It is a good morning here in my little corner of the world. There are ducks paddling in the pond and a light breeze in the trees. My dogs and I are content.

I am thinking about the first chapters in the book of Leviticus, which taught the ancient priests how to perform sacrifices on the altar in the Temple, and I am relieved that Judaism has changed so dramatically that prayer has replaced sacrifice, and giving up an ox or a dove isn’t required for me to reach out to the Divine.

We still read Leviticus; in synagogues around the world, Jews are reading those chapters and pondering how we can make them relevant to our own lives. The truth is, maybe we can’t. Maybe it’s a good thing that we’ve moved on. 

The Hebrew word for sacrifice is korban. It is from the root word meaning “to draw close.” How do we draw close to God today? We recite prayers, we sing, we meditate. We open our hearts and minds and reach out to God and other humans and to the earth itself.

And we live every day as if it matters. Because it does. My little corner of the world feels safe and calm, but there are people and events swirling around us that are roiling the seas and sending tidal waves of fear and grief. Even here, I feel it. Tendrils of hatred filter into my world and as much as I would like to withdraw, I cannot. We cannot. 

My favorite character from the Talmud, Yohanan ben Zakkai, once said: “If you are holding a sapling in your hand and someone tells you, ‘Come quickly, the Messiah is here!’ first finish planting the tree and then go to greet the Messiah.”

Today is that day. Or tomorrow. Or never. Regardless, we plant.