In Parashat Emor, we find one of the Torah’s more difficult passages — a section that limits which kohanim, which priests, can serve at the altar. A priest with a visible difference — blind, lame, injured, or with a disfigurement — is instructed not to offer the sacred sacrifices.
To modern ears, this can feel jarring. It brushes up against our values of equality, inclusion, and dignity. But maybe we can approach this not as a closed door but as a doorway into deeper conversation.
The Torah’s world is not our world. It was shaped by ritual systems, by concepts of purity, and by the human longing to bring order and beauty into worship. The ancient altar was the centre of that structure, and the priests were meant to embody its wholeness — not because others were less valued, but because ritual asked for symbols. Wholeness, in this context, was symbolic.
But symbols aren’t always how God sees.
Elsewhere in our tradition, we’re reminded again and again that God’s vision is different. The prophet Isaiah declares, “My thoughts are not your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9) And in Pirkei Avot, we’re taught, “Do not look at the vessel, but at what it contains.” (4:20)
The Torah may have given the kohanim their roles, but it gives each of us our worth.
In fact, the priest who is not permitted to serve at the altar is still honoured with the title kohen. He may not perform the central rituals, but he is still part of the priesthood. Still called. Still holy.
That subtle detail matters.
We live in a world where many people carry visible and invisible differences — bodies that don’t move in expected ways, minds that work with different rhythms, faces and stories that challenge easy categories. The Torah passage reminds us not just to reflect on who served in the Temple, but to ask who serves now. Who teaches, who leads, who belongs — in our communities, our sanctuaries, our hearts?
Holiness isn’t only what we see on the outside. Often, it lives in the places we least expect — in quiet faith, in stubborn hope, and in the beauty of imperfection.
What kind of wholeness do we honour? Is it symmetry, polish, and ease? Or is it courage, kindness, and presence?
For me, holiness is where wholeness is not about appearing perfect but about being present and being cherished.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Adrian
