VaYikra (Leviticus 1:1-5:26)
Leviticus is a hard book to warm up to. It is hard for us to identify with the Torat Kohanim - the instructions for the priesthood - which is the formal description of what we commonly refer to as Sefer VaYikra. After all, here is a book that starts out with sacrifices. A large part of the book is dedicated to detailed descriptions, and often graphic instructions for the performance of sacrifices. It is not a subject that appeals to modern sensibilities.
The book also treats of matters of holiness and of ritual purity. Modern science has surely rendered these superstitious conceptions of reality quite unnecessary. We know all about microbes and bacteria and viruses. We can dispense with the concept of impurity, and we can manage quite well without vivid instructions for the diagnoses and ritual treatment of a variety of skin diseases, bodily discharges, and other ailments that may render a person, a house or an object impure in a pre-modern society.
VaYikra deals endlessly with outmoded matters of ritual, and with all manner of esoteric conceptions of sanctity. It would seem to be heavy reading even for a young priest preparing himself for a life of service in the Temple. For anyone else, it would certainly seem of limited appeal and of negligible relevance. For us, today, it might seem a complete waste of time as anything but an historical record.
But if we were to think that, we would be very wrong.
If we look at VaYikra as merely a set of ritual instructions, we miss the point. The rites described in VaYikra are not random acts. The model of holiness and the conception of impurity and ritual purification derive from an underlying approach to the nature of God, and the place of man in the universe. The rituals and rules of conduct prescribed by VaYikra derive from Judaism’s fundamental worldview. They reflect the basic theology and philosophy of Judaism more fully than any other book of the Bible.
The manner in which we approach God says more than any philosophical statement about our conception of man’s relationship to God. To say, “Blessed art Thou O Lord our God”, is fundamentally different than saying “Blessed is He the Lord our God.” The ritual formula of Jewish prayer itself reflects the underlying belief that we enjoy an I-Thou relationship with an immanent God.
And ritual does something else as well. The performance of ritual also affects our outlook and our state of mind. By calling God “Thou” I establish a connection. I put myself into a particular kind of relationship that defines the nature of my prayer.
By the same token, the familiar rituals of mourning both reflect and affect our concept of death and loss. Sitting shiva is a response to bereavement that reflects a certain understanding of loss. But it is also a ritual that imposes upon the mourner a particular frame of mind in regard to death. Anyone who has been through it comes to understand that it is much more than formal conduct or a symbolic custom.
The very same observations can be made in regard to the rituals of the Passover Seder. They are not empty acts. They are not merely symbolic gestures. They are more than formal reenactments. They create a gestalt that synthesizes the message of our past with the understanding of the present.
If we bear that in mind, if we understand that rituals reflect an underlying theology and foster a state of mind, then reading Leviticus becomes a fascinating journey into our own ideas about God, religion and society.
Consider, for example, how the book begins. One would expect the Torat Kohanim to begin with an account of the role of the priests, their duties and status, their recognition and their rewards. One would expect that the book would then detail the priestly rules of conduct, their routine of worship, and the ongoing rituals performed by the kohanim and the levi’im. But it does not.
The Torat Kohanim - the instructions for the priesthood - begins with offerings, with korbanot. And not just any korbanot, but those brought by people in general. First, it is important to note that the term for what, in English, we refer to as a sacrifice is korban. Korban comes from the word karov – to be close. The Hebrew term does not reflect an idea of sacrifice, surrender, forfeiture or loss, but of closeness and communion.
The first type of offering discussed is not a communal sacrifice, and not one made by the priests, but one brought by any individual. Tellingly, the description of the ritual of presenting an offering seems to indicate that the layperson takes an active role in making the korban. “He shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, for acceptance in his behalf before the Lord. He shall lay his hand upon the head of the burnt offering, that it may be acceptable in his behalf, in expiation for him.” And most intriguingly, “And he shall slaughter the bull.” The layperson performs the essential acts of worship. Only then do the priests take over. The priests do not act as intermediaries. The individual approaches God himself.
VaYikra thus begins with individual worship, placing the individual at the center, and defining his direct relationship with God. It also tells us that the ritual is not meant as an act of subjugation, but one of communion and intimacy. The Bible describes a variety of forms that an offering may take. Our meeting with God may take the form of an offering of an animal, or of produce. Today, we may approach God through act of charity, or with our words, our deeds or our thoughts. The forms may change. But right here at the beginning of VaYikra we are presented with the underlying theology that directs that evolution.
Once we realize the underlying theological significance of the book of Leviticus, we can begin to read with understanding. We can pick up this seemingly tedious book and begin to understand why and how we pray. We can start to appreciate how a prayer can be an offering, a korban. We can begin to apprehend the underlying concepts back of the individual words, and we may start to appreciate language that might otherwise seem awkward or out of tune with our modern sensibilities. We can begin to understand that the laws of purity are not about health, and that the concept of holiness is not about being good. Once we realize why we are required to bathe before submersing ourselves in the waters of a mikve, and why our hands have to be clean before we wash them for a meal, we can finally begin to understand purity and to grasp what it means when the Bible tells us: “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God, am holy.”
If we look beyond the technicalities of the rituals, then in the end we may, perhaps, understand why Leviticus ends not with a command to the priests who are entrusted with the holy service, nor a final exhortation to the tribe of Levi that serves in the Sanctuary, but with the words: “These are the laws, rules and instructions that the Lord established, through Moses on Mount Sinai, between Himself and the people of Israel.”
Avinoam Sharon
© 2005 Avinoam Sharon
The book also treats of matters of holiness and of ritual purity. Modern science has surely rendered these superstitious conceptions of reality quite unnecessary. We know all about microbes and bacteria and viruses. We can dispense with the concept of impurity, and we can manage quite well without vivid instructions for the diagnoses and ritual treatment of a variety of skin diseases, bodily discharges, and other ailments that may render a person, a house or an object impure in a pre-modern society.
VaYikra deals endlessly with outmoded matters of ritual, and with all manner of esoteric conceptions of sanctity. It would seem to be heavy reading even for a young priest preparing himself for a life of service in the Temple. For anyone else, it would certainly seem of limited appeal and of negligible relevance. For us, today, it might seem a complete waste of time as anything but an historical record.
But if we were to think that, we would be very wrong.
If we look at VaYikra as merely a set of ritual instructions, we miss the point. The rites described in VaYikra are not random acts. The model of holiness and the conception of impurity and ritual purification derive from an underlying approach to the nature of God, and the place of man in the universe. The rituals and rules of conduct prescribed by VaYikra derive from Judaism’s fundamental worldview. They reflect the basic theology and philosophy of Judaism more fully than any other book of the Bible.
The manner in which we approach God says more than any philosophical statement about our conception of man’s relationship to God. To say, “Blessed art Thou O Lord our God”, is fundamentally different than saying “Blessed is He the Lord our God.” The ritual formula of Jewish prayer itself reflects the underlying belief that we enjoy an I-Thou relationship with an immanent God.
And ritual does something else as well. The performance of ritual also affects our outlook and our state of mind. By calling God “Thou” I establish a connection. I put myself into a particular kind of relationship that defines the nature of my prayer.
By the same token, the familiar rituals of mourning both reflect and affect our concept of death and loss. Sitting shiva is a response to bereavement that reflects a certain understanding of loss. But it is also a ritual that imposes upon the mourner a particular frame of mind in regard to death. Anyone who has been through it comes to understand that it is much more than formal conduct or a symbolic custom.
The very same observations can be made in regard to the rituals of the Passover Seder. They are not empty acts. They are not merely symbolic gestures. They are more than formal reenactments. They create a gestalt that synthesizes the message of our past with the understanding of the present.
If we bear that in mind, if we understand that rituals reflect an underlying theology and foster a state of mind, then reading Leviticus becomes a fascinating journey into our own ideas about God, religion and society.
Consider, for example, how the book begins. One would expect the Torat Kohanim to begin with an account of the role of the priests, their duties and status, their recognition and their rewards. One would expect that the book would then detail the priestly rules of conduct, their routine of worship, and the ongoing rituals performed by the kohanim and the levi’im. But it does not.
The Torat Kohanim - the instructions for the priesthood - begins with offerings, with korbanot. And not just any korbanot, but those brought by people in general. First, it is important to note that the term for what, in English, we refer to as a sacrifice is korban. Korban comes from the word karov – to be close. The Hebrew term does not reflect an idea of sacrifice, surrender, forfeiture or loss, but of closeness and communion.
The first type of offering discussed is not a communal sacrifice, and not one made by the priests, but one brought by any individual. Tellingly, the description of the ritual of presenting an offering seems to indicate that the layperson takes an active role in making the korban. “He shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, for acceptance in his behalf before the Lord. He shall lay his hand upon the head of the burnt offering, that it may be acceptable in his behalf, in expiation for him.” And most intriguingly, “And he shall slaughter the bull.” The layperson performs the essential acts of worship. Only then do the priests take over. The priests do not act as intermediaries. The individual approaches God himself.
VaYikra thus begins with individual worship, placing the individual at the center, and defining his direct relationship with God. It also tells us that the ritual is not meant as an act of subjugation, but one of communion and intimacy. The Bible describes a variety of forms that an offering may take. Our meeting with God may take the form of an offering of an animal, or of produce. Today, we may approach God through act of charity, or with our words, our deeds or our thoughts. The forms may change. But right here at the beginning of VaYikra we are presented with the underlying theology that directs that evolution.
Once we realize the underlying theological significance of the book of Leviticus, we can begin to read with understanding. We can pick up this seemingly tedious book and begin to understand why and how we pray. We can start to appreciate how a prayer can be an offering, a korban. We can begin to apprehend the underlying concepts back of the individual words, and we may start to appreciate language that might otherwise seem awkward or out of tune with our modern sensibilities. We can begin to understand that the laws of purity are not about health, and that the concept of holiness is not about being good. Once we realize why we are required to bathe before submersing ourselves in the waters of a mikve, and why our hands have to be clean before we wash them for a meal, we can finally begin to understand purity and to grasp what it means when the Bible tells us: “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God, am holy.”
If we look beyond the technicalities of the rituals, then in the end we may, perhaps, understand why Leviticus ends not with a command to the priests who are entrusted with the holy service, nor a final exhortation to the tribe of Levi that serves in the Sanctuary, but with the words: “These are the laws, rules and instructions that the Lord established, through Moses on Mount Sinai, between Himself and the people of Israel.”
Avinoam Sharon
© 2005 Avinoam Sharon
