The parsha—and the sefer as a whole—begins with the words:
“And He called to Moshe, and Hashem spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting.”
Several questions immediately stand out:

1. What is the significance of first being called and only then being spoken to?
2. In the Torah scroll, the aleph of “Vayikra” is written small. Why?
3. Why is Hashem’s Name omitted in the opening phrase and only mentioned afterward?

Rashi and Ramban explain that the idea of being called expresses endearment and love. Similarly, the Gemara (Yoma 4b) says that a person should not say anything to another unless he first calls him. Calling someone gently is a middah tovah (virtue) of endearment. The Gemara (Niddah 16b) also says that Hashem despises one who bursts into someone else’s home unannounced, and Meseches Derech Eretz teaches that Hashem stood outside Gan Eden and called for Odom to come near. Calling first reflects respect, affection, and sensitivity.
The Ramban adds another dimension: the fact that Moshe had to be called indicates his hesitation to enter. He was afraid to approach because of the overwhelming holiness and the awe-inspiring presence of Hashem’s glory resting upon the Mishkan. This teaches an important lesson for us as well: one should not enter places of holiness casually, but with awe and reverence.
This hesitation of Moshe may also relate to the small aleph in the word Vayikra. The Baal HaTurim explains that the small aleph reflects Moshe’s humility. He wished to downplay the greatness of his prophecy. Instead of emphasizing that Hashem lovingly called him, Moshe preferred that it appear more like the expression used regarding Bilaam, “Vayikar”—that Hashem merely “happened” upon him. Out of humility, he wanted to minimize the appearance of his closeness to Hashem.
The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 1:3) gives another explanation of the phrase “And He called.” It states that Sefer Divrei HaYamim was given for the purpose of exposition. Since many of its narratives already appear earlier in Tanach, its repetitions are meant to teach deeper meanings. In this vein, the Midrash analyzes Divrei HaYamim I (4:18), which lists the children of a certain individual, and expounds that the verse alludes to the ten names of Moshe and their meanings. Among them:

• Yered – descend, because he brought the Torah down to the Jewish people
• Avi Socho – father of vision, for his unmatched level of prophecy
• Avigdor – father of fences, because he established safeguards for the Jewish people
• Chever – one who connects, because he bound the Jewish people to Hashem

As an aside, there is a remarkable Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah 17:4) about the significance of names in general. When Hashem created Odom, the angels asked what was special about him. Hashem answered that his wisdom surpassed theirs, and demonstrated this by asking them to name the animals—they could not, but Odom could. Hashem then asked Odom what his own name was, and he answered Odom, because he was taken from the adamah, the earth. Hashem then asked what His Name should be, and Odom called Him Adokai, Master of all—and Hashem accepted that name.
Returning to Moshe, the Midrash concludes that of all the names he had, the one Hashem chose to use in the Torah was Moshe — the name given to him by Bisyah bas Paro, as it says (Shemos 2:10), “And she called him Moshe.” And because this name was especially beloved, that’s why the Torah in our parsha says, “And He called to Moshe,” which can also be understood as “And He called him Moshe,” using the name that was most precious to Hashem. This also fits beautifully with Rashi and Ramban’s explanation that the word “Vayikra” conveys affection and closeness; the entire opening of the verse thus expresses Hashem’s love and endearment toward Moshe.
But why is the name Moshe, given by Bisyah, the most precious of all?
Several explanations are given.
An earlier Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 1:2) says that the names given by converts are especially precious, like wine libations on the altar. Bisyah converted, and therefore the name she gave Moshe was uniquely beloved. The Yefes Toar explains that a convert is not judged by his past. He becomes a completely new being. His identity is no longer tied to his biological origins; he is called the child of Avraham and Sarah. The name given in that moment expresses total transformation.
The Sforno explains that the name Moshe, meaning “drawn out,” reflects his future role. Just as Bisyah drew him from the water, Moshe would draw the Jewish people out of their suffering.
(Although the name might sound Egyptian, the Ibn Ezra writes that it was actually the Hebrew equivalent of an Egyptian word meaning “to draw out.” Either Bisyah knew Hebrew, or she asked what the Hebrew term for that action was.)
Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz suggests another reason for the specialness of the name. The uniqueness of the name lies in the mesirus nefesh of Bisyah. She risked her life to save Moshe, and that act of self-sacrifice became embedded in Moshe’s very identity. The name Moshe carries within it the power of mesirus nefesh.
While all the above, helps explain the first two questions, the third still remains:
Why does the verse not say, “And Hashem called to Moshe”?
The Kedushas Levi suggests that the omission hints to a deeper idea: on a certain level, it was not only Hashem calling Moshe, but Moshe’s own inner soul—his inner voice—calling him to come closer to Hashem. A similar idea appears in Shemos 24:1: “And to Moshe He said, go up to the mountain,” where again Hashem’s Name is not mentioned at first. There too, the implication is that Moshe’s own inner striving to rise higher is what propelled him upward.
Our lives revolve around desires and aspirations, and the question is: where do our desires lie? What truly moves us? What “rocks our boats”? For Moshe, it was a deep drive of deveikus to Hashem, and that inner voice of striving is what guided him. And in response to that calling, the verse continues: “and Hashem spoke to him…” From the awakening below comes the response from Above.
Perhaps we can combine this explanation of inner striving with Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz’s insight about the specialness of the name Moshe being associated with mesirus nefesh. The aspiration to come close and the desire to be connected still require the mesirus nefesh of action—of going beyond our comfort zone. Without the willingness to exert ourselves and sacrifice something of ourselves, the drive to be close remains only a noble wish.
This message serves as a perfect segue to the entire parsha of korbanos that follows. What is the definition of the word korban? Although it refers to sacrifices, it literally means coming close. As the Ramban and other commentators explain, the act of bringing an animal and offering it upon the altar symbolizes the subduing of our own animalistic drives, allowing the soul within us to express its longing to connect to Hashem. This is precisely the message embedded in the opening phrase: the mesirus nefesh needed to actualize the inner drive to come close.
May we be inspired—especially in this month of Nissan and as we approach Pesach—to consider the next step in our own journey of growth. Even if that step is difficult, when the yearning to come close is joined with mesirus nefesh, we will merit Hashem once again “speaking” to us from the ultimate Tent of Meeting, the Beis HaMikdash, speedily in our days. Amen.

The commandment to build the Mishkan with all its components had already been given in parshas Terumah and Tetzaveh. Now, in this week’s parsha, the Torah describes the implementation of that command. The verses relate Moshe’s instruction to the people, how they began to bring all the donations necessary for the construction, and the appointment of Betzalel to lead the project together with his assistant Ahaliav and a team of skilled individuals.
(It is noteworthy to mention the famous words of the Ramban on 35:21 describing the initial approach of the various people who volunteered to perform the work of building the Mishkan — and seemingly the same ones mentioned in 36:1 — that this skill was not something they had learned or seen before, but they sensed within themselves the innate ability to perform the task, and they “raised their hearts in the pathways of Hashem to come before Moshe and say: I am prepared to do whatever my master commands.”
A tremendous lesson for life: the road to success lies in (1) recognizing one’s innate talents, (2) not being ashamed or bashful to acknowledge them, and (3) lifting our thoughts to Hashem’s path — not our own self-serving one — and trusting that Hashem will allow the realization of those innate talents.)
Then, from 36:3, the verses describe how Betzalel and his men, upon receiving all the necessary materials, saw that the people did not stop donating. The gifts kept coming each morning. At that point the craftsmen approached Moshe to tell him what was happening. Moshe thereupon instructed that a loud announcement be proclaimed to stop the contributions — not something we typically find in fundraisers! — and so it was done. The donations stopped, but there was a surplus of materials.
The Midrash (51:2) addresses what was done with that surplus. It says that when Moshe went to Betzalel to assess it, he called to Hashem for guidance, and Hashem told him to apply the surplus to the Mishkan HaEdus. And so he did, and when he later made a reckoning of everything that had been used and shared that with the people, he alluded to that Mishkan HaEdus in the opening words of parshas Pekudei: These are the reckonings of the Tabernacle, the Tabernacle of Testimony.
The Midrash begs a major question: what in the world is this Mishkan HaEdus, separate and apart from the Mishkan of our regular familiarity?
Several commentaries deal with the question. Taking the word edus as a reference to the Torah, the Etz Yosef says that Moshe made an additional tent-like structure to go around the Ark containing the Torah inside the Holy of Holies. The Maharzu, quoting the Yalkut Shimoni, says that it refers to an additional tent outside the Mishkan that was dedicated to learning Torah within.
Rav Shimon Schwab suggests that it does not refer to an actual structure that Moshe made, but rather that he should save these extra donations as a symbolic “sanctuary” for the recognition of the centrality and eternal nature of Torah, which the Mishkan was built for the sake of. In other words, the entire purpose of the Mishkan was to serve the Torah, as the Midrash says that Hashem instructed the making of the Mishkan as a special chamber wherein He could remain close to His “daughter,” the Torah. The enthusiasm of the people in contributing toward the Mishkan was a testament to that recognition, and therefore the surplus donations should be kept in posterity for that purpose.
Notwithstanding the clarification of the application of the surplus donations, a question remains lurking in the background: why did the Torah devote so many words to this episode? The verses could have stopped before verse 6 after describing the surplus. Instead, the Torah goes on to describe how Moshe told them to stop bringing, with a public announcement, that they did stop bringing, and then concludes with the statement that there was enough and more than enough. Verses 6 and 7 seem unnecessary.
The Sfas Emes turns his attention to this and sees in it a major personal-development insight.
There is a verse in Yechezkel (1:14) describing the angels as running and returning (ratzo v’shav), which is used as a picture of the dynamic of human growth — that it is not always linear. Rather, it is a process of moving forward, taking a step back, moving forward again, and so on. Not that the step backward necessarily means falling and doing wrong (although that too can be a form of growth, as it says, “because I fell, I rose”), but rather that growth often comes in bursts of energy followed by pause, energy followed by pause.
Why is this so? Pragmatically, a person sometimes loses steam and needs rest, but there are deeper dimensions as well.
For instance, the Tzafnas Paneach, quoting the Baal Shem Tov, says that the soul’s craving is to become attached to Hashem in His infinite identity. Yet if it were allowed to become totally attached, it would be completely absorbed and life would end. Therefore, the soul is given a certain physicality to which it must “return” in order to maintain the person’s ongoing existence.
Similarly, the Ohev Yisroel (parshas Shekalim) says that spiritual fervor and deveikus to Hashem is like fire, whose flames dance and flicker up and down; the movement is not constant.
But the Sfas Emes, applying this to our verses, says that sometimes when a person begins a lofty endeavor with pure motivation, that purity can become compromised as arrogance and pride creep in. This is especially true with donations to a cause. People get into it, and it can become a source of pride, with a person patting himself on the back as he gives. Thus, in order to sustain purity of thought and motivation, a person sometimes needs to pause, reflect on why he is doing this, and regroup before continuing. The yetzer hara is always lurking in the background. As we say in Ma’ariv, remove the Satan from before us and behind us. Before us — before we start a mitzvah — that the yetzer hara should not dissuade us by saying, “What is the value of this in the first place?” And behind us — after we have begun or completed the mitzvah — that pride should not spoil it.
This is the message of the Torah elaborating on Moshe’s instruction to tell the people to pause. Once he saw that they were so enthusiastic and giving more than required, he and the wise men were concerned that too much self and ego might be creeping in, and it was time to pause so that even if they would continue, it would be with renewed purity of intention. This also explains the enigmatic final statement in verse 7 that the work was enough, yet extra — because the enoughness was the condition that made the surplus virtuous.
The life lesson from this is not only that we should not be discouraged when our personal growth and development do not proceed in a smooth, linear way, but that sometimes we must deliberately pause in order to regroup our intention and motivation. Of course, this does not mean to pause from obligatory mitzvos, nor, chas v’shalom, to permit aveiros, but rather to pause within voluntary acts, in order to preserve the purity of kavana in the process.

​Have a Good Shabbos