In a recent interview that androgynous rock star, Boy George, offered the world an interesting insight into his purpose in life:

What I am really trying to do (he says) is to point out that not everything is what it seems.

Suffice it to say, Boy George accomplishes his goal with such brilliant eccentricity about his own person, so that we look and look again, we are never sure precisely what it is that we are seeing!

Admittedly, friends, it is quite a leap from Boy George to Leviticus, a case of the ridiculous to the sublime! But, many a time I have found myself pondering whether or not this third book of our Torah is really what it seems.

Every year as the cycle of Torah readings inevitably brings us to Leviticus, and to its ghastly account of the often bizarre details of the sacrificial cult, I wonder to myself, "what should this mean to me? And what must it mean to them" - meaning you!

Genesis is easy reading. It's compelling and unforgettable characters, its timeless stories which penetrate to the heartstrings of immutable human nature, make Genesis an ever fascinating read.

Then comes Exodus with its emotional drama and Hollywood action: the plagues, the dividing sea, the revelation at Mt. Sinai, the degradation of the golden calf. And then we slow down a bit with the details of the building of the portable Tabernacle and the outfitting of the priests.

But then it happens! We come to Leviticus, the graveyard of the noblest, most sincere resolutions to read through the Bible cover to cover. What is all this stuff anyway, we can't help wondering. Five entire chapters devoted to the detail of the slaughter of animals. Such as:

And the priests shall bring (the pigeon) to the altar and wring off its he had and burn it on the altar, and its blood shall be drained on the side of the altar... and he shall tear it by its wings...etc.

Then, there is the Levitical dermatology. Try this:

If a mans hair has fallen from his head, he is bald, but he is clean. And if a man's hair has fallen from his forehead and temples, he has baldness of the forehead and temples but he is clean. But if there is on the bald head a reddish white diseased spot, it is leprosy breaking out... (and) the priest must pronounce him unclean.

Page after page, chapter after chapter - 27 in all - it mostly goes on like this, but with striking exceptions such as the incomparably inspiring holiness Code of Chapter 19. Most readers never get that far along of course!

Yes indeed, like Boy George and other such rarities and curiosities, the Book of Leviticus, to which the synagogue has now turned its attention, continually challenges each one of us to determine if it is what it seem to be - or if it be more or less.

Cleanliness of mind and body, sacrifice of the spirit and substance invariably lead to consideration of prayer, holiness and spirituality. There is, I just know it, a powerful lesson here in the Book of Leviticus - new meaning from old form. But what is it? Let's summon some patience and search for new-found perspective.

Yes, its true that here we read, in all too explicit detail, of the various kings of sacrifices which are to be offered to the Lord. No doubt about it, here we have reflected the primitive cultic structure of a bygone day and a much earlier Judaism? Perhaps if we take a moment to look a little closer at the four principle kinds of sacrifices discussed in Leviticus, we'll find more than we've come to expect?

This sacrifice was to be brought when a person was struggling to overcome his "evil" inclination, and finally managed to overpower it. In an act of recognition his new determined state of mind and heart, and offering of the Korban Olah was to be made - a complete and total Burnt Offering.

Picture someone who is at the bottom rung of Life's ladder; someone who feels that it's all lost, finished and worthless. Suddenly this person is hit with the realization that there is new hope for a happy life.

Such a person, now imbued with a sense that life can have purpose and wholeness, dignity and beauty, offers a Korban Olah, a complete Burnt Offering signifying the entrance and turning point into an entirely new chapter of life.

Perhaps the Torah is trying to tell us that to change one's life, it is necessary to find something to which one can completely dedicate himself or herself.
 
 

The second category of Levitical sacrifice is a Mincha, the meal offering, something simple, easily available, as common as flour and oil. If the person is so poor that he cannot afford to bring either a bull, a goat or a turtle dove, the Torah allows him to bring an offering of meal, oil mixed with frankincense.

With this we can see that everybody can serve God on his own level. No matter how unfortunate one is, there is always someone less fortunate who would do anything to be in your position. Furthermore, since so many of us tend to take the basics, the flour and oil of life - for granted, as if they are our just due, isn't it important to thank God for these basic ingredients, as well?
 
 

The third category of offering was the Chatat, the sin offering. When a person brings this particular sacrifice, he is to place his hands on the head of the animal, and recites the confessional prayer. In effect this offering says that every person is given life and the correct way to live it, and even though this particular sin may have been by accident, it still must be forgiven. Every sin is serious and a person cannot ignore the implications and consequence of this actions. All of us need to have some physical means by which to atone for our wrongdoings.
 
 

The final category is the exact opposite of a sin offering. A thanksgiving or peace offering takes place when there is an overflowing of feeling and happiness, a sense that something special has taken place, that you want to acknowledge. There have been mercies in our lives, small and great occasions of grace when, despite the opportunity for bad results, we have been spared and everything somehow worked out just right.
 

Your child was just admitted to Harvard.

The dream job you always wanted is yours.

The laboratory results are benign.

The car driven by the drunk driver just missed you.

The faltering marriage has now been pulled together.

The misunderstanding between you and your parents/children has now healed.

Your child just become engaged to a terrific person.

The termites are covered under your homeowners.

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse.  Some years muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man; decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen:  may it happen for you.

We begin to understand that there is an opportunity here in our re-reading of the Book of Leviticus to see beyond the details, to a broad overview of the circumstances of a human life -- one's trials and one's frailties, and occasionally, thank God, one's wins and successes.

In Hebrew, Leviticus is known by the first significant word of its word text: Va-yikra, meaning "And God called." This first word is always written by the Torah scribe in a particular fashion: Vav, Yud, Koof, Resh - but then, with an unmistakably undersized letter aleph - the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet.

Truth is, no one knows exactly why. But maybe, it is a small aleph to teach us that the search for human wholeness and oneness is itself subtle. And that our quest to understand what our lives really mean is not unlike our annual wrestling match in search of  the deeper lesson of Leviticus. I have come here to tell you that on rereading Leviticus, wisdom is to found, it's always there, waiting to be uncovered, waiting to be newly discovered.