The parsha opens with the words: “Vayikra el Moshe,” “And [God] called to Moshe.” When looking at a Torah scroll, we notice an unusual feature: the final letter of “Vayikra,” the alef, is written smaller than the other letters. This seemingly minor print detail has fascinated commentators for centuries, offering insight into Moshe’s struggle to balance his profound humility with his exceptionality.

Rashi, following the Midrash, notes that the word “Vayikra” expresses an affectionate and deliberate calling, in contrast to “Vayikar,” which is used regarding Balaam, and suggests a more incidental or happenstance encounter (Bamidbar 23:4). The small alef emphasizes Moshe’s extraordinary humility — despite being uniquely chosen by Hashem, he does not see himself as superior. This is well-known, as the Torah firmly establishes Moshe as the exemplification of human humility (Bamidbar 12:3): “And the man Moshe was exceedingly humble, more than any person on the face of the earth.”

Building on Rashi, Rav Yaakov Ben Asher, the 14th century rabbi known as the Ba’al Haturim, offers an intriguing explanation. He argues that Moshe did initially want to write “Vayikar,” to reflect a less personal encounter with God, like Balaam’s experience. However, Hashem instructed him to write “Vayikra.” As a compromise, Moshe wrote the alef smaller, expressing his reluctance to emphasize his own significance.

The parsha’s first verse illustrates this: “And God called to Moshe, and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting.” The Ba’al Haturim reasons as follows: Here is Moshe, the holy leader who had already spent two long stretches of time — 120 days in all — high up on the mountain with Hashem. So when the mishkan is finally built, and the Tent of Meeting, the Ohel Moed, the designated place for humans to connect with God, is fully situated, we would think that Moshe would enter the mishkan and behold the intricate construction to which the people have generously contributed their precious materials, and their time and care, to build exactly as God instructed. But Moshe does not enter — he waits for God to call to him. He makes himself small, like that alef, showing his ultimate, profound sense of derech eretz, the code of proper, respectful interpersonal behavior that binds us to each other as human beings and as Jews.

Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch connects the small alef back to Moshe’s and Balaam’s prophetic experiences. Unlike Balaam, whose prophecy was accidental and external, Moshe’s prophecy was intimate and direct from God. The small alef symbolizes Moshe’s recognition that even as the greatest prophet, he still remains a vessel for Hashem’s message — not the source. This subtle detail underscores the distinction between divine communication granted to one who seeks it humbly, as opposed to one who experiences it merely as an aberration.

Reinforcing this theme, Nechama Leibowitz emphasizes the distinction that humility is not self-effacement, but an awareness of one’s role in a divine mission greater than themselves. True humility, as Moshe exemplified, does not mean denying one’s greatness, but rather understanding that it is a gift from God to be used in service of others and the greater good.

Rav Soloveitchik’s philosophy of “building and rebuilding” also sheds light on the small alef. The Rav taught that spiritual growth is a constant process of constructing and reconstructing oneself, learning from past experiences, and striving for greater closeness to God. This process requires both a recognition of our limitations, alongside an acknowledgment of our potential. The small alef serves as a reminder that our achievements are not solely ours; they are granted by God and should be approached with both responsibility and humility. Just as Moshe, despite his greatness, saw himself as small before Hashem, we too must balance our own accomplishments with an awareness of our dependence on the divine.

The little alef speaks powerfully to us through a modern lens. We live in an era that glorifies self-promotion and external validation, when followers, views, likes, shares, reposts, and retweets are often the highest values. In a world that encourages people to amplify their own voices, the small alef of Vayikra reminds us to take a step back and take it down a notch: that true greatness lies not in self-aggrandizement, but in recognizing our gifts as God-given and using them for a higher purpose beyond ourselves. At the same time, in such a context, it can also be easy to suffer by comparison, downplay our strengths, and feel “less than,” as measured by these same yardsticks of external approval. It can be a fine line, in Nechama Leibowitz’s terms, between humility and self-effacement.

Ultimately, like Moshe, we must strive to balance confidence in our abilities with the humility to know that they come from God. Striking this difficult balance enables us to go forward and fulfill our calling in the most meaningful way. As the famous story goes, Rabbi Simcha Bunim, the 18th century Hasidic rebbe, taught that every person should carry two pieces of paper, one in each pocket: The paper in one pocket reads, “For me the world was created.” The paper in the other pocket says, “I am but dust and ashes.” Each of these is meant to help us regain perspective and balance. In moments of insecurity and doubt, the first paper helps restore our sense of efficacy and motivation; in moments of arrogance and grandiosity, the second paper grounds us. Our souls are poised on the fulcrum between greatness and nothingness. Being aware of both can help us achieve the delicate “sweet spot” between them.

This is the lesson that Moshe’s humility and the little alef teach us for going forward in our own lives: It’s up to us to understand, like Moshe, that the story isn’t about us — that we’re just one small letter in the otherwise much bigger and more magnificent journey of the Jewish people. Only once we internalize this, can we also hear that moment of Vayikra, that divine calling, compelling us to make our singular contributions to the greater good of our people and the world around us.

Shabbat Shalom ~ Besorot Tovot ~ Am Yisrael Chai