One of my favorite songs is Stevie Wonder’s “I Just Called to Say I Love You.” What makes it so good is that the song refuses to wait for a special occasion. No holiday, no anniversary, no skywriting, no chocolate, no dramatic scene in the rain. It is just an ordinary day, and that is exactly the point. Love does not always arrive with fireworks. Sometimes it arrives as a phone call. Sometimes it arrives as a text. Sometimes it arrives as a guy from your men’s group reaching out because he remembered that you said you were heading into some difficult territory in divorce-land and wanted you to know: I heard you. I’m thinking about you. You can handle this. I love you.

That happened to me this week. And I will tell you honestly: it got me.

Not because it was flashy. Not because it solved everything. Not because suddenly all the stress packed its bags and moved to another zip code. It got me because it was simple, direct, and real. He did not call to fix me. He did not call to offer twelve strategic steps and a color-coded spreadsheet. He just reached out with care. And that kind of care lands differently, especially for men.

Because a lot of men are trained to believe that we are supposed to be the ones doing the carrying, not the ones being checked on. We are supposed to provide, perform, produce, endure. We know how to talk about work, sports, weather, and whether the guy grilling has “a system.” But to call another man just to say, “I love you, brother,” can somehow feel like crossing into foreign territory without a map.

And then comes Parshat Vayikra and tells us: maybe this is exactly where holiness begins.

Rashi famously notes that the word vayikra—“And He called”—is a language of affection. Before there is instruction, there is relationship. Before there is obligation, there is connection. God does not begin Leviticus with a spreadsheet of offerings dropped from heaven like a divine tax form. God begins with a call. A reaching out. A moment of closeness.

Because Vayikra is a book about offerings, yes—but maybe the first offering is not a bull or a grain sacrifice. Maybe the first offering is yourself showing up in relationship. Maybe the first offering is attention. Maybe it is courage. Maybe it is picking up the phone.

The root kuf-resh-aleph, the root of vayikra, also appears in Ashrei, in Psalm 145:18: God is near to all who call in truth. Not perfectly. Not eloquently. In truth. Sincerely. Which means that sometimes the holiest thing a man can do is not to sound impressive. It is to be honest enough to reach out, and humble enough to let someone reach back.

We tell ourselves all sorts of reasons not to make that call. It will be awkward. He’ll think I’m weird. He’s busy. I’m busy. I’ll do it tomorrow. Also, men are very committed to the ancient spiritual practice known as “thinking about texting someone and then absolutely not doing it.”

But Stevie Wonder had it right: you do not need a grand occasion to tell someone you care. And Vayikra agrees. The call itself is the point.

So this week, maybe the invitation of Vayikra is beautifully simple: call one of the men in your life. Not because it is his birthday. Not because he won an award. Not because the calendar told you to. Just because he came to mind. Just because he matters. Just because love, like sacrifice, becomes holy when we actually offer it.

No shofar blast required. No doves necessary. Just a phone, a little courage, and three words that still matter more than most of the words men usually use.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)