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Yeshivat Har Etzion
PARASHAT Vayikra
by
Rav David Silverberg
In his opening comments to Sefer Vayikra, Rashi cites from the Midrash the deeper implication of the opening word of Sefer Vayikra, for which the book is named "vayikra" ("He called"). The Midrash comments that whenever God spoke to Moshe, He first "called" to him. Presumably, this means that God would summon Moshe to the Mishkan, for it was there where Moshe would hear God's word (see Shemot 29:42 and Bamidbar 7:89). In fact, several commentators, including Rashbam and Chizkuni, explain God's "calling" to Moshe in this opening verse of Sefer Vayikra as an invitation to Moshe to enter the Mishkan. Whereas the final verses of Sefer Shemot tell that Moshe was barred from entering the Mishkan by the cloud of the Divine Presence, Sefer Vayikra begins with the permission granted to Moshe to come and join Him, so-to-speak, inside the Mishkan.
Rashi then adds, again based on the Midrash,
that "vayikra" is a "lashon shel
Each day, as part of the "u-va le-Tziyon" prayer, we recite the aforementioned verse from Sefer Yeshayahu along with its Targum (Aramaic translation by Yonatan Ben Uziel). The Targum translates the word "keri'a" in this verse as "u-mekablin" literally, "they receive [from one another ]." What exactly do the angels "receive" from one another, and how did the Targum extract this translation from the word "ve-kara," which means "calling"? Rashi, in his commentary to that verse, explains that the angels would call to one another before proclaiming, "Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh" because it was forbidden for any angel to declare kedusha individually. It was necessary, therefore, for each angel to summon the other angel and ask for his consent to conduct the collective kedusha. Only when they all "received" the consent of the others to declare "Kadosh" together as a group could they proceed with the kedusha.
Perhaps the secret to understanding Chazal's comments regarding the word "vayikra" stems from this interpretation of that verse. "Keri'a" in Yeshayahu means a request of permission, it involves a recognition of the "caller's" dependence on the one upon whom he "calls." God's "calling" to Moshe is an expression of love because it reflects the fact that the Almighty "needs" Moshe, as it were, to join Him in the Mishkan. Although God's presence descends upon the Mishkan in the final verses of Sefer Shemot (see especially 40:34), the process of "Hashara'at Ha-Shekhina," God's so-called "resting" among Benei Yisrael, is not yet complete until Sefer Vayikra, when God invites a human being Moshe inside. The word "vayikra" is an expression of deep affection because it means that God wishes not only to "dwell" among Benei Yisrael, but also to interact with them, as it were. He invites Am Yisrael to join Him, so-to-speak, in the Mishkan, just as the angels summon one another to participate in the declaration of kedusha. And just as no angel can proceed without the participation of the others, so does the Almighty wish not to remain alone in the Mishkan, but rather to be joined by His beloved nation, Am Yisrael.
David Silverberg
*****
In the opening verses of Sefer Vayikra, God instructs Moshe to convey to Benei Yisrael the rules and procedures concerning the korbanot. According to the Midrash, cited in Rashi's commentary to the first verse in the sefer, God orders Moshe to first speak to Benei Yisrael about other matters: "Go and speak to them words of admonition: It is [only] because of you that God speaks to me!" Many commentators have noted the obvious difficulty in this Midrash: where are the "word of admonition" ("divrei kivushin")? The fact that God spoke to Moshe strictly on account of Benei Yisrael, for the purpose of conveying to them the laws, would appear to reflect the extraordinary stature of this nation. Why does the Midrash describe this reminder to Benei Yisrael as "words of admonition"?
The Chatam Sofer offered numerous interpretations of this Midrash. One approach suggests reinterpreting the term "divrei kivushin" used in this Midrash, which we generally translate as "words of admonition" or rebuke. Rashi in Masekhet Ta'anit (15a) explains that the word "kivushin" evolves from the Hebrew verb "k.b.sh." which means to capture or conquer. "Divrei kivushin," then, refers to oral presentations intended to "capture" the hearts of the audience and inspire them to repent and improve. Generally, we associate "divrei kivushin" with harsh words of reproach, but, the Chatam Sofer suggests, it may refer as well to any address that stirs the souls of its listeners. Here, Moshe inspires the people not through criticism and rebuke (as he does in the first chapters of Sefer Devarim), but rather to the contrary, by emphasizing to them their immense worth in the eyes of the Almighty. So precious are they to God that He summons Moshe into the Mishkan and speaks to him solely for the purpose of instructing Benei Yisrael and bringing them closer to their Creator.
In his other explanations, however, the Chatam Sofer retains the conventional definition of "divrei kivushin," as criticism and rebuke. One approach he suggests claims that Moshe reminds the people of why God conveys His laws to the people through Moshe, rather than to them directly, and why they could not even hear the Almighty's voice as He spoke to Moshe. It is because of their unworthiness that God had to summon Moshe and speak privately to him, rather than presenting the instructions to the entire nation together.
We might suggest a different interpretation of this Midrash. We can easily imagine that some, or perhaps many, among Benei Yisrael felt envious of Moshe, the sole recipient of God's invitation to enter the Mishkan. As God's glory descended upon the Mishkan, there were likely those who yearned to enter the building and experience communion with the Shekhina. Much to their chagrin, only Moshe at least at this point - was called upon to enter. To these people, perhaps, Moshe was to direct his "divrei kivushin." God told Moshe to remind Benei Yisrael that it made little difference whether they entered with Moshe or remained outside, for the sole purpose of his entry was for their benefit, so that they can receive God's laws. It was just as great a privilege to hear God's laws from Moshe than to receive them directly from the Almighty, for both yield the same result: the honor and distinction of being chosen to study and perform the mitzvot of the Torah. The recipient of an enormous fortune of money should not care whether the check arrives by mail or in person, or, for that matter, if he receives the money in his account through a bank transfer. Had Benei Yisrael recognized the inherent, invaluable worth of God's law and the great honor involved in receiving them, they would not have harbored any feelings of envy towards Moshe, who was invited inside the Mishkan.
These, perhaps, are the "words of admonition" Moshe was to administer to Benei Yisrael.
David Silverberg
*****
The Torah in Parashat Vayikra (2:13) mandates that all mincha offerings (sacrifices made from flour, as opposed to animal sacrifices) must have salt added to them. Rashi, citing from the Midrash, tells that on the second day of creation, when God created the atmosphere by separating the "lower waters" from the "upper waters," the "lower waters" complained. They felt jealous of the "upper waters" which were privileged to remain in the heavens, closer to the Almighty. God appeased, as it were, the "lower waters" by assuring them that they will return heavenward by being placed upon the altar: water will be used for libations on Sukkot, while sea salt will be put on the altar with every korban mincha.
What does this Midrash mean? Even if we could perhaps understand that water "returns" to God through libations, how does it return to the heavens simply by having its salt placed on the altar? (We might add that one version of this Midrash, cited in Torah Sheleima, tells that the waters were not satisfied with God's promise of their use for libations, as these occur only on Sukkot. God therefore promised that their salt would be used with menachot. It turns out, then, that the final "appeasement" to the lower waters involved specifically the salt. This perhaps amplifies the question: how does the use of salt signify the water's return to the heavens?)
Rav Yaakov Kaminetzky explained the meaning behind this Midrash, as well as how the salt poured on meal offerings represents the water's return to the heavens. In truth, the lower waters ultimately do return to the skies, through evaporation. It is specifically the salt that remains below, on earth. God shows the "lower waters" that even that which appears to have no possibility whatsoever of ascending to the heavens can reach God. Godliness must not be confused with otherworldliness. Godliness relates to earthly existence; it means sanctifying life by living by a higher standard, not trying to escape. Even the salt, even the physical properties of human life, the part of a person that is bound by earthly constraints, can reach God through the altar through the performance of His mitzvot.
The salt of menachot thus symbolizes the fact that one need not join the "upper waters" to connect to God. Religious life challenges us to infuse the mundane with spirituality, to take the "salt," the lowest parts of human existence, and discover how to place them on the altar as an offering to God.
(Might this explain why this feature of the VBM is called "SALT"???)
David Silverberg
*****
In introducing to Moshe the topic of korbanot (sacrifices), God declares, "Adam ki yakriv mi-kem korban le-Hashem " ("When a person among you brings a sacrifice to the Lord " 1:2). Chazal, cited by Rashi, view with particular importance the use of the word "adam" in this verse to mean "person." Normally, the Torah employs the term "ish" to speak generically about "people." The use of the word "adam," the Midrash claims, must be taken (obviously on the level "derash") as a reference to Adam Ha-Rishon Adam, the first man ever created. The Torah here alludes to the fact that we must learn from Adam the proper approach and attitude towards the concept of sacrifices: "Just as Adam Ha-Rishon did not bring a sacrifice from stolen property, for everything belonged to him, you, too, must not bring from stolen property."
Bringing a stolen animal as a sacrifice entirely negates and undermines the very function and nature of korbanot. A sacrifice serves as an expression of just that "sacrifice," giving of one's self. The Hebrew word "korban" stems from the root "k.r.v.," which means closeness, or drawing near. A person cannot possibly hope to draw nearer to the Almighty unless he is prepared to demonstrate his devotion to Him through self-sacrifice. Stealing an animal to be used for a sacrifice reflects an inherently flawed perception of the sacrificial order, as a magical, hocus-pocus ritual that possesses the intrinsic, mystical power of winning God's favor. This approach views a korban as a ceremony, rather than a sacrifice.
According to Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, the fallacy of this perspective clearly emerges from the very first instance where the Torah speaks of sacrifices: the offerings brought by Kayin and Hevel. In his commentary to that narrative (Bereishit 4:3-6), Rav Hirsch writes:
"Here, at once, at the first offering, we find a rejected offering next to one received with satisfaction So that, from the very beginning, no absolute value in itself was laid on offerings as such It all depends on the spirit, the idea in which offerings and prayers are offered. Two people can bring exactly identical offerings, pray exactly the same prayers, and still present themselves to God in infinite dissimilarity."
According to the Midrash, the second verse of Sefer Vayikra reinforces this message by demanding that Benei Yisrael look to Adam as the model for their offerings. Just as Adam, according to the Midrash, brought an offering that could not possibly have been stolen, so must one avoid this mistaken perspective of sacrifices as a magical device, which would prompt him to bring stolen goods as an offering to God.
David Silverberg
*****
In presenting the various categories of sacrifices in Parashat Vayikra, the Torah speaks first of korbanot nedava those offerings which one brings voluntarily and thereafter of korbanot chova offerings required of individuals due to transgressions violated. The first group, of korbanot nedava, consists of two types of korbanot: the ola offering, which is entirely burnt on the altar, and the shelamim, of which only the fats are placed upon the altar, while its meat is shared by the administering kohen and the ba'alim (individual bringing the korban). The Torah here goes through the different options available to one who wishes to volunteer a sacrifice. A person who brings an ola offering can bring either a bull, sheep or bird. The shelamim, by contrast, can be only either a bull or a sheep; there is no such thing as a bird brought as a shelamim.
Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, in his commentary to Parashat Vayikra, explains this distinction as reflecting the fundamental difference between the ola and shelamim, as well as the unique symbolism of birds within the conceptual realm of korbanot. The korban ola, Rav Hirsch writes, "is brought in the consciousness of not having done what one ought to have done, and is meant to guard against such neglect in the future." The korban ola is intended as a somber experience. According to Chazal, although the ola offering is purely voluntary and not strictly required, it nevertheless comes as atonement for neglecting a mitzvat asei, or for improper thoughts. The shelamim, by contrast, is of a far more festive nature. The term often used in the Torah in reference to shelamim is "zevach" which also means "feast." It is telling that the korban toda, the thanksgiving offering, is classified among the korbanot shelamim. Shelamim is an offering of celebration, which one brings out of a sense of peace, tranquillity and satisfaction (the word "shelamim" relates to both the word "shalom" peace and "shalem" perfection).
Understandably, then, a bird is never offered as a shelamim. As Rav Hirsch observes, the image of the bird is used many times in Tanakh as a symbol of a "fugitive existence," a creature "threatened by danger, threatened by dire necessity, and defenseless." (See Yeshayahu 16:2, Mishlei 27:8 & 26:2; Eikha 3:52, Kohelet 9:12). The bird-offering thus represents "an unsettled state of nomadic homelessness." It is brought by someone who experiences hardship and suffering, who feels insecure, lonely and distressed. It is understandable, then, that such an offering has no place within the framework of shelamim, which expresses, in Rav Hirsch's words, "the idea of a complete undisturbed happy condition."
Rav Hirsch adds that this role served by the olat ha-of helps explain the significant differences between its procedure and that of other ola offerings. Namely, whereas all other sacrifices require shechita controlled slaughtering with a knife, severing the animal's neck the bird-offering is killed by "melika" piercing the back of the bird's neck with the fingernail. Furthermore, the blood of other sacrifices is cast upon the altar ("zerika"), whereas the bird-offering is crushed upon the altar after "melika" and the blood is squeezed upon the altar. Clearly, the image that emerges is one of "violent raw destruction," and thus expresses the torment experienced by someone who has undergone hardship.
What lesson does this korban seek to convey to the tormented soul offering an olat ha-of? Rav Hirsch describes this lesson to be "that endurance of, and submitting to, the most oppressive violence and harshest of circumstances, also belong to the tasks which the spiritual heights of the Altar-of-the-Torah expect us to solve." Meaning, the Torah directs us and serves as our guide not only during times of comfort, but also in times of hardship. We are drawn to God's mizbei'ach not only in times of festive celebration, but also when we must endure suffering. And it specifically there, in the Beit Ha-mikdash next to the altar, where we may find solace and refuge from our hardships:
"The spiritual demand of suffering is: with all one's energy to cling to the heights of the ideals of the Torah, right up to the very end even to the loss of all strength, all the powers of life Both phases of life, submissive endurance, as well as cheerful working belong to the tasks of life as preached from the heights of Jewish conceptions."
David Silverberg
*****
The Rambam rules in Hilkhot Ma'aseh Ha-korbanot (end of chapter 3) that although generally one who brings an offering must confess his transgressions before the sacrifice is offered, no confession is recited when one brings a korban shelamim. Rather than confessing, the Rambam writes, the one bringing a shelamim proclaims the praise of the Almighty. In our S.A.L.T. series last year, we discussed this ruling of the Rambam as it relates to the broader issue of whether or not the korban shelamim serves as atonement, or is purely an expression of celebration.
Either way, some writers have noted that Rashi appears at least at first glance to dispute this position of the Rambam. The Gemara in Masekhet Ta'anit (23a) tells the famous story of Choni Ha-me'agel, who prayed to the Almighty for rain during a severe drought. In response to his prayers, it rained continuously to the point where the people asked Choni to plead that the rain should stop. Choni asked to bring a "par hoda'a" a bull as a thanksgiving offering to thank God for the abundant rainfall, and while offering this sacrifice he pleaded for the rains to end. Rashi comments that the term "par hoda'a" means "le-hitvadot alav" "to confess over it." Meaning, Choni brought this cow to recite confession over it. Rashi proceeds to mention that this offering was a shelamim. It would seem, therefore, that in Rashi's view, one makes confession even when offering a korban shelamim. Indeed, the "Mitzpeh Eitan" (there in Masekhet Ta'anit) cites the work "Ve-shav Ha-kohen" as concluding that Rashi disagrees with the aforementioned position of the Rambam.
However, Rashi's comment appears to conflict not only with the Rambam's position, but perhaps with his own view elsewhere. In his commentary to chapter 100 of Sefer Tehillim "Mizmor le-toda," Rashi writes that this chapter was recited when a korban toda (thanksgiving offering) was brought. The Chayei Adam, in a special essay he appended to the end of his work, devoted to this chapter of Tehillim, questions Rashi's comment in light of the fact that the songs of Tehillim were sung by the Levi'im only when public offerings were brought. The Levi'im would not sing over the sacrifices offered by private individuals. Evidently, the Chayei Adam contends, Rashi held, like the Rambam, that instead of confessing over a korban shelamim, one spoke the praises of the Almighty. And so in his commentary to Sefer Tehillim, Rashi specifies that in the case of a korban toda (which is one type of korban shelamim), it was this chapter of Tehillim that one recited as praise to God. It thus turns out that according to the Chayei Ada, Rashi himself accepts the Rambam's view, that one spoke praises of God rather than words of confession when bringing a korban shelamim.
(It should be noted, however, that according to many, the commentary on Masekhet Ta'anit commonly attributed to Rashi was not, in fact, written by Rashi.)
The "Mitzpeh Eitan" suggests a different reading of Rashi's comment in Masekhet Ta'anit. Rashi did not mean that Choni declared any sort of confession when offering this sacrifice. The word "le'hitvadot," which we normally translate to mean "confession," may also mean "hoda'a" thanksgiving. Thus, Choni brought an offering upon which to give praise to God, rather than to confess his people's sins.
The relationship between confession and thanksgiving extends beyond the etymological association; they are thematically related, as well. The Malbim, in his comments to Parashat Vayikra, explains that these two Hebrew words "hoda'a" (thanksgiving) and "viduy" (confession) have the same essential meaning: acknowledging that which people by nature tend to deny. People generally refuse to admit wrongdoing; they prefer to absolve themselves of responsibility by either falsely denying the accusation or blaming the mistake on some external factor. Likewise, genuine thanksgiving is often unnatural. Human beings prefer to credit themselves rather than acknowledge the achievements of others. Thus, the concepts of "viduy" and "hoda'a" are, indeed, very much related.
When
a person brings a korban, he is called upon to
verbalize confession/thanksgiving in other words, he is required to make an
honest assessment of his current life situation. If he has transgressed, he must expressly
acknowledge his guilt; if he comes to the
David Silverberg
*****
In the opening verses of Sefer Vayikra, God tells Moshe to inform Benei Yisrael of the various types of korbanot. The Sefer's second verse reads, "When any of you presents an offering to the Lord " The Gemara in Masekhet Nedarim (10b) cites Rabbi Shimon as deriving from the verse that when a person consecrates an animal as a korban, he must use the wording of this verse: "korban le-Hashem" ("an offering to the Lord"). He must articulate this phrase rather than reverse the order and say, "le-Hashem korban." Although "le-Hashem korban" has the same meaning and would actually have the same effect (that is, if he uses this formulation the consecration takes effect and the laws of hekdesh apply to the animal), Rabbi Shimon nevertheless urges people to declare, "korban le-Hashem." The reason is that if one would begin saying "le-Hashem korban" and die after saying God's Name but before completing the phrase, he will have uttered God's Name in vein. Therefore, one should avoid this potential problem by saying, "korban le-Hashem."
This Gemara brings to mind the halakha requiring one to recite viduy (confession) in the mincha service on Erev Yom Kippur. The poskim explain that one might choke on his food and die during the final meal before the onset of Yom Kippur, and will have thus passed away without having recited viduy before Yom Kippur.
Needless to say, both these halakhot seem, at first glance, awfully odd, perhaps even morbid. Does Judaism encourage obsessive worry about death, to the point where at every moment we must concern ourselves with the possibility that we will not live to see the next moment? Why does Halakha suddenly impose upon us this sense of panic and dread?
The
Shemen Ha-tov (cited by Rav
Yissachar Frand) suggests
that these halakhot seek to engender not a sense of
fear, but a sense of dependence. By
specifically formulating the consecration with the words "korban le-Hashem" for
"fear" of uttering God's Name in vein, Chazal
remind us that only through the grace of God do we proceed from one moment to
the next, it is only His protection that safely carries us through each
day. These two occasions the offering
of korbanot and Yom Kippur are indeed appropriate
settings for such a reminder. The
The
festival we will soon celebrate is commonly referred to both in Tanach and throughout history as "Pesach"
(though in Chumash "Chag
Ha-Pesach" refers specifically to the first night of the holiday). This name stems from the fact that God "pasach" or "passed over" (according to
most translations) the homes of Benei Yisrael as He
dealt the plague of the firstborn upon
Rav
Moshe Feinstein is cited as explaining that God's "passing over" the
houses of Benei Yisrael was meant to demonstrate that
at all times, at every moment, calamity and tragedy pass us over. Like that night in
David Silverberg
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