Parshas Emor: Speaking into Holiness
Parshas Emor begins with a simple instruction:
"אֱמֹר אֶל הַכֹּהֲנִים" – “Speak to the Kohanim” (Vayikra 21:1)
There’s something quiet and powerful in that word: Emor. Speak.
It’s not loud. It’s not forceful. It’s just clear. True.
After all the Parshiyos we’ve been reading, about boundaries, what’s allowed and what’s not. This week shifts to what it means to carry holiness. The Kohanim are given specific rules about how they live, who they marry, how they serve. Because they represent something sacred.
But before they do anything, they’re spoken to. Someone has to say it out loud. That’s where holiness starts, in clear words.
And that’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. How many of us carry things quietly, for a long time. Things that matter. Things that are holy. Things that need to be said.
Sometimes it takes many years to say something that’s true. It doesn’t always come out as a speech, sometimes it’s just a quiet sentence you've been carrying for too long. But when you finally do, it clears space, for healing, for honesty, for holiness.
The Torah isn’t only talking to the Kohanim in the Mishkan. A few weeks from now, on Shavuos, we’ll read that Hashem told the whole nation:
"וְאַתֶּם תִּהְיוּ לִי מַמְלֶכֶת כֹּהֲנִים" – “You will be for Me a kingdom of priests” (Shemos 19:6)
That verse makes it clear, this isn’t just about them. It’s about all of us.
Each of us has something sacred we carry. Each of us stands in front of people, or moments, that ask us to be present, clear, honest. And sometimes, the way we do that isn’t through action, but through words. Through finally speaking.
As we get closer to Shavuos, maybe this is something to think about: What in my life is waiting to be said? What truth have I been holding quietly? What would it look like to speak with intention, with honesty, and with care?
I’ve been realizing lately that sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do isn’t a Mitzvah or a ritual. It’s just saying something true out loud. That’s where the healing begins.
Some conversations are about finally saying something that’s been on your chest. Others are about taking ownership for something you haven’t said. Either way—it’s still yours to say.
And today is Lag BaOmer.
After weeks of counting quietly, something shifts. The music returns. So does the fire.
It feels like the kind of day where the words you’ve been holding in finally have room to come out.
Like the silence can lift. Like it’s safe to speak. To celebrate. To breathe.