Vayikra, the book and the parashah, opens with one of the best-known scribal peculiarities of the whole Torah. The aleph that ends that first word – Vayikra – is noticeably smaller than all of the other letters. The preservation of this smaller aleph in Torah scrolls across the centuries has invited commentary for generations, because it raises a fundamental question about the relationship between divine revelation and human humility.
The Hebrew verb “Vayikra” introduces the narrative moment. God calls out to Moses from the tent of meeting. However, there is a midrash that describes this exchange, and offers an explanation for the tiny aleph. According to the midrash, Moses rejects God’s dictation of “Vayikra el Moshe” because he feels that it elevates him excessively as the recipient of God’s call. In his humility, he proposes “vayikar el Moshe” instead, meaning that God happened upon Moses instead of calling to him directly. According to the midrash, God rejects Moses’ proposal. The Torah must reflect the reality that Moses’ prophetic experience is one of intentional communication. Nevertheless, a compromise emerges: Moses writes the aleph but diminishes its size. The word remains “Vayikra”, preserving the theological meaning of divine calling, yet the physical form of the text bears witness to Moses’ reluctance to emphasise his own significance.
Rabbinic interpretation has long operated on the assumption that no detail in the Torah is insignificant. Classical midrash frequently derives meaning from the smallest textual variations, treating each letter as worthy of careful attention. The small aleph thus exemplifies a broader interpretive ethos within Jewish learning: profound insights may be found in the minute details of the text itself.
A contemporary interpretation offered by Rabbi Rachel Druck highlights an additional dimension of this tradition. Even though Moses does not succeed in altering the divine word, he nevertheless leaves an imprint upon the text. The Torah remains precisely as God dictates it, but the way it appears on the parchment preserves evidence of Moses’ inner response. In this sense, the small aleph can be understood as a subtle collaboration between divine revelation and human agency. The content of the text reflects divine speech, yet the presentation of the text bears the trace of Moses’ humility. The Torah therefore preserves not only God’s words but also the human encounter with those words.
If the small aleph preserves Moses’ personal response within the text itself, it also invites readers in every generation to locate their own encounters within the ongoing life of Torah. My first encounter with this small aleph was at my own bat mitzvah, where I read from Parashat Vayikra. For many reasons it is a day I look back on with complex emotions, but with the distance of almost two decades I can identify it as the moment at which my journey to the rabbinate began. My mother likes to tell the story of my childhood rabbi listening to me practice, and whispering “future rabbi material” to her. While this is a sweet anecdote, and I’m sure the comment was nothing more than reassuring patter to a parent, it illustrates how human interactions can shape the transmission of Torah from generation to generation Driving home from the rehearsal at the age of 13, being told I was “future rabbi material” felt in the moment as though it had about as much resonance as being labelled “future astronaut material.” Nevertheless, only one of those descriptors was applied to me, and only one of them manifested.
In that sense, Moses’ hesitation in the midrash feels strikingly familiar. Moses’ rejection of being called directly by God feels reminiscent to me of conversations I have had with strangers over the past two and a half years. Many times, when hearing that I am studying for the rabbinate, people will ask “when did you first feel called to that?” It is framing I have repeatedly rejected – as a rationalist, progressive Jew I am far more comfortable understanding my decision to train for the rabbinate as a logical and reasoned choice I made, having evaluated my skills, passions, and life experiences. It feels self-aggrandising to attribute this journey to divine intervention. I am far more comfortable understanding my position as the result of hard work, good fortune, and the support of those around me. I, like Moses, want to reject any idea that I should have been called out to directly by God. Much more likely that I happened upon this path.
This discomfort with the idea of being called by God to a leadership role, and indeed problematising the notion of this being a calling at all, seems particularly pertinent this week. At the time of publication, the leadership of Leo Baeck College will just have concluded a week of interviews with prospective students for the next academic year, and will be considering the outcomes. Those prospective students will have spent a week together, with current students, grappling with the choices, motivations and ideas that have led them to the threshold of this new path. For many candidates, these days represent an opportunity not only to be evaluated but also to discern whether the institution feels like the right environment in which to pursue rabbinic study.
There is something striking about the parallel between this moment and the narrative with which Vayikra begins. The book opens with a call, “Vayikra el Moshe”, “and God called to Moses.” The tradition imagines Moses responding to that call with humility and hesitation, uncertain about his own role in the unfolding story. Similarly, those who arrive at a rabbinical seminary often find themselves navigating a mixture of aspiration and humility as they consider the possibility of dedicating their lives to Jewish learning and leadership.
The small aleph at the beginning of Vayikra therefore offers more than a textual curiosity. It reminds readers that Jewish tradition often speaks most powerfully through its smallest details. A single diminished letter preserves Moses’ humility, signals the intentionality of divine calling, and invites generations of interpreters to notice what might otherwise be overlooked.
Moments that appear minor – whether a typographical nuance in the Torah or the experience of studying a parashah for the first time – may carry consequences far beyond their immediate context. In retrospect, such moments can mark the beginning of journeys whose significance only becomes clear later. Like the small aleph itself, they may seem modest at first glance, yet they quietly shape the paths that follow.
Emily Carp, LBC rabbinical student
The views expressed in this D’var Torah do not necessarily reflect the position of Leo Baeck College.