Parshat Tzav: Action Versus Object In The Performance of Mitzvot

BY: Michelle Siegel


This week’s parsha, parshat Tzav, goes through many topics relating to korbanot, including the fires of the altar and details pertaining to the giving of the meal offering (mincha), the sin offering (chatat), the guilt offering (asham), and the thanksgiving offering (todah). It also discusses certain rejected offerings, forbids eating from the fat of korbanot, and orders the parts. Lastly, it discusses the consecration of the kohanim.

The parshiot that pertain to this kind of Temple service have a reputation of being hard to interpret and draw meaning from. Some contemporary commentators posit that current generations have no affiliation with these practices and that many find it difficult to relate to them. I think that this idea does have merit, but at the same time, there is a lot to take away from these passages. Much of what we do in our daily life, including tefillah and many of the laws and practices pertaining to holidays, are derived from the laws and customs of Temple service and sacrifices. Knowing this, these rules and procedures should have some connection to our current practice.

Nechama Leibowitz, in her work Studies in Leviticus, discusses one such connection. She quotes from the Tanchuma Yashan in its explanation of the olah offering, which quotes Isaiah: “For I the Lord love judgment; I hate robbery for a burnt offering.”[1] Leibowitz explains that this reference to robbery connotes that the person is unfit in some way to bring the offering; that he is tainted by dishonest dealings. She juxtaposes this with a quote from Malachi, “And you bring that which hath been robbed (referring to korbanot).”[2] She explains that this, as opposed to the previous statement in Isaiah, refers to the actual item being brought; that it is pasul (invalid) if it has been stolen.  These two excerpts represent two ideas within a much larger debate about the importance of actions versus items in the application of mitzvoth. Which is more important, the action that one does or the actual item that one is bringing? This debate comes up often in the Talmud, regarding many different practices. A salient example is in the case of lulav: is it the actual palm frond that is essential to the commandment, or is the act of shaking and holding it more important?

This dichotomy between action and object can be seen in many ritual practices. Specifically in this week’s Torah portion, it emerges through study of the command to the kohen to change his clothes during the Temple service. The Torah describes, “And he shall put forth his garments, and put on other garments, and carry forth the ashes without the camp to a clean place.”[3] Rashi clarifies that this is for the purposes of having clean garments; they should not be soiled.[4] However, Nechama Leibowitz cites Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, who attributes to this very physical action a much deeper meaning.[5] He explains that the removal of the previous day’s clothes and the ashes in them represents a task already completed. We must strive, he explains, to have zeal and gusto for each mitzvah and each new day, even if we have performed that mitzvah in the past. This is symbolically conveyed by the removal of yesterday’s ashes.

In the debate over the centrality of action or item, I think that there really is no one correct way to look at it. Both the action and the item remain in our practice, and are therefore both important. One can choose to focus on either, as they see fit, for the purposes of gleaning meaning from our ritual practice. This also speaks to the issues that many have with the study of Temple practice, perceiving it as irrelevant and dry. While one may contend that this is so, one can also glean meaning from actions and items in our routines and rituals. 

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Kasher VeSameach!

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[1] Isaiah 61:8. All translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

[2] Malachi 1:13

[3] Leviticus 6:3

[4] Leviticus 6:3, Rashi ad loc.

[5] Paraphrased from Leibowitz, Nehama, and Aryeh Newman. Studies in Vayikra: Leviticus. Jerusalem: World Zionist Organisation / Dep. for Torah Education and Culture in the Diaspora, 1983.

Parshat Vayikra: "Breaking" The Myth Behind Korbanot

BY: Avi Snyder

Parshat Vayikra, along with many of the parshiot that follow, poses a tremendous set of problems for the modern­­ student of Torah.  Not only do we moderns live in a world without the Temple, altar and sacrifices that are at the heart of these parshiot, quite a lot of us are rather glad that we live at a time where such modes of religious worship are regarded as antiquated at best and primitive at worst.

This disconnect between our present reality and the sacrificial cult that was so central to our ancestors’ worship has led to a rejection of the importance of korbanot among many liberal Jewish thinkers, and to a great deal of apologetics among those traditionalists who both study the institution and pray for its restoration. 

I would like to take a different approach to understanding this ancient mode of worship.  Rather than reject its relevance for modern man, I wish to seek a model that will help us appreciate the import of the sacrificial service.  However, instead of attempting to understand what we would like the korbanot to mean to us, I wish to discover what korbanot meant to the ancients who once brought them.  Through gaining such an understanding, I believe that we moderns can grow to appreciate the sacrificial cult as an idea that can still be meaningful for us today.

To fully understand the significance of korbanot for the ancient Israelite, we turn to the scholarship of the academy. The late biblical scholar, Rabbi Jacob Milgrom[1], taught that “The quintessential act of sacrifice is the transference of property from the common to the sacred realm, thus making it a gift for God.”[2] The idea of korban as a gift can be seen, as Professor Baruch Levine[3] explains, in the term “mincha,” which referred to the grain sacrifices brought in the Temple. The word mincha derives from the political and administrative vocabulary of the ancient Near East, and means “tribute” or “gift.”  Milgrom further notes that the gift of a korban would often be given to secure some sort of Divine aid to either secure a victory or achieve pardon for an offense.  (The korban chatat, sin offering, typifies a sacrifice brought to achieve expiation.)

Milgrom also explains that sacrifices in the ancient world were often viewed as being food for the gods to whom they were offered. This belief seems to have carried into the sacrificial system of the Israelites in a variety of ways.  The outer sanctum of the Temple, the Kodesh, was God’s personal dining room, replete with candelabra, incense, and bread on a “dining table.” The Kodesh HaKodashim, the Holy of Holies, represented God’s resting place, and the ark inside, God’s footstool.  Additionally, in Chumash, God describes the korbanot as, “my bread, my food-gift, my sweet odor,”[4] and in Ezekiel (a book closely related to biblical Priestly writings), the altar is even described as God’s “table.”[5]

Such beliefs about the nature of God and sacrifice may seem foreign and antiquated; however, they were very real for our ancestors. The system of sacrificial service fulfilled deep psychological needs for the ancient person attempting to relate to God as he or she would have understood Him. As Professor Levine notes, whatever the ancient Israelites may have believed about God’s omnipresence, “we [humans] expect that God, the power who sustains the universe and grants the petitions of his worshippers, responds to our needs more readily if he is near and present.” Through “feeding” and “appeasing” God, the ancient Israelites felt as if they could bring God into their midst and relate to Him on a personal level. They reinforced the idea that God is a personal God, who cares about both individuals and His Chosen People, Israel.

This view of the underlying purpose of the sacrificial cult is also expressed by the 19^th-century scholar, Samuel David Luzzatto,[6] who writes, “If the Torah stated that God does not want sacrifices and offerings, the people would soon say: It is of no concern to the Lord whether we act righteously or strive for self-perfection.” For Luzzatto, the sacrificial system represents an affirmation that God cares about us, and is responsive to our religious overtures.

With this understanding of how our ancestors perceived the act of bringing korbanot, we can attempt to understand what we modern Jews can gain from this understanding.

I would propose using the anthropological concept of “myth” in order to frame the issue of korbanot.  When social scientists use the term “myth,” they do not simply mean a fictional tale.  Rather, as the physicist-theologian Ian Barbour said, “A myth is a story which is taken to manifest some aspect of the cosmic order.” [7] In other words, myths are not simply made up. They are crafted so as to reflect reality as any given community perceives it to be.  Mythic structures reflect the structure of reality as interpreted by a given group of people.

The contemporary Jewish philosopher Rabbi Dr. Neil Gillman has written that much of Jewish observance is designed to express the message of Jewish religious myth. I believe the sacrificial service outlined in Parshat Vayikra is very much based upon a set of myths: that God desires the sweet scent of sacrifice, that God is nourished by our offerings, that God can be appeased and His mind changed.  These specific mythic beliefs were not simply invented on a whim.  They reflected what the ancient Israelites perceived to be very real: the possibility of closeness and relationship with the Divine.

Modern Jews may find sacrificial rites problematic because, at least for many of us, the specific mythic formulations that stand behind the cult are no longer viewed to be empirically true.  If God does not smell or eat, then why should He have ever needed sacrifice?  However, simply because a group of people may no longer subscribe to a particular mythic expression, it does not follow that the myth is useless.

Rabbi Dr. Gillman proposes that there are some myths that are “broken.”  They are no longer thought to be objectively or literally true, but they are not to simply be discarded on those grounds.  However, these myths, though exposed as being myths, can still remain “living” so long as they work effectively in any given community.  

If one chooses to relate to the myths surrounding the sacrificial service as “broken,” yet still “living” myths, then one can relate to and appreciate the function of the korbanot without engaging in anachronistic explanation or apologetics. The mythic formulations of our ancestors, which formed the basis for the institute of korbanot, expressed a reality that many of us still perceive to be true today: the reality of a personal, caring God.  Although the myths have been “broken,” we can still use and appreciate them insofar as they explain and express a reality that we perceive to be true.[8]

I will end with one final thought.  I believe that the approach I have outlined is not an entirely modern one.  The notion that a myth can be “broken” and “living” at the same time is one found in the Torah itself, specifically in the laws of the korbanot.

We have already outlined how the Torah speaks of sacrifice using the mythic language of being a “sweet scent” for God and of how the layout of the Mishkan resembles a home in which a god would eat. 

However, just as the Torah is reinforcing these mythic concepts, it is simultaneously undermining them.  Jacob Milgrom notes that all animal and grain sacrifices were to be offered to God on the outer altar in the courtyard of the Tabernacle, rather than in the Kodesh.  Ironically, all offerings to God were offered outside of His domicile.  This prescription, Milgrom argues, was designed to “[erase] any suspicion that Israel’s God consumed the sacrifices.”[9]  Furthermore, as the late Israeli Bible scholar Yehezkel Kauffmann once noted, the Mishkan is a “sanctuary of silence.”  No incantations or prayers were recited during the sacrificial service, thus combating the notion that one could magically manipulate the gods or nature through Temple service.

Ironically, we see that the Torah, through many of its sacrificial laws, attempts to combat the basic mythic notions underlying the sacrificial cult. The Torah tries to break its own myth!

I believe that this astonishing fact provides those modern Jews who feel disturbed by or distant from the Temple worship that was once so vital to our people a remarkable precedent. By adapting the Torah’s own approach Jews may relate to the sacrificial myths as “broken” myths which still help us express our unshakable belief in a very real, approachable, and caring God.

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[1] All quotes from Professor Jacob Milgrom are taken from Leviticus: A Book of Ritual and Ethics. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 2004.

[2] ibid., 17.

[3] All quotes from Professor Baruch Levine are taken from Leviticus: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989.

[4] Numbers 28:2. All translations are my own unless otherwise specified.

[5] Ezekiel 41:22, see also 44:16.

[6] As quoted in Nehama Leibowitz’s New Studies in Vayikra. Jerusalem: Publishing Division of the Torah Education Department of the World Zionist Organization, 1993.

[7] As quoted in Neil Gillman’s The Death of Death: Resurrection and Immortality in Jewish Thought. Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights, 1997.  All quotes from Professor Gillman are taken from this source.

[8] The particulars of how I employ the concept of myth may not reflect how Professor Gillman or any other scholars use the term or apply it to Jewish rituals.  This D’var Torah is my own personal understanding and my own usage of the term for its applicability to understanding the Israelite sacrificial cult.

[9] Milgrom, Leviticus: A Book of Ritual and Ethics, 21.

Parshat Tetzaveh: The Character Of The Incense Altar

 BY: Ariel Karp

This week’s parsha, Parshat Tetzaveh, deals mainly with the clothing of the Kohanim and the sacrifices pertaining to the dedication of the Mishkan. In the end of the parsha, however, we find the commandment to build the incense altar, the mizbeach ha’ketoret. This seems strangely out of place. The rest of the vessels are mentioned in Parshat Teruma, the parsha  before Tetzaveh. Why is the incense altar separated from the rest of the vessels in this parsha when in the rest of the Tanakh it is grouped together with them? 

Furthermore, the reason given for the formation of the other vessels is, [i]“וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹךְ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל”- in order for God’s presence to dwell amongst the people of Israel.They were formed in order to bring the presence of God into the Mishkan. A similar reason is not given for the incense altar. Ramban explains that incense itself is always related to kavod, honor. It is therefore assumed that the purpose of the incense altar was to honor God, rather than to channel His presence. What do these distinctions mean and how do they relate to our understanding of the incense altar?

The Meshech Chochma looks at the separation of incense altar as unfavorable. It is a reflection of the lower status of the incense altar in relation to the other vessels of the Mishkan. In Masechet Zevachim (59a) it states: “If the [incense] altar is absent, incense is burned in its place." This means that the mitzvah of incense can be fulfilled without the altar. The incense can simply be burned in the spot where the altar should be. No such leeway is given with regard to any of the other vessels. Without the sacrificial altar there are no sacrifices, and without the table there is no showbread. It is therefore fitting that the incense altar be listed after and separate from all of the other “necessary” vessels. 

All of the other vessels are necessary for the fulfillment of the daily service, to cause God’s presence to rest on the Mishkan. The incense altar is not. It is not part of the daily service, but an independent mitzvah. It is used not to bring God’s presence into the Mishkan, but instead to honor God. The Seforno follows the path of the Meshech Chochma. He compares the Mishkan to a house, and God to a guest entering this house. Each vessel represents a different household item that could be used to welcome guest. The ark is a seat, the menorah a lamp, and so on. The incense altar, however, is not one of these items. It is used not to welcome God, but to honor God- "to honor [him] following his visit." He compares the incense altar to mugmar, a type of incense that was customarily burned at the end of an important meal to introduce a pleasant fragrance before that guests leave. The mugmar is not an integral part of the meal but a nice addition. So too, the incense altar is not an integral part of the daily service, but a pleasant supplement.

The Ibn Ezra and the Ramban take a very different approach. They claim that the incense altar is separated from the other vessels because it has a higher status. The parsha of the incense altar concludes with the verse, “קֹדֶשׁ-קָדָשִׁים הוּא, לַיהוָה”- “It is a holy of holies unto God."[ii] The parsha of the sacrificial altar is called only “קֹדֶשׁ-קָדָשִׁים הוּא”- “a holy of holies”.[iii] This additional “unto God” highlights the uniqueness of the incense altar. It is not just holy, but it is holy unto God. The incense altar is therefore mentioned last after all of the other vessels not because it is less significant, but because it is the culmination of the Mishkan process. As the Ramban states: “בתשלום הכל נקדשתי את שמי” – with the sum of everything I will sanctify myself. The incense altar is this pinnacle, this sum.  Only after the incense altar is built can God fully rest not just his presence but also his kavod, his honor and glory, on the Mishkan.

These three opinions give an interesting reflection on the dual nature of the incense altar, and of the idea of separation. Separation can be looked at as a way to isolate or disregard something, or, as a way to define, honor, and sanctify it. We therefore can see the separation of  the incense altar from the other vessels as a reflection of its inferiority or its superiority. And in fact, it possesses both a superior and an inferior aspect. It is inferior to the other vessels in that it is not part of the daily service, and service is the main aspect of the Mishkan; however, it is used for honor, and honor is a higher level than service. Honor may not be necessary for the basic function of the Mishkan, but it brings a level of kedusha, of holiness, that is otherwise unattainable. It transforms the Mishkan from “holy” to "holy unto God.”

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[i] Exodus 29:46

[ii] Exodus 30:10

[iii] Exodus 29:37