Parashat Va'yik'ra, Leviticus 1:1- 5:26

The first portion of the Third Book of Moses – Leviticus – is called Va’Yik’ra (literally, [the Lord] called on to [Moshe]). At first blush, this is one of the less intriguing portions of the cycle – most of it, if not all, deals in excruciating detail with offerings – offerings of all kinds, shapes, and sizes. For example, the portion tells us how to treat a sacrificed lamb, where to throw its blood, how to skin it, what to do with its pieces, where to put its head, what portions should be washed in water, etc., etc., etc. – (for some, ad noseam).

But a closer look would reveal a fascinating portion, a true synthesis of – and an ingenious solution to – the problems we discussed in recent weeks. On that, and on one other aspect of the portion that shows, once again, that not much have changed in the last 3,000 years I would like to speak shortly today.

The Offerings – A Great Synthesis

In recent weeks we discussed the great tension between the First Commandment – “I am the Lord your God” – and the all-too-human desire to worship something concrete. Between the notion of a transcendent God, untouchable, unimaginable, “which has no form, no shape, and no body,” and the almost irresistible impulse to see, feel, smell, hear, and taste the subject of worshiping. We saw how this tension led the Israelites to commit their biggest sin ever, the Golden Calf; but we also saw how the same exact tension brought Moshe and God closer than ever. How can this tension be resolved?

Enter the offerings. A God-certified worshipping program, enabling the believing Jew to actually see, hear, smell, touch, and – yes – taste the fruits of his worship. It was the Rambam (Maimonides), of course, who first made this remarkable connection. He understood that such complete algorithm – or framework – of worshiping would contemporaneously show a great belief in God, and allow the believing worshipper to comply with their earthly needs.

Armed with this insight, we can now view again at these “dreary” verses, providing in great detail the exact manner in which we should be treating the animals we sacrifice. This way, and not another. The Torah’s way, and no other. Not our own Golden Calf; but the Torah’s way of sacrificing a calf. In that, the offerings fulfilled a very important role of a pragmatic barrier to idol worshipping: No more could the people complain that “our leader is lost”; here’s a way for them to continue and worshiping our Lord God with all their senses, whether Moshe is there or not.

To be sure, not everyone share the Rambam’s pragmatic (and may I add, ingenious) approach. The offerings occupy way too much room in the Text, not to mention the rest of Halacha, to serve as a simple barrier for idol worshipping, or so they claim. (See, in particular, the Ramban.) But I think that the Rambam is right precisely because of the large space dedicated to each and every detail of the offering’s work: This is probably the most effective way to assure continued allegiance to God; in other words, this is the insurance of the First Commandment – “I am the Lord your God.” Is there anything more important than that (from a religious standpoint)?

[Keen readers of the blog would probably notice that such worshiping doesn’t appear, on its face, to be “Lee’shma” or “pure”; rather, it seems to be more “she’lo lee’shma” or “impure” form of worshipping. This issue is beyond this week’s blog post, but I’ll be happy to answer questions about it.]

Ok, you may ask, so what is the substitute today, when no offering work is still in effect? I have no good answer to that, but I may offer some clues. One possibility is that since there is no good substitute, many people – much more than ever in the history of Judaism – don’t follow the First Commandment; they no longer believe in God (at least not in the way meant by the Torah). Another is that Jews all over the world seek alternatives to the actual work of offerings – Zen Buddhism, spiritualism, all kinds of reforms – but nothing seems to satisfy them quite like the original. Finally, any visitor to a synagogue – a relatively new invention, in terms of Judaism’s history – would easily observe the “physical” aspects of worshiping, from kissing the Holy Book to moving during the prayer, to special singing, etc., etc.

So much for synthesis.

When a Ruler Hath Sinned…

The second point I want to mention touches upon the tension (and the complicated relations) between the Torah – a treatise that recognizes one, and only one, true leader – and the pragmatic human need for human leadership. [Sounds familiar? Indeed, it is simply a different aspect of the first point.]

The portion this week asks what should happen – more accurately, what kind of offerings should be made – “if” some unintentional sins were to take place. For example, “If the anointed priest would sin … “(Leviticus 4:3); and “If the entire congregation would sin . . .” (Id., 4:13); and “If one person would sin, erroneously . . .” (Id., 4:27).

However, when the text approaches the issue of the ruler of the community committing a sin – even erroneously – the “if” is being replaced with “when”: “When a ruler has sinned . . . “ (Id., 4:22) In other words, there is no question that the ruler would sin; there is no “if” here; rather, the only question is “when,” and for that event we have a ready-made (religious) answer.

This is very interesting. It shows us that not much has changed over the last 3,000 years (at least in terms of leadership). Leaders have come and gone, and they have always sinned. They still commit sins today, and would probably sin as long as they would last. It is in the very nature of governing, of one person having too much power over other people. Indeed, many years later, the Babylonian Talmud teaches us that we should not nominate a leader on the community “unless a can of worms is hanging from his back.” (meaning: unless there is evidence that he has performed many a sin before taking office), so whenever his title “alters his mind,” (meaning: he begins to think of himself as above other people, or the law, for example) the people should remind him: “look at your back.” (8 Bab. Talmud, Yoma, Page 25, 2).

Here, again, we see Judaism’s ambivalent relation to – and deep understanding of – human nature. On the one hand, our forefathers realized that leaving the entire role of leadership to God would create an “earthly” vacuum that the community would not be able to handle – see the Golden Calf. Then again, they wanted to emphasize that no leader, not even Moshe himself who spoke to God (almost) face-to-face, is above sin. They all sin, and therefore should be treated with the same amount of suspicion. Only God does not sin, and only He should be worshipped.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron