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Yeshivat Har Etzion

PARASHAT VAYIKRA

By Rav David Silverberg

The Ramban, in his commentary to Parashat Vayikra (1:9), famously cites and rejects the Rambam's approach to the underlying reason behind the institution of korbanot (sacrifices). In the passage from the "Moreh Nevukhim" (3:46) paraphrased by the Ramban, the Rambam claims that God ordered that we bring sheep, cattle and goats as sacrifices because various pagan cultures in the ancient world worshipped these animals. We demonstrate our firm rejection of these beliefs by sacrificing these alleged deities to the one, true God. Earlier in the Moreh (3:32), the Rambam writes that God found it necessary to demand a sacrificial order because animal sacrifice had become the universally accepted mode of religious worship in the pagan world. Benei Yisrael could not have been realistically expected to accept a religious system that did not feature sacrificial offerings. It was in response to this need that God established the order of sacrifices outlined by the Torah here in Parashat Vayikra.

The Ramban sharply criticizes the Rambam's comments and raises several objections against his theory. We will focus on his initial remarks after he paraphrases the Rambam's stance: "These are nonsensical words, which offer healing offhand for a great wound and considerable difficulty." This phrase – "offer healing offhand for a great wound" – is borrowed from a verse in Sefer Yirmiyahu (6:14), in which Yirmiyahu cites the Almighty's condemnation of the false prophets who opposed Yirmiyahu. We cite here the relevant verse in context: "For from the smallest to the greatest, they are all greedy for gain; priest and prophet alike, they all act falsely. They offer healing offhand for the wounds of My people, saying, 'All is well, all is well,' when nothing is well."

The late Professor Nechama Leibowitz a"h observed that the context of this verse may very well shed light on the Ramban's specific claim in this passage. In the vast majority of his prophecies, Yirmiyahu conveyed to the people a message they were not interested in hearing – predictions of catastrophe and doom, and the need for a fundamental change in conduct and values to avoid the impending disaster. The false prophets, by contrast, eager to win the people's favor, presented a far more pleasant prognosis: "All is well, all is well." They eased the masses' conscience by assuring them that God is on their side, that they need merely to continue along their current path and remain confident in God's imminent salvation. In this manner, they "offered healing offhand for the wounds of My people." They cavalierly dismissed the looming threat, insisting that in truth there is nothing to fear and no reason for any substantive change of lifestyle.

With this in mind, Professor Leibowitz suggested, we can understand the Ramban's castigation of the Rambam's theory. He felt that this approach all too conveniently absolves us from delving into the depths of the sacrificial system to uncover its true meaning and spiritual significance. The Rambam here allowed us to write off this entire institution as a phenomenon necessitated by an unfortunate circumstance, thereby obviating the need to search for any further meaning. A proper understanding of this critical topic, the Ramban insisted, requires thorough study and inquiry; in his mind, the Rambam's speculative theory hardly suffices.

Of course, we may reasonably presume that the Rambam did not postulate this theory out of intellectual laziness, but rather because he honestly believed this to be the factor that prompted the Almighty to include in the Torah a system of korbanot. We may also assume that the Ramban here does not actually accuse the Rambam of laziness, or to equate him with the false prophets of the First Temple era. Rather, the Ramban was troubled by the fact that the Rambam's approach effectively rendered meaningless any serious analysis of the korbanot. Indeed, later in his commentary, the Ramban writes that the concept of korbanot involved a "sod gadol" – profound Kabbalistic meaning. He therefore objected to the Rambam's theory, according to which we have no reason to attribute any deeper meaning to the system of korbanot.

*****

Yesterday, we discussed the Rambam's famous and controversial comments in his "Moreh Nevukhim" (3:32, 46) regarding the reason underlying the institution of korbanot (sacrifices). In his view, God found it necessary to include a sacrificial order in the Torah only because this mode of religious worship had become so widespread in the pagan world within which Am Yisrael was forged. Since He could not have expected them to embrace a religious system that did not include korbanot, He established the various forms of sacrifices outlined towards the beginning of Sefer Vayikra.

Abarbanel, in his introduction to Sefer Vayikra, defends the Rambam's position and claims that it is in fact anchored in Midrashic and Talmudic literature. In particular, Abarbanel focuses on one passage from Vayikra Rabba (22). The Midrash there draws an analogy to a prince who grew accustomed to eating forbidden foods. His father, the king, therefore decided, "Let him eat them at my table, at all times, and he will naturally withdraw [from this custom]." Similarly, the Midrash concludes, "Benei Yisrael were drawn after idolatry and would bring their sacrifices to the satyrs, in violation [of God's laws]… The Almighty [therefore] said: They shall offer their sacrifices before Me in the Tent of Meeting, and they will separate from idolatry." Seemingly, Abarbanel writes, this Midrash formulates the very point the Rambam expressed: the korbanot were intended merely to fill Benei Yisrael's instinctive need for sacrificial worship that resulted from their long period of exposure to pagan culture.

Rav David Tzvi Hoffman, however, in his work on Sefer Vayikra, refutes this proof, demonstrating that Abarbanel worked with a faulty text of the Midrash. According to the text cited by Abarbanel, the king wanted his son to "eat them at my table, at all times." Meaning, he asked that his son bring his forbidden foods to the royal dining hall, which would somehow cause the son to "naturally withdraw." For one thing, it is hard to understand why the son would withdraw from the forbidden foods to which he has become accustomed to eating by partaking of them at his father's table. Even more troubling, however, is the parallel declaration of God in the case for which this analogy is introduced. Did God really ask that Benei Yisrael eat their "forbidden foods" at His "table," that they should worship idols at the Mishkan? Quite to the contrary, He ordained that they offer sacrifices to Him, rather than to anyone else. This does not appear to fit the analogy of the king asking his son to partake of forbidden foods in the royal palace.

Indeed, as Rav Hoffman notes, the prevalent editions of Vayikra Rabba feature a different text of the king's declaration, which reads, "He shall come regularly to my table, and he will naturally withdraw." According to this text, the king does not ask his son to bring his foods to the royal table; rather, he has his son eat with him on a regular basis, so that he will grow accustomed to royal protocol and thus refrain from eating forbidden foods. Applying this analogy to God and Benei Yisrael, He sought to draw them away from idolatry by ensuring their frequent visits to the Mishkan. As Rav Hoffman explains, this Midrash presents a reason why God forbade Benei Yisrael during the forty years in the wilderness from eating meat outside the context of the Mishkan; if they wanted to eat meat, they had to bring the animal as a sacrifice in the Mishkan. God did this, the Midrash explains, so that Benei Yisrael would make regular pilgrimages to the Mishkan and behold the Shekhina's presence, which would naturally draw them away from idolatrous beliefs and practices. Accordingly, this passage in the Midrash has nothing at all to do with the general purpose behind the korbanot, and thus cannot serve as a basis for the Rambam's controversial theory.

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Today we will continue our discussion of the Rambam's controversial position regarding the underlying purpose of the korbanot (sacrifices), which he believes were necessitated by the centrality of sacrificial worship in ancient pagan cultures. Benei Yisrael, who became a nation in ancient Egypt, could not possibly have been expected to accept a religious code that did not include the offering of sacrifices, and God therefore established such a system as part of the Torah. Otherwise, they would have reverted back to idolatry, unable to follow a creed that did not allow for religious expression through sacrificial worship.

Rav David Tzvi Hoffman, in his work to Sefer Vayikra, makes the (fairly obvious) point that the Rambam's approach must be seen in light of his general outlook regarding the underlying reasons behind mitzvot. In his "Moreh Nevukhim" (3:27), the Rambam writes that in addition to the mitzvot's purpose of establishing "good mutual relations among men by removing injustice and creating the noblest of feelings," they also seek "to train us in faith, and to impart correct and true opinions when the intellect is sufficiently developed." In other words, many mitzvot are intended to convey certain philosophical ideas. In the next chapter, the Rambam writes, "in some cases the law contains a truth which is itself the only object of that law, as e.g., the truth of the Unity, Eternity, and Inocorporeality of God." The Rambam's approach to korbanot follows this model, as they are intended to keep Benei Yisrael away from idolatry and reinforce their commitment to monotheism.

Rav Hoffman writes that he does not accept the Rambam's approach to korbanot specifically because he does not accept his overall approach to the reasons behind mitzvot in general. In his view, mitzvot are not intended to reinforce philosophical beliefs; to the contrary, correct philosophical beliefs are necessary for the purpose of fulfilling the mitzvot. In other words, he perceives the mitzvot not as the means to a philosophical end, but rather as the end itself. The Torah's goal is not to convey philosophical truths through the performance of mitzvot, but rather for us to serve God through the performance of mitzvot. The philosophical truths are necessary only because they teach the importance of practical observance of God's commands.

Furthermore, Rav Hoffman writes, he does not accept the Rambam's theory because of the implication that the korbanot are unnecessary in the modern world, when sacrificial worship has generally been abolished. The Rambam, who himself lists the belief in the Torah's immutability as one of thirteen articles of Jewish faith, the rejection of which constitutes heresy, obviously believes that the sacrificial order will be reinstated when the third Temple will be rebuilt. He, too, prayed three times a day for the restoration of korbanot. Rav Hoffman felt that the eternal obligation of korbanot appears to run counter to the Rambam's perspective on their underlying reason, as necessitated by the prevalence of pagan sacrifice.

For these reasons, Rav Hoffman does not accept the Rambam's theory, and instead advances a different, perhaps more conventional approach, viewing the korbanot as concrete, symbolic expressions of devotion and love to the Almighty.

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This week we have been discussing the Rambam's famous and controversial position regarding the institution of korbanot (sacrifices), which he claims was necessitated by the widespread acceptance of this mode of worship among the pagan world (Moreh Nevukhim 3:32). As we saw, the Ramban, in his commentary to Parashat Vayikra (1:9), strongly denounces the Rambam's position. Today we will address the most compelling of the Ramban's arguments, namely, the fact that korbanot were offered – and responded to favorably by God – even before paganism. Most obviously, Kayin and Hevel, sons of the very first human being, brought offerings to God, and God willingly accepted Hevel's offering (Bereishit 4:3-4). Clearly, idolatrous sacrifices had yet to be introduced. Likewise, immediately upon Noach's emergence from the ark after the deluge, he offered animal sacrifices to God, who "smelled the pleasing odor" and "said to Himself: Never again will I doom the earth because of man" (Bereishit 8:21). Needless to say, no pagans lived on earth immediately after the flood, and yet Noach offered a sacrifice which God lovingly accepted. Additionally, a Midrashic tradition, which the Rambam himself brings in Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira (2:2), tells that Adam offered a sacrifice to God at the future site of the Temple. Once again, we find an instance of a genuine sacrifice offered to the Almighty even before any individual worshipped an idol.

This history of sacrificial worship, which predates paganism, would seem to force us to conclude that even the Rambam acknowledges the inherent value of sacrifices. Several different approaches have been taken to reconcile this conclusion with the Rambam's aforementioned comments in his Moreh Nevukhim.

Abarbanel, in his defense of the Rambam's position in his introduction to Sefer Vayikra (as we cited in our S.A.L.T. series to Parashat Bereishit a while back), suggests that the inherent value of sacrificial worship in itself does not suffice to warrant its inclusion within Torah law. Although offering sacrifices indeed does have intrinsic religious value in reinforcing one's awareness of God's existence and His unchallenged authority, nevertheless, this objective is more effectively achieved through other means, such as prayer, study and so on. Since there are so many other mitzvot which achieve this goal more meaningfully than by sprinkling an animal's blood on an altar, God would not have ordained a sacrificial system if not for the reason discussed by the Rambam.

In a slightly different vein, the "Ketav Sofer" (in Parashat Vayikra) cites the "Tzofnat Panei'ach" as explaining that the pagan association of korbanot should have rendered this mode of worship inappropriate from the Torah's perspective. Despite the intrinsic value of offering sacrifices in the worship of the Almighty, the fact that the pagans adopted this form of ritual as their primary means of religious expression should have prompted God to forbid such practices. The Rambam therefore found it necessary to explain that the Almighty allowed and even mandated sacrificial worship because He understood that Benei Yisrael would be unable to adjust themselves to a religious system that did not feature a sacrificial rite.

Rav Menachem Kasher, in his "Torah Sheleima" (Parashat Vayikra, appendix 1), elaborates on the importance of sincere motives and intentions when offering a sacrifice, and proceeds to apply this principle to explain the Rambam's position. Given that korbanot serve as an expression of one's sincere feelings of devotion, and indeed the prophets strongly condemned the use of sacrifice as an attempt at automatic, magical absolution, the question arises as to why Halakha allows bringing sacrifices even without these emotions. From a strictly halakhic standpoint, a korban is valid even if its offering is not accompanied by the desired feelings of submission and love. The Rambam therefore explained that the sacrificial order serves an additional, overarching purpose of fulfilling an instinctive need for sacrificial worship in the service of God. Thus, sacrifices have value even if one brings an offering without the proper mindset and emotions.

Rav Kasher cites a different, perhaps extreme, approach from the work, "Derashot Ibn Shu'ib," which undermines the significance of the Rambam's comments in Moreh Nevukhim altogether. The "Derashot Ibn Shu'ib" claims that the Rambam wrote these comments only in an effort to respond to heretical arguments, to provide a rational basis for the korbanot that can be accepted even by those who do not accept the basic tenets of Jewish faith. But these comments do not accurately represent the Rambam's own position on the matter. The Ritva, in his "Sefer Ha-zikaron," similarly questions the extent to which the Rambam intended these comments as the primary reason behind the institution of korbanot.

Obviously, this approach touches upon the more fundamental issue of how we must approach the Rambam's "Moreh Nevukhim" in general, a topic that lies well beneath the scope of our discussion.

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We find numerous explanations as to why the letter "alef" at the end of the first word of Sefer Vayikra – "va-yikra" ("He [God] called [to Moshe]) – is traditionally written smaller than the other letters of the Torah. Many of these explanations are based on Kabbalistic teachings, and appear in the Zohar or are cited in the name of the Arizal (see Torah Sheleima, Vayikra, chapter 1, note 6). In addition, however, we find several explanations in non-Kabbalistic sources, as well.

The Rosh, in his Biblical commentary "Hadar Zekeinim," perhaps on the basis of some Midrashic passage that has since been lost, explains that Moshe, in his unparalleled humility, felt uncomfortable having his name appearing right at the beginning of Sefer Vayikra. He therefore pleaded with the Almighty to make some indication in the Torah that Moshe felt uneasy about being summoned by the Almighty into the Mishkan. The reduced letter "alef" serves as a subtle allusion to the smallness of stature Moshe ascribed to himself, despite this distinction of being "called" by God. In a similar vein, the Rosh's son, the Ba'al Ha-turim, explains that the small "alef" is intended to make the word "va-yikra" similar to the word "va-yikar," which literally means, "He chanced upon." This is the word employed by the Torah to describe the prophetic visions of the gentile prophet Bilam (see Bamidbar 23:4), and, as Rashi there explains, it has the connotation of a forced encounter, as it were, between God and man, as opposed to the honor and distinction associated with standard prophecy. Moshe requested that the Torah describe God's summons to him in unfavorable terms – by alluding to the word "va-yikar" – rather than afford him the honor of recording God's official and loving invitation to him to enter the Mishkan and hear the divine word.

The question, of course, arises as to why suddenly in this context Moshe felt concerned about the honor and distinction implied by the term "va-yikra." Some ten months earlier, at the time of Ma'amad Har Sinai, God likewise summoned Moshe into the cloud hovering on top of Mount Sinai, and the Torah in fact employs the very same terminology: "va-yikra el Moshe" (Shemot 24:16). Why wasn't Moshe concerned about the implication of the term "va-yikra" in that context? Why did he make no request that the verse there in Shemot also allude to his uneasiness?

One possible answer emerges from a comment in the Midrash Ha-gadol, which lauds Moshe's humility in waiting outside the Mishkan until receiving an explicit invitation from the Almighty:

When the Almighty commanded that construction of the Mishkah, he [Moshe]

The Midrash focuses particularly on Moshe's meticulous and prompt compliance with the instructions regarding the Mishkan. Given the immense efforts he invested in erecting the Mishkan, we might have expected him to see the Mishkan as his domain and assume the right to enter as he wishes. It is a tribute to his humility and sense of submission to God that despite all his hard work towards the Mishkan's construction, he looked at the new edifice as nothing other than the Almighty's inviolable domain.

For this reason, perhaps, Moshe felt particularly adamant about minimizing his personal stature in this context. He sought to emphasize that despite his involvement in the Mishkan's construction, it belongs only to the Almighty, and not to him. Moshe did not share the Mishkan with God, but rather reluctantly visited when invited inside by the Master of the house. He felt that this point needed to be emphasized in order to ensure Benei Yisrael's proper perspective and reverence towards the Mishkan as God's exclusive domain.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch suggests a different explanation for the small "alef." He, too, claims that the Torah here wishes to subtly allude to the word "va-yikar," but for a different reason. In this verse we find an indication of one of the fundamental differences that set Moshe's prophecy apart from that of all prophets, namely, that Moshe could experience prophecy at any time. As the Rambam discusses (Hilkhot Yesodei Ha-Torah 7:6-7), whereas other prophets were required to prepare themselves for prophecy and even then were not guaranteed to experience it, Moshe could experience prophecy at any time. The Torah alludes to this unique distinction by subtly referring here to the term "va-yikar," which, as mentioned earlier, denotes happenstance, or coincidence. God would "happen" to speak to Moshe on any occasion, unlike other prophets, who required a lengthy preparation process to earn a prophetic message from God.

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We read in Parashat Vayikra of the obligation to place salt on all sacrifices: "You shall season your every offering of meal with salt; you shall not omit from your meal offering the salt of your covenant with God; with all your offerings you must offer salt" (2:13).

Rav Yosef Engel, in his "Tziyunim Le-Torah," raises a fundamental question regarding the nature of this obligation: does it require placing salt as part of the sacrifice, or does the salt itself constitute an independent offering? According to the first approach, the Torah establishes as part of the guidelines concerning sacrifices that every sacrifice requires salt as part of its proper procedure. The second approach, by contrast, would argue that a sacrifice itself does not require salt; if one brings an ola (burnt-offering), for example, without salting it, the korban has nevertheless been properly offered. The Torah here introduces a separate obligation to offer salt upon the altar. This obligation takes effect whenever one offers a korban, but intrinsically, no fundamental connection exists between the given korban and the salt offering.

Rav Engel notes that this question most likely underlies a debate recorded in Masekhet Menachot (20a) as to whether a korban offered without salt is disqualified. The view that disqualifies an unsalted offering presumably views the salt obligation as a requisite component of every korban. According to the other position, the salt obligation stands independent of the korban, and thus the korban is perfectly valid even if the salt obligation has been neglected.

Similarly, Rav Engel suggests, this fundamental issue forms the basis of the Gemara's question in Masekhet Zevachim (108a), concerning the prohibition of "shechutei chutz" – offering a sacrifice to God outside the Temple grounds. One is liable to punishment for this violation only if he places a ke-zayit (the volume of an olive) of sacrificial meat upon an altar. The Gemara asks whether the salt added to the sacrifice counts towards the requisite volume of sacrificial substance, and it does not arrive at a conclusion. Seemingly, the Gemara here questions the nature of the salt obligation, whether it is to be seen as part of the sacrifice itself – in which case it would contribute to the requisite volume – or constitutes an independent offering – such that its quantity would not add onto the sacrifice's volume.

Rav Menachem Kasher (Torah Sheleima, Sefer Vayikra, chapter 2, note 115) suggests resolving this question based on the comments of the Rashba, in his commentary to Masekhet Menachot. The Gemara (Menachot 21a) deduces from the final clause of the aforementioned verse – "with all your offerings you must offer salt" – that even sacrifices offered on Shabbat require salting, despite the Shabbat violation involved. (Tomorrow we will iy"H elaborate on this halakha.) The Rashba asks why the Gemara must deduce this halakha from a verse; after all, a basic principle establishes that the regular routine of sacrifices is unaffected by the Shabbat prohibitions. It should be obvious, then, that the salting of korbanot, which is part of the sacrificial ritual, may also take place on Shabbat. The Rashba answers that since salting is not considered the "ikar mitzva" – the primary requirement, but rather constitutes an accompanying obligation, we might have assumed that it should not override the laws of Shabbat. The Gemara therefore resorted to a textual inference as the basis for allowing – and in fact requiring – salting sacrifices on Shabbat.

The Rashba's answer, Rav Kasher observes, appears to reflect the position viewing salting as an independent obligation, rather than part of the sacrifice ritual. It is this independence from the korban that would have led us to forbid salting on Shabbat, had it not been for the verse which indicates otherwise.

In truth, however, one might arrive at the precisely opposite conclusion in light of the Rashba's discussion. These comments of the Rashba refer to the Gemara's "hava amina" – meaning, the initial hypothesis that salting should not override Shabbat. In conclusion, of course, the Gemara deduces from the verse in Parashat Vayikra that salting does, in fact, override Shabbat. Conceivably, this verse tells us that we must perceive salting as part of the sacrifice's offering, and for this reason it overrides the laws of Shabbat, just as all sacrificial rituals. The Gemara perhaps infers from this verse not merely the practical provision mandating salting sacrifices on Shabbat, but also the correct, fundamental approach to the salt obligation – as an integral component of the sacrifice. One might suggest that it is precisely the Rashba's description of this obligation – as independent from the sacrifice – that the Gemara overturns once it deduces from the verse that sacrifices must be salted on Shabbat.

*****

Yesterday, we discussed the obligation introduced in Parashat Vayikra to place salt upon all sacrifices (2:13), and, as we noted, the Gemara (Menachot 21a) infers from this verse that the salt obligation applies even on Shabbat, despite the Shabbat prohibition involved. In establishing this halakha, the Gemara cites specifically the final clause of the verse – "al kol korbankha takriv melach" ("with all your offerings you must offer salt"). How does this phrase indicate that salting overrides the Shabbat prohibitions?

Malbim explains that the Gemara deduced this provision from the use of the term "takriv" ("you must offer") in this context. The fact that the Torah requires "offering" salt, rather than simply "placing" or "adding" salt, suggests that the salt placed on sacrifices itself has sacrificial status. Therefore, just as standard sacrificial procedures override the Shabbat prohibitions, so does this requirement to place salt on sacrifices.

The Rashba, in his commentary to Masekhet Menachot, raises a very simple question on this entire discussion. What Shabbat prohibition is violated when one salts a sacrifice? The prohibition against salting on Shabbat involves the process of salting animal hides, which was a necessary procedure in the production of leather for the Mishkan. And a basic halakhic principle regarding the laws of Shabbat establishes that "ein ibud be-okhlin" – this prohibition of salting does not apply to foods; there is no prohibition against salting one's food on Shabbat (Shabbat 75b). Why, then, must the Gemara extract from a verse in Parashat Vayikra the halakha permitting salting sacrificial meat on Shabbat? Why would this have been prohibited in the first place?

The Rashba suggests that since the standard sacrifices brought on Shabbat – the daily "tamid" offering, and the Shabbat "musaf" sacrifice – were not eaten, but were rather placed entirely on the altar (with some part burned outside the Temple grounds), Halakha does not consider the meat "food." The sacrificial meat of these offerings has the status of any non-food item, and hence the prohibition of salting applies. Alternatively, the Rashba suggests, the very fact that the salting of the sacrifices constitutes part of the sacrifice's preparation renders it a form of "ibud" – preparation of the meat. Just as salting animal hides prepares it for use as leather and is thus forbidden on Shabbat, so would we have forbidden salting a sacrifice as part of its preparation process.

The Mishneh Le-melekh (Hilkhot Shabbat 11:5) suggests a different answer, noting that under certain circumstances, an animal sacrifice is salted with its skin intact. An explicit halakha mandates that if sacrificial meat that had become disqualified was nevertheless placed on the altar, it is not removed. In such a case, even if the animal had not been skinned before being placed on the altar – as is generally required – the animal must nevertheless remain on the altar, even with it skin. And yet, as the Mishneh Le-melekh cites from the Torat Kohanim, even under such circumstances salting is required. It thus turns out that a sacrifice could, in certain situations, be salted before the animal's skin has ever been removed. This salting indeed constitutes a Shabbat violation, since it is performed on animal hide, rather than on meat. The Gemara therefore found it necessary to derive from a verse that even such salting may be performed on Shabbat.