A Tent of Meeting for Our Time

Lis K. Regula, PhD

LGBTQIA+ Person of Faith

Quote

“The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: Speak to the people of Israel and say to them: When any of you brings an offering to the Lord, you shall bring your offering of livestock from the herd or from the flock.”

-Leviticus 1:1-2

Devotion

Parshat Vayikra begins not with thunder or lightning, but with a quiet moment: God calls to Moses from the Tent of Meeting. The Hebrew word vayikra — “and [God] called” — is written in the scroll with a small aleph, as if whispered. God’s call is not meant to overwhelm but to invite. It is the beginning of a conversation between heaven and earth, a call that beckons all of Israel into relationship and responsibility.

The instructions that follow describe offerings — animals brought from the herd or flock — each one an act of repair, restoring the connection between people and God. These offerings weren’t just about private devotion; they were communal practices, reminders that holiness was sustained through shared experiences.

That message feels urgent today. Across Ohio and the United States, we are seeing a surge of anti-Jewish, anti-Muslim, and anti-immigrant rhetoric. These aren’t abstract problems; they are wounds to the body of our communities. When fear and suspicion are sown against one group, all of us suffer. When one member is targeted, the whole tent leans.

Vayikra reminds us that holiness requires collective offerings. It is not enough for some to show up — everyone is called to bring what they can, to keep the community upright.

The rabbis observed that the Tent of Meeting was not made of stone, but instead of cloth. A tent is fragile and flexible, portable and dependent on many hands to raise it. No single person can lift it alone.

So, it is with justice in our day. The “tent” of solidarity is fragile when neglected, but strong when we lift it together. When antisemitism rises, it is not “their” problem; it is the whole tent straining. When Muslims are vilified, when immigrants are scapegoated, when LGBTQ+ families are denied dignity — the poles bend, the fabric tears, and God’s presence trembles at the center.

The offerings in Vayikra are images of participation. Each Israelite brought what they could — some more, some less, but always something. Today, our offerings may not be bulls or lambs but presence: standing beside a Jewish neighbor when hate speech threatens, defending a Muslim colleague when bias surfaces, welcoming an immigrant family when rhetoric seeks to exclude. These are the sacrifices God desires now — offerings of courage, persistence, and love that bind us to one another.

The midrash also teaches that the fire on the altar was never allowed to go out. Day and night, it was tended by the people’s gifts. Justice works the same way: it is not sustained by a single grand gesture, but by the steady contributions of many. By showing up at vigils, at school board meetings, and at legislatures. By refusing to let division define us. By tending the fire of justice so it does not go cold.

The heart of Vayikra is this: we are called together. Each offering, each act of solidarity, strengthens the whole. And when one community is targeted, the injury is never isolated. My liberation is braided with yours, just as the fire rises in one column, no matter how many different offerings are placed upon it.

When Jewish neighbors are scapegoated, my dignity is diminished. When Muslim neighbors live in fear, my freedom is incomplete. When immigrants are excluded, my community is weakened. Our liberation is intertwined — not a collection of parallel struggles, but one rope, one fire, one tent that only stands if we tend it together.

Parshat Vayikra begins with God’s quiet invitation: Come near. Bring what you can. Restore what has been broken. That call still echoes today. It does not demand perfection, but participation. It asks us to bring our offerings of presence and solidarity, however small, and trust that together they will sustain the fire of justice.

Ohio faces urgent challenges — from maternal and infant mortality to healthcare deserts, to housing insecurity. We cannot afford to be divided. Scapegoating only distracts us, weakening our ability to face real problems. God’s call in Vayikra is to refuse division and to remember that the tent only stands when all of us lift it.

Our liberation is intertwined. Our offerings are shared. And our call is to tend the fire together, so that God’s presence dwells among us still.

Reflection

1. What does “bringing an offering” look like for me in my own life and community?

2. Where do I see division or scapegoating threatening to tear the “tent” of our community?

3. What small act of solidarity can I bring this week to help keep the fire of justice alive?

Action

I would be remiss in my duties as co-chair of Ohio Equal Rights if I did not highlight the importance of building a tent in Ohio by protecting our rights at the state level. Ohio Equal Rights is working alongside the Ohio Coalition to End Qualified Immunity to pass a total of three citizen-led ballot initiatives:

1. The Ohio Equal Rights Amendment incorporating broad ERA language into Ohio’s Constitution and providing a path to recourse regardless of the status of federal protections.

   
   

2. The Right to Marry Amendment overturning the state’s constitutional ban on same-sex marriage equality to align with current federal protections.

   
   

3. The Protecting Ohioans Constitutional Protections Amendment restricting the ability of governmental employees’ ability to avoid consequences when they cause harm while on the job.

   
   

If you haven’t yet, sign those petitions and reach out if you’d like to learn more.