Don’t Look Away: The Communal Responsibility to Hold the Hurting Closing Sefer Vayikra with Torah, Compassion, and Courage

# When the Struggle Goes Unseen: A Call to Action

## Introduction: The Hidden Struggles in Our Lives

There is a type of suffering that often goes unnoticed. It does not shout for attention. Instead, it quietly withdraws, evidenced by empty seats and brief conversations. A child's smile fades. A teenager avoids eye contact. A once-active parent recedes into the background. Their pain hides just beneath the surface, seen only by those who choose to notice.

Pain is akin to a flickering candle behind frosted glass. It doesn't scream out; it simply dims. Unless we pay close attention, we may miss when that light starts to fade. However, Torah trains us to observe closely — to act before the flame extinguishes.

Often, we overlook these signs—not from a lack of care, but because we are uncertain how to respond. Torah compels us to learn how. It challenges us to sharpen our vision. It urges us to refuse to look away.

## From Ritual to Relationship: The Journey of Sefer Vayikra

Sefer Vayikra begins with the reverence of the Mishkan — rituals, offerings, and purity. Yet, as we progress through its chapters, the Torah transitions from the sacred sanctuary to the intricacies of human life. By the time we arrive at Behar and Bechukosai, we find ourselves not beside the altar but among the people, navigating issues of land, loans, suffering, and second chances. This pivot is more than structural; it represents a profound spiritual shift. Holiness evolves from ritual into relationship.

As we conclude Sefer Vayikra, we observe that sanctity isn't confined to the Mishkan — it extends into the streets. It thrives in our daily choices: how we respond to suffering, whether we show up for one another in discomfort, and how we treat those who feel abandoned.

The closing of the Torah is not adorned with lofty rituals; rather, it presents practical, human-centered laws and ethical values that flow from the Mishkan into the very fabric of society. This represents not merely the end of a sefer, but the start of a mandate: to carry holiness into our relationships, communities, and the lives of those burdened by overwhelming challenges.

## A Torah That Commands Us to Notice

The Torah insists that we do not turn away from those experiencing hardship. In Parshat Behar, concerning laws of land, debt, and societal stability, we learn: “If your brother becomes impoverished and his hand falters beside you, you shall support him…” (Vayikra 25:35). This is not merely advice. It is a command to act before a crisis unfolds. The Ramban elucidates this by noting the use of faltering — implying that we must intervene early, before someone truly falls apart.

This guidance extends beyond financial matters. Behar imbues compassion into every interaction. “Do not take interest from him” (25:36). “You shall not subjugate him with harshness” (25:43). The Torah presents a profound truth: People don’t collapse suddenly — they weaken gradually. We are called to detect these early warning signs and approach others with kindness and understanding.

The Sfat Emet deepens this understanding: True kedushah (holiness) is not merely in distancing ourselves from pain, but in drawing near to it with open eyes and compassionate hearts. Holiness isn’t about perfection or isolated purity. It’s about being present — possessing the courage to see another’s struggle and stand with them.

This goes beyond mere ethical guidelines. It encapsulates the Torah’s vision for a sacred community: a collective that does not ignore the silent suffering of its members. A community that supports one another before anyone falls.

## The Pain That Hides in Plain Sight

We are living in an era where numerous teenagers and families endure emotional and spiritual turmoil, often hiding in plain sight. Mental health issues like anxiety, depression, and disconnection are proliferating — but they frequently remain masked behind silence, fear, or the pressure to seem “fine.” Parents carry invisible burdens they can't always articulate. Children and teens express distress through withdrawal, irritability, or behaviors often misconstrued as defiance.

One teenager candidly shared: “It’s not that I want to push everyone away. I just don’t believe anyone really sees me.” This simple statement uncovers a larger truth. In many households and schools, suffering isn’t denied — it simply goes unnoticed. What is unseen often expands.

In some homes, siblings sit quietly, feeling confused, sometimes afraid, uncertain of their own place in a family stretched thin.

The Torah asks us not to wait until someone completely falls apart before we care. It encourages us to cultivate an awareness — to recognize shifts in tone, absence, and silence. It's insufficient to merely avoid causing harm; we must actively seek those who are hurting, even when they cannot or do not ask for help.

True spiritual vision is recognizing beneath the surface and responding to pain that is not overt.

## The Families at the Edge of the Circle

In every community, there are families who gradually feel marginalized. A father who used to proudly sit next to his child in shul now finds himself alone — the empty space beside him increases each week, yet few inquire why. A mother quietly stops attending events — not out of disinterest, but because she struggles to answer questions about her family's state.

These individuals are not outsiders — their lives still intertwine with ours. However, within their struggles, they often feel invisible. They may feel they no longer conform to the image of a “healthy” family. Thus, they retreat — not to shun connection, but to avoid judgment, pity, or shame.

The Aish Kodesh teaches that there are moments when even prayer becomes untenable — and that in those times, silence may take on the form of emunah. Many parents live within such silence. Not due to a lack of faith, but because they have run out of words. They have cried behind closed doors. Bearing that weight alone has come to feel like their new normal.

Our duty is not to annotate or diagnose that silence. It is to meet it with presence. To gently and consistently remind these families that they are not abandoned. They are still valued. Their pain does not disqualify them, and their place in our community remains sacred.

## Why We Can’t Wait for Someone Else

In today's society, compassion often gets delegated. We might believe that professionals — therapists, school counselors, or organizations — will address situations that appear too intricate or painful. While these supports are crucial, they cannot replace what only a community can offer: genuine, personal presence.

The Rambam, in Hilchot De’ot (6:3), remarks that someone who distances themselves from the community during its need will not earn its comfort. The implication is crystal clear: Healing is a communal endeavor. It is based on a covenant. It begins not in a clinic but in relationships.

This does not necessitate a grand stage — only the act of being present. It may involve sending a message saying, “You’ve been on my mind.” Bringing dinner. Sitting next to someone who seems isolated in shul. Inviting a withdrawn parent for coffee. Asking, “How are you holding up?” — and remaining to listen. Not to resolve issues, just to hold space for them.

These small, quiet gestures — often awkward yet courageous — are not acts of pity. They embody shared humanity and Torah principles. They express acts of chessed, of presence, of holiness.

The essence of what we do in these moments shapes the character of our communities. Torah is not solely learned in a beit midrash. It is enacted through our response to those suffering quietly.

## From Sacred Space to Sacred Obligation: The Torah’s Moral Climax

Sefer Vayikra commences in the Mishkan — a sacred, enclosed realm of offerings and spiritual purity. But by the time we reach Parshat Behar, the Torah extends outward. We no longer linger beside the altar. We are amidst the fields — engaging with loans, land, poverty, and human dignity. The transformation is significant — and intentional.

At the core of Behar are the laws of Shemitah and Yovel. While they initially appear as agricultural cycles, they are fundamentally ethical revolutions. Shemitah conveys that rest isn't merely a luxury — it's essential for both land and individuals. It creates space for renewal.

Yovel takes this further. Slaves are freed. Land returns to its rightful owners. Debts are forgiven. Most crucially — every individual is granted a second chance to return home.

These mitzvot assert that no one is meant to be permanently defined by their lowest moment. The Torah insists on creating a path for everyone to return — socially, emotionally, and spiritually. A society grounded in holiness must reflect this principle.

Then, in Parshat Bechukosai, the Torah delineates the relationship between collective responsibility and collective outcomes. It presents a vital choice: “If you will walk in My statutes…” (Vayikra 26:3), blessings will follow. If we stray from this path, the repercussions are severe. The reiteration of rebukes — increasing in severity — illustrates what comes when a society turns a blind eye to injustice and suffering.

Yet, even amidst the tochachah, the Torah maintains the relationship. The Ramban notes a critical verse: “I will not despise them, nor reject them to destroy them, to annul My covenant with them” (Vayikra 26:44). The covenant remains eternal — even in the face of our transgressions. Hashem’s commitment to us is unwavering.

Bechukosai begins not with theology, but with conduct: “If you walk in My statutes…” Movement suggests collaboration with others — not merely private growth, but communal responsibility. The blessings and rebukes resonate with all people. In Torah, our fates are intertwined.

Just as the land pauses to rest, we too must foster emotional space for healing. Just as every person reclaimes their place during Yovel, we must ensure no soul is left without a route home.

This serves as the Torah’s closing argument: holiness is not an individual pursuit. It forms society's foundation. The measure of our society is how well we tend to those most at risk of being overlooked.

## Teshuvah as Return to Wholeness

When someone seeks to return — yearning for connection and belonging, we reach the essence of teshuvah.

As we grasp the moral importance of Parshat Behar and Bechukosai, we recognize a profound truth: Every soul can return. Teshuvah is not simply a personal journey — it is a collective endeavor. It embodies the environment we cultivate. Whether we invite individuals back with dignity or inadvertently push them further away depends less on theology and more on our atmosphere.

Rav Kook suggests that teshuvah isn't about reinventing oneself — it embodies returning to our true essence. At our foundation, we are all connected to the Divine. Teshuvah acts as a process to peel away the layers of confusion, shame, or suffering that obscure that truth. In this context, a child who strays isn't rebelling against their essence; they are reaching for a way to rediscover it, often without clarity on how to do so.

This perspective reshapes our understanding of those in distress. The teen who rebels, the child who disengages, the parent who falters — they aren't distant from holiness. They are on its brink. However, they can only reconnect if the community allows for that return. Our role isn't to demand transformation, but to cultivate conditions that enable growth.

This necessitates offering safety devoid of shame. Love unconditionally. Presence without urgency. The child in crisis isn’t “at risk” of losing their worth; rather, they yearn for someone to remind them that it was never lost.

This embodies teshuvah at its finest: returning home, not for having achieved perfection — but because you've recognized that you still belong.

## If We Want Our Children to Believe in Torah…

To forge such a path, we require more than mere patience — we need a transformative shift in perspective.

If we desire our children to have faith in Torah, they must see that Torah has faith in them. Not just when they abide by rules, exhibit respect, or flourish — but especially in their moments of defiance, distance, or loss. They must understand that their struggles do not invalidate them — that pain doesn’t strip away their worth or their place in the Jewish community.

Throughout Sefer Vayikra, we witness that even those facing impurity — whether through illness, isolation, or misstep — are not eternally cast out. They receive guidance through time, compassion, and care. The recurring message is unmistakable: they remain part of the collective. They are still perceived by G-d.

The same principle applies to parents. We must nurture communities where vulnerability is an entry point to profound connection. Where reaching out for assistance isn't a mark of failure, but a testament to faith — in others, in G-d, and in the possibility of healing.

A cherished community is not defined by its lack of brokenness. It is one where individuals can break and still be wrapped in support.

Holiness, in this framework, is not gauged by flawlessness. It measures our readiness to rebuild — not in isolation but together. This is the message of Torah for us. And it's within our grasp to live it.

## Closing Vayikra with Courage and Compassion

The final verse of Sefer Vayikra states: “These are the commandments that Hashem gave Moshe for the Children of Israel at Mount Sinai” (Vayikra 27:34).

At first glance, this appears to be a simple summary. Yet, it embodies significant meaning. It underscores that every law in this book — encompassing korbanot, kashrut, Shemitah, and the obligations to uplift the impoverished — originated at Sinai. The same Divine command that directed the offerings in the Mishkan equally required us to uplift our neighbors, restore dignity to the fallen, facilitate return during Yovel, and never forsake a soul adrift.

The message is crystal clear: holiness isn't confined to the rituals within sacred spaces. The Torah's vision spans from the sanctuary to the streets, from the priest to the parent, from the sacrifices to those overlooked. The entire framework of Torah rests on one fundamental principle: we bear responsibility for one another.

We conclude Sefer Vayikra not with a grand finale, but with a moral mandate. We are instructed to take what was revealed at Sinai and embody it. In our homes. In our communities. In how we treat the struggling teen, the exhausted parent, and the individual whose pain remains concealed behind silence.

Our mission is not to possess all the solutions. It is to simply show up. To heed one another before anyone falls. To create a community where no one suffers in silence — not out of heroism, but out of responsibility to care.

This is how we honor life beyond the Mishkan. This is how we integrate Sinai into our streets. This is how we collectively refuse to look away.

Chazak chazak v’nitchazek — be strong, be strengthened, and may we empower one another.

Yaakov Lazar

Executive Director, Kol Haneshamot