its sheath. There is still a moment of human contact, a possibility of stopping.

An arrow is different. It is launched from a distance, from concealment, without the shooter ever having to confront the person they are harming. The victim never sees it coming. They may not even know who fired it. Lashon Hara works exactly this way. The person being spoken about is not in the room. They cannot defend themselves. The damage reaches them from a direction they never anticipated, from a source they may never identify.

Once released, the arrow cannot be recalled.

With a sword, the attacker can still stop. With an arrow, the moment it leaves the bow, it is beyond anyone’s control. No regret, no apology, no change of heart can bring it back. The damage is already in motion.

Our words are the same. The moment we say something negative about another person, we lose all control over it. We do not know who will repeat it, how it will be distorted, how far it will travel, or what it will eventually destroy. A comment made at a Shabbat table can reach a person’s workplace, their children’s school, their closest relationships — sometimes within hours. The moment of release is the point of no return.

But the arrow in Yirmiyahu’s image is not just any arrow. It is lethal. Like a poisoned arrow. 

This is the detail the Sages found most chilling. An ordinary wound may heal with time. A poisoned arrow is different — it does not just wound, it kills. And it does so slowly, invisibly, continuing to spread damage long after the initial strike. The victim may not feel the full effect immediately. But the poison works.

This is precisely how Lashon Hara operates. A reputation does not collapse the moment the words are spoken. A marriage, a career, a friendship — these unravel gradually, through conversations we never hear, through impressions we never see form, until the full weight of it lands on the victim. Often irreversibly.

And here is the cruelest dimension of the metaphor. Yirmiyahu says the wicked person speaks cordially — with a warm tone, a friendly smile — while in his heart he lays a trap. This is the signature of Lashon Hara: it comes dressed as concern, as honesty, as friendship. “I’m only telling you this — don’t repeat it.” “I’m not saying anything bad, just the facts.” Pleasant on the outside. Poisoned on impact.

The Tora holds us to an extraordinary standard when it comes to speech — not because words are trivial, but because they are not. Speaking requires no physical effort. No weapon changes hands. And yet the damage can be permanent, the victim unsuspecting, and the arrow, once released, impossible to call back.

“You shall not go about as a talebearer among your people.” Vayikra 19:16

Great-minded people talk about ideas. Average-minded people talk about events. Small-minded people talk about other people.

Most people think of Lashon Hara as “gossip” — idle chatter, rumors, things you say behind someone’s back. But the Torah’s definition is much broader and, frankly, more demanding than most of us realize.

Lashon Hara — in correct Hebrew, Leshon HaRa — literally means “the tongue of the evil individual.” It refers to any negative statement made about another person, even when what you are saying is completely true. This is perhaps the most surprising element of the prohibition: truth is not an excuse. With a few exceptions that we will discuss later, if your words damage someone’s reputation, cause others to think less of them, embarrass them, or harm their relationships or livelihood — it is Lashon Hara, regardless of whether the facts are accurate.

But Lashon Hara is only one of three related prohibitions the Tora imposes on our speech.

Motsi Shem Ra is the deliberate spreading of false negative information about a person — outright defamation. Because it combines harmful speech with dishonesty, it is considered even more severe than Lashon Hara.

Rekhilut — often translated as “tale-bearing” — refers to repeating information about people in a way that creates conflict or discord, even when the information itself is not particularly negative. Telling person A what person B said about them, for example, is Rekhilut — even if what B said was mild — because it stirs up resentment and damages relationships that might otherwise have remained intact.

Together, these three prohibitions — Lashon Hara, Motsi Shem Ra, and Rekhilut — cover virtually every form of harmful speech.

Why does the Tora treat all of this with such severity? Because the damage is real and often irreversible. Our Sages compared Lashon Hara to killing — and the comparison is not hyperbole. Destroying someone’s reputation, career, marriage, or good name is, in certain respects, like taking their life. A person’s name is their most precious possession. Unlike financial loss, which can sometimes be recovered, a ruined reputation may never fully heal.

The Talmud adds a striking observation: Lashon Hara harms not one person but three simultaneously — the subject, the listener, and the speaker. We will explore this in a separate article. For now it is enough to note that no one walks away from harmful speech unscathed.

It is also important to understand that Lashon Hara is not limited to spoken words. Writing a negative post on social media, sending a damaging WhatsApp message, forwarding a humiliating image, leaving a malicious comment — these are all forms of Lashon Hara. The platform is irrelevant. What matters is the harm caused. Bullying — whether in person, in a group chat, or online — is one of the most destructive forms of Lashon Hara in our time, and the Tora’s concern for the dignity of every human being is as urgent today as it has ever been.

Understanding what Lashon Hara is — and what it is not — is the first step toward guarding our speech. In the coming articles, we will explore why it is compared to a deadly weapon, when speaking up is actually required, and how to protect ourselves from participating in harmful speech even when those around us are doing so.

You are at a wedding or a reception, sitting at a table with friends — or with people you barely know — when the conversation suddenly turns. Someone begins speaking negatively about a neighbor, a colleague, someone from the community. You didn’t start it. You don’t want to participate. But here you are.

Most people assume that staying silent is enough. Unfortunately, it is not.

The Tora prohibits not only speaking Lashon Hara but also listening to it. Our Sages taught that remaining silent while someone is being spoken about badly constitutes tacit approval. In some ways, the listener bears even greater responsibility than the speaker — because without a willing ear, the conversation would stop. Silence is not neutrality. It is permission.

So what should you do?

Option 1: Speak up. The most courageous response is to gently redirect the conversation — calmly, without lecturing or creating a scene. Something as simple as “Can we change the subject?” or “We should not talk about people who aren’t here” is enough. Done with sensitivity, this can be surprisingly effective, and others at the table may privately welcome it even if they lacked the confidence to say it themselves. That said, this option requires reading the room carefully. Whether it is appropriate depends on how well you know the people around you and how receptive they are likely to be.

Option 2: Leave. If speaking up is not realistic, the cleanest solution is to quietly remove yourself. You don’t need to make an announcement or offer an explanation. A natural exit — stepping away to greet someone across the room, get a drink, or check on something — is completely sufficient. And if none of those feel natural, there is always the most reliable exit of all: glance at your phone, step away from the table, and take a “very important call.” Walking away is not rude. It is honest.

Option 3: Stay — but don’t participate. If leaving is genuinely impossible, you can remain physically present while making sure you are not a participant. This requires two things. First, make a conscious inner decision not to absorb or credit anything being said. What you hear is not evidence about anyone. Second, watch your face. Do not nod, smile, or signal agreement in any way. Let your expression quietly communicate that you are uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

One important distinction. There is a real difference between someone who finds themselves innocently seated at a table where Lashon Hara suddenly breaks out around them — and someone who passes by a conversation, hears that people are being spoken about, and deliberately stops to listen. The first person is in a difficult situation not of their making. The second has made a choice. Even if they never say a word and don’t believe what they hear — stopping to listen is itself a transgression. The exit was available. They chose not to take it.

Harmful speech requires not just a mouth, but an ear. Guard both.

Most people, when they think about Lashon Hara, focus on one victim: the person being spoken about. And indeed, that person suffers real harm. Their reputation is damaged, people’s opinions of them shift, and often they have no idea it is happening and no opportunity to defend themselves.

But the Talmud teaches something remarkable: Lashon Hara harms three people simultaneously — and the person being spoken about may actually suffer the least.

The first victim is the subject — the person being discussed. The damage to them is obvious: their good name is diminished, relationships are affected, and trust is eroded. In many cases, this damage cannot be fully repaired, even if the speaker later regrets what was said.

The second victim is the listener. This is the one most people overlook. The moment you hear negative information about someone, something changes in the way you see them — often permanently, even subconsciously. You may try to remain objective, but the mind doesn’t work that way. Once a seed of suspicion or contempt is planted, it is very difficult to uproot. The listener has received distorted information that will color their judgment, their behavior, and their relationship with that person going forward. They have been spiritually and psychologically harmed by something they did not ask for and may not have wanted.

Moreover, the listener bears a halakhic responsibility. Listening passively to Lashon Hara is itself a transgression. The Tora says: “Do not accept a false report” (Shemot 23:1). Our Sages extend this prohibition to any negative speech about another person. Sitting silently while someone is being spoken about badly is not neutral — it is a form of participation.

The third victim is the speaker. This is the most counterintuitive. The person doing the talking, the one who seems powerful in the moment — who has information, an audience, and the floor — is actually damaging themselves profoundly. They are cultivating a habit of negative thinking. They are training their mind to seek out the worst in others. They are eroding the trust others place in them (because everyone knows: if he speaks about others this way, he speaks about me the same way). And according to our tradition, they are incurring a severe spiritual consequence that no amount of clever framing can undo.

The Sages summarize this with a striking formulation: Lashon Hara kills three — the one who says it, the one who hears it, and the one about whom it is said. Understanding that we are not just protecting others when we guard our speech — we are protecting ourselves — is one of the most powerful motivations for taking this mitzvah seriously.