Vayikra
Reading the book of Vayikra is, for me, like looking at photos of my great-grandparents: recognizable and yet strange. Certain features distinguish the figures as my family, but the likeness ends there—dressed in brimless caps and caftans, with unsmiling expressions, they are clearly from another place and time. In many ways, I have more in common with a stranger today than I do with them. Likewise, the book of Vayikra is also both familiar and strangely foreign.
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