We began Sefer Vayikra, and the very first word is “Vayikra”—vav, yud, kuf, reish, aleph. What immediately stands out is that the aleph is small.

In the Torah, there are generally three types of letters: large letters, small letters, and regular-sized letters. The Torah is mostly written in a standard, medium size, but occasionally there are letters that appear larger or smaller. These are not random—they carry meaning.

So what does it mean that the aleph in “Vayikra” is small?

First, what does “Vayikra” mean? It means “And He called.” Hashem called to Moshe. Rashi explains that this calling was an expression of love and closeness. Before giving Moshe a message, Hashem “calls” him—lifting him up, giving him the strength and the connection needed to receive and transmit the word of Hashem to the Jewish people.

This calling reflects a deep relationship—Hashem cherishes Moshe and draws him close. Yet the word is written with a small aleph. Why? Because one of Moshe Rabbeinu’s defining qualities was humility.

But what is humility? Does it mean that Moshe did not recognize his greatness? That would not make sense. Moshe knew that he spoke to Hashem face to face, that he was on the mountain for forty days and nights without eating or drinking, that he reached levels no other human being ever reached.

True humility does not mean denying one’s strengths. On the contrary, a person must recognize his abilities. Each of us has been given strengths and talents by Hashem. We are not allowed to belittle ourselves. Just as one may not speak negatively about another person, one may not speak negatively about oneself.

However, recognizing one’s greatness is not a reason for arrogance. Moshe Rabbeinu understood that everything he had was given to him. He said: if another person had been given the same abilities and opportunities, that person might have achieved even more. That is true humility.

This is why Hashem calls to Moshe with love—“Vayikra”—and yet the aleph is small. Because Moshe made space for Hashem.

This idea is reflected in the story of Har Sinai. The mountains all competed to be chosen for the giving of the Torah. Each one claimed it was more fitting. But Hashem chose Har Sinai, the smallest and most humble of the mountains. Because where there is humility, there is space for Hashem. Where there is ego, there is no room.

There is a well-known story of a great scholar who was not widely known and would stay with a simple, humble host when visiting a town. Later, when he became famous and arrived with a grand carriage, the prominent members of the community insisted that he stay with them. He responded: “Nothing about me has changed. The only thing that changed is that I now come with horses and a carriage. If you are honoring that, then the horses can stay with you—but I will stay where I always stayed.”

This illustrates that true greatness does not change with external honor.

A deeper lesson emerges from everyday life. Sometimes we judge others without understanding their situation. A person once reached out his hand to greet someone, and the other person repeatedly did not respond. It felt like an insult—until it was discovered that the man was blind and simply did not see the outstretched hand.

Similarly, we often do not understand what is happening around us. We may question others or even question Hashem, but in truth, we see only a small part of the full picture. This calls for humility—not only before Hashem, but also in how we view other people.

Another example: a person may try to help someone who does not respond for months, only to later discover that the silence was due to illness or inner struggle. We do not know what others are going through.

This leads to a broader message: humility means accepting that we do not have all the answers. It allows us to trust Hashem and to be more compassionate toward others.

Returning to the earlier idea of the large aleph of Adam and the small aleph of Moshe: Adam was created directly by Hashem and possessed extraordinary greatness. Yet, that awareness led to a sense of self, which contributed to his failure. Moshe, on the other hand, recognized his greatness but remained completely humble.

This teaches that the more greatness a person has, the more careful he must be to remain humble.

The discussion then turns to the story of Purim. When Haman’s decree was issued, Mordechai encountered children returning from school and asked them what they had learned. Each child recited a verse expressing trust in Hashem:
“Do not be afraid of sudden fear,”
“They may plan, but it will not succeed, for Hashem is with us,”
“And until old age, I will carry and save you.”

These were not merely comforting words—they were a source of strength. Mordechai saw in these children a deep and living faith. This was not prophecy, but “good news”—a sign that the next generation was strong in emunah.

At the same time, Mordechai understood that more was needed. The Jewish people had, in some cases, compromised externally, even if not internally. Mordechai worked to awaken them so that their inner faith would be expressed outwardly as well.

This is a powerful lesson. It is not enough to feel Jewish in one’s heart. One’s actions must reflect that identity openly and confidently.

The Rebbe emphasizes the importance of educating children with strong faith and identity. When children grow up with confidence in their Yiddishkeit, they become the source of strength for the entire people.

Finally, the concept of korbanos is discussed. A korban is not merely an offering—it represents a person bringing himself closer to Hashem. Even the “wood” used in the offering carries meaning. Wood represents the essence, the simple core of a person beyond intellect or emotion. True connection to Hashem requires giving over one’s very essence.

This idea is connected to matzah, which represents humility and self-nullification before Hashem. Through this, one draws healing, faith, and strength.

The message of Purim and Pesach is not just historical. It is present. We are meant to draw strength from these events today—to stand firm, to trust in Hashem, and to live with courage and faith.

Summary
The small aleph of “Vayikra” teaches that Hashem’s closeness rests where there is humility. True humility means recognizing one’s strengths while attributing them to Hashem. Through humility, faith, education, and devotion, we reveal the strength of the Jewish people and draw redemption.

התחלנו את ספר ויקרא, והמילה הראשונה היא “ויקרא”—והאל"ף שבה קטנה.

בתורה יש שלושה סוגי אותיות: גדולות, קטנות ובינוניות. רוב התורה כתובה באותיות בינוניות, אך לעיתים יש אותיות חריגות—גדולות או קטנות—והן באות ללמד דבר מיוחד.

מה פירוש האל"ף הקטנה?

“ויקרא” פירושו קריאה. הקב"ה קורא למשה. רש"י מסביר שזו קריאה של חיבה ואהבה—הקב"ה מקרב את משה ומכין אותו לקבל את דברו.

אך למרות הקרבה הגדולה, האל"ף קטנה—מפני שמשה רבינו היה עניו מכל אדם.

ענווה אינה חוסר הכרה במעלות. משה ידע את מעלתו, אך הבין שכל כוחותיו הם מתנה מהקב"ה. הוא חשב שאם אדם אחר היה מקבל את אותם כוחות, היה מגיע ליותר ממנו.

זו ענווה אמיתית.

כך גם הר סיני נבחר בגלל ענוותנותו. מקום שיש בו גאווה—אין בו מקום להשראת השכינה.

מסיפורי החיים אנו לומדים כמה אנו שופטים מבלי להבין. אדם שלא החזיר לחיצת יד התברר כעיוור. אדם שלא ענה לטלפונים התברר כסובל מקושי נפשי.

אין אנו יודעים את כל התמונה—וזה מחייב אותנו לענווה, גם כלפי הקב"ה וגם כלפי הזולת.

בנוגע לפורים—מרדכי שמע ילדים אומרים פסוקים של ביטחון בה', וזה נתן לו תקווה. לא נבואה, אלא בשורה טובה—שהדור הצעיר מלא אמונה.

אך עדיין היה צורך בעבודה—להוציא את האמונה מהלב אל המעשה.

כך גם בעבודת הקרבנות—האדם מקריב את עצמו. ה“עצים” מסמלים את עצם האדם, את המסירות הפנימית מעבר לשכל ולרגש.

זה קשור למצה—ענווה והתבטלות—שמביאה אמונה ורפואה.

המסר הוא נצחי: לחיות באמונה, בענווה, ובביטחון בה', ולגלות את הכוח הפנימי של עם ישראל עד לגאולה השלמה במהרה בימינו.