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PARASHAT TZAV

By Rav David Silverberg

            In the opening verse of Parashat Tzav, God instructs Moshe to command ("tzav") Aharon and his sons with regard to the ola (burnt-offering) and, later, the other sacrifices.  Rashi cites the ambiguous comment of Torat Kohanim regarding the term tzav, explaining that it denotes ziruz miyad u-le-dorot – "urging on, immediately, and for all time."  In other words, the Torah indicates that these commands regarding the korbanot must be issued with particular emphasis to impress upon the kohanim their importance for all time.  Rashi then cites the remark of Rabbi Shimon in this context, "The verse must urge on especially in instances of financial loss."  Meaning, since this area of laws entails a loss of money, it was particularly important for them to be conveyed with a degree of emphasis.

            Among the many various explanations offered for this enigmatic passage, Rav Shimon Schwab, in his Ma'ayan Beit Ha-sho'eiva, suggests that the Torat Kohanim refers here to the phenomenon that arose during the time of the Second Temple.  As we know from many prophecies of the Nevi'im, the people during the First Temple period were guilty of affording disproportionate importance and value to the sacrificial rituals, at the expense of other, more fundamental Torah values.  The prophets decry the people's confident faith in the independent power of sacrifices to earn them atonement and divine favor, while allowing themselves to disregard basic laws of ethics and morality.  Rather than approaching the korbanot as a means of drawing closer to God and enhancing one's devotion and spiritual awareness, the people invested the sacrificial rite with independent value that negated the need for an accompanying process of inspiration and spiritual growth.

            From the prophecies of Malakhi, who prophesied during the Second Temple period, it appears that his generation had reached the precise opposite conclusion.  Having once and for all internalized the message of the First Temple prophets, who sought to lower the people's estimation of the value of sacrifices, the Jews of the Second Temple treated the Temple and its rituals with a degree of indifference, if not disdain.  Why, they asked themselves, should money be spent for high-quality sacrifices, if in any event God is more interested in one's thoughts, feelings, and general ethical conduct?  If, as the First Temple prophets insisted, the sacrifices lose their value when brought without accompanying feelings of religious devotion, then there is no need – the people thought – to concern oneself with the formal technicalities that apply to these rituals.  We might add that Chagai, who prophesied in the early years of the Second Commonwealth, condemned the Jews' laxity in rebuilding the Mikdash.  It appears that already at that point they had reversed their attitude from the overly Temple-centric mindset that led to the nation's spiritual decline during the years of the First Temple.

            This passage in Torat Kohanim, Rav Schwab suggested, refers to this development that occurred during the time of the Second Temple.  Moshe is to impress upon Aharon, the kohanim, and all Am Yisrael the importance of strict compliance with the details of the sacrificial order, miyad u-le-dorot, for all time, anticipating the development that would take place many centuries later.  When Rabbi Shimon speaks of the concern for chisaron kis, the financial loss that may lead people to disregard the sacrifices, he refers to the attitude described above, which sees no purpose in spending money for proper sacrifices, given their secondary status of importance in relation to internal devotion and ethical conduct.  The importance of strict obedience to ritualistic details thus requires ziruz, constant reinforcement, for all generations.  Although it is certainly wrong to focus one's attention entirely on ritual and neglect the general values advocated by the Torah, one must also ensure not to disregard the formal details of Jewish ritual and concentrate exclusively on the Torah's ethical code.

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            Towards the beginning of Parashat Tzav, the Torah introduces the mitzva of terumat ha-deshen, the removal of the ashes from atop of the altar in the Temple courtyard.  A number of different views exist among the Rishonim in explaining how precisely this mitzva is performed.  According to Rashi (6:3-4), each day the selected kohen would remove some ashes from the altar and place it on the floor to the side of the altar; when the pile of ashes on the altar became very large, the pile was removed outside the area of the Mikdash.  (The Rambam explains this mitzva differently; see Hilkhot Temidin U-musafin, chapter 2.)

            The Gemara in Masekhet Me'ila (9a) establishes that the ashes on the altar are subject to the laws of me'ila – the prohibition against deriving personal benefit from the sacred property of the Mikdash.  Since the ashes were produced from the sacrifices, which had, of course, been invested with halakhic sanctity, the ashes are likewise deemed sacred.  Thus, one who derives personal benefit from the ashes transgresses the prohibition of me'ila, and all the other halakhot of me'ila likewise apply.  The Gemara infers this provision from the Torah's requirement that the kohen performing the terumat ha-deshen ritual don the bigdei kehuna, the priestly garments.  If a kohen must wear his special garments while tending to the altar's ashes, the Gemara reasons, then we must conclude that these ashes still have the status of the korbanot from which they were produced.

The Ra'avad, in his critique of the Rambam's Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Temidin U-musafin 2:15), writes that this halakha applies only while the ashes are still on the altar.  Once they are removed outside the Mikdash, they lose their status of halakhic sanctity, and the laws of me'ila no longer obtain.

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda (Denver, 1934), suggests (al derekh derush) that these halakhot concerning the ashes of the altar apply on some level to people, as well.  When a Jew has been spiritually "reduced to ashes," when he has strayed from faith and observance, he nevertheless retains his status of kedusha so long as he remains "upon the altar," connected in some way to sources of sanctity, to religious institutions and communities.  So long as this connection remains, there is hope for him to return to his spiritual roots and to Torah observance.  Once, however, the ashes are removed from the Mikdash, when a Jew is dissociated entirely from sources of kedusha, then he indeed runs the risk of losing his potential for sanctity altogether.

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            The final section of Parashat Tzav tells of the procedure of the milu'im, whereby Aharon and his sons were formally consecrated as kohanim.  Moshe instructs Aharon and his sons to remain in the area outside the Mishkan throughout the seven-day period, as God had commanded, and that the rituals performed on the first day of the milu'im were to be repeated on each of the seven days: "As was done on this day – so did the Lord command to be done [all seven days] to atone for you" (8:34).

            Rashi, in his commentary to this verse, presents the straightforward reading (which we adopted in our translation in this verse) followed by Chazal's halakhic interpretation of this verse, as recorded in Masekhet Yoma (2a).  The Gemara understands this verse as an allusion to two other instances where a kohen must be isolated for a seven-day period in preparation for an important task: the kohen gadol is isolated for seven days before Yom Kippur, and the kohen assigned the task of burning the para aduma resides in isolation for seven days prior to this ritual.  The Rash Mi-Shantz (Para 3:1), based on the Tosefta (Para 3:1), explains that before Yom Kippur the kohen gadol is separated for the purpose of preparing him emotionally and spiritually for the awesome experience of the Yom Kippur service.  Before the burning of the para aduma, the kohen is separated as an additional, precautionary measure to ensure his state of ritual purity as he prepares the waters that will be used to purify those who come in contact with dead bodies.

            Notwithstanding the very different purposes served by these periods of isolation, the fact that they share a common Biblical source perhaps suggests a common theme.  What point of connection might there be between the kohen gadol's preparation for Yom Kippur, and the kohen's seven-day isolation before preparing the para aduma purification waters?

            The convergence of these two vastly different rituals perhaps conveys the message that both kinds of mitzvot require the same approach, attitude and mindset.  That the Yom Kippur service, which marks the only time a human being is permitted to enter the innermost chamber of the Mikdash, requires a weeklong preparation process is readily understandable.  This direct encounter with the Almighty, through which the kohen gadol seeks to earn atonement on behalf of the entire Nation of Israel, is one which quite clearly requires intensive focus and purity of thought that the kohen develops over the course of his period of isolation.

The preparation of the para aduma likely represents the very opposite extreme.  The law of para aduma is often looked upon as the quintessential chok, a mitzva whose underlying rationale eludes human comprehension.  Furthermore, the preparation of the para aduma waters took place outside the area of the Beit Ha-mikdash and was not accompanied by the intense drama and emotion that characterized the Yom Kippur service.  The seven-day preparation period, which is shared by the Yom Kippur service and the para aduma ritual, may thus reflect the need to approach all mitzvot with the same fervor and seriousness, regardless of to which of these two categories they belong.  It is not only the Yom Kippur-style mitzvot, those which naturally evoke strong religious feeling and emotions, and which involve a moving and inspirational religious experience, that require our full attention, focus, effort and preparation.  We must afford equal importance to the para aduma-style mitzvot, those with which we find it difficult – or impossible – to identify intellectually, spiritually or emotionally.  For the Torah observant Jew, the performance of this kind of mitzva is no less important or meaningful than the performance of emotion-filled mitzvot.  Just as both the Yom Kippur service and the para aduma ritual demand seven days of preparation, so must we approach all mitzvot with conviction, awe and fervor, regardless of whether they move and inspire us like the Yom Kippur service, or if they strike us as unusual and strictly technical, like the para aduma ritual.

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            Parashat Tzav begins with the mitzva of terumat ha-deshen, the removal of ashes from the altar, the ritual that began the service in the Mikdash each morning.  The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (22a) tells that there was a period when the kohanim serving in the Mikdash would not come in the morning to submit their candidacy for the terumat ha-deshen ritual.  (The selection was conducted by drawing lots.)  In order to entice the "on-duty" kohanim to present themselves each morning for consideration for this ritual, the Rabbis enacted that whoever was selected for the terumat ha-deshen would also earn the right to arrange the firewood on the altar.  This added incentive for kohanim to attend and participate in the draw for the terumat ha-deshen ritual.

            Why would the kohanim not show interest in the terumat ha-deshen, and why would their attitude change if they were offered the right to arrange the firewood on the altar?

            Apparently, as explained by the Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein shlit"a (www.vbm-torah.org/archive/sichot/vayikra/25-66tzav.htm), many kohanim deemed terumat ha-deshen too menial a task, one which was not befitting of a dignified kohen.  Essentially, this ritual entailed custodial work – clearing away the soot that had collected on the altar since the previous morning.  As we can well imagine, there were kohanim who considered this job beneath their dignity, unfit for a person of priestly stature and distinction.  Few kohanim expressed interest in being selected for this job, thus prompting the Sages to enact enticing measures in an effort to lure the kohanim to perform the terumat ha-deshen ritual.

            The message, of course, as Rav Lichtenstein developed, is that avodat Hashem means just that – serving God, rather that serving oneself.  If a person is not prepared to perform the "menial" or otherwise unappealing tasks entailed in mitzva observance, then he cannot rightfully be considered an eved Hashem, a faithful servant of the Almighty.  Serving God often entails foregoing on one's personal comfort, convenience and even honor for the sake of fulfilling His will.  A kohen, the symbol of the true servant of God, was therefore expected to perform even the menial task of sweeping the altar, to underscore the importance of committing oneself to even the less enjoyable aspects of religious observance.

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            We read in Parashat Tzav of the prohibition of notar, which forbids one from leaving over food from sacrifices beyond the time-frame in which it may be eaten (7:15).  This prohibition, which the Rambam lists among the 613 Biblical commands (lo ta'aseh 120), is associated with an affirmative command to burn any sacrificial food that remains beyond its specified time-frame (see 7:17).  As the Sefer Ha-chinukh (144) notes, although the Torah presents these laws in the particular context of the korban toda (thanksgiving offering), they actually apply to all sacrifices.

            The Rambam, in Hilkhot Pesulei Ha-mukdashin (18:9), writes that one who transgresses the prohibition of notar, by intentionally leaving over food beyond its specified time-frame, is not subject to corporal punishment, due to the rule of lav ha-nitak le-asei.  This rule establishes an exception to the general principle that the violation of a lo ta'aseh ("negative" command) is punishable by malkot (lashes).  Namely, where the Torah imposes a mitzva to rectify, so-to-speak, the transgression of a lo ta'aseh, one who violates that lo ta'aseh is not subject to malkot.  In this instance, one who violates notar is then commanded to burn the leftover food.  Since this is a situation where the violation of a lo ta'aseh is then "rectified" by the fulfillment of a mitzva, malkot are not warranted.

            Many later scholars raised the question of why the Rambam did not point to the more obvious factor of lav she-ein bo ma'aseh.  Corporal punishment is never administered for transgressions committed through inaction, a category that would certainly include notar, which one violates by not eating sacrificial food.  Why did the Rambam find it necessary to resort to the rule of lav ha-nitak le-asei, rather than pointing to the more obvious condition of lav she-ein bo ma'aseh?

            The Maharam Shick, in his work on the taryag mitzvot (143), suggests that notar belongs to a select group of mitzvot regarding which the rule of lav she-ein bo ma'aseh does not apply.  In the third section of his Guide for the Perplexed (chapter 41), the Rambam lists the exceptions to the lav she-ein boi ma'aseh principle, which include cursing one's fellow in the Name of God, swearing falsely in the Name of God, and temura, exchanging an animal designated as a sacrifice for another.  In all these cases, the violator is subject to malkot despite the fact that no action has been committed, and the transgression occurred verbally.  In explaining the reason for the exception of temura, the Rambam explains, "this change [of one animal for another] leads to contemning sacrifices devoted to the Name of God."  Seeking to exchange the status of sanctity from one animal to another bespeaks a lack of reverence towards this status and the sacred quality of korbanot generally.  Such a grave infraction on the honor of korbanot warrants corporal punishment despite the absence of a concrete action.

Now the Sefer Ha-chinukh (138), in explaining the reason behind the mitzva of notar, suggests that the Torah wished to prevent the food from decaying, in order to preserve the honor and respect due to sacrificial offerings.  Quite possibly, then, the prohibition of notar, which, like the law of temura, is intended to protect the honor and dignity of the sacrifices, would, in principle, be punishable by malkot despite the fact that no concrete action is entailed in its violation.  The Rambam was therefore compelled to invoke the rule of lav ha-nitak le-asei in order to explain why one who violates notar is not subject to malkot, as the rule of lav she-ein bo ma'aseh would not apply.

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            Yesterday, we discussed the prohibition of notar, which forbids leaving over sacrificial food beyond the point by which it may be eaten.  A person who brings a korban of which he may partake (a korban shelamim) must ensure to eat or share all its meat before the final time for its consumption, rather than intentionally allowing some of the meat to be left over.  Any meat that is left over beyond the final time must be burned.

            As we mentioned, the Sefer Ha-chinukh (138) explains this mitzva as intended to preserve the honor and dignity of korbanot by preventing sacrificial food from decaying.  The Chinukh then proceeds to suggest an additional reason:

This matter contains an allusion to trust in God…that a person should not "strangle himself" excessively with regard to food by putting it away for the following day, seeing that the Almighty commands that we utterly destroy the sacred meat once its time has passed, and He did not wish for any creature – neither human nor animal – to derive benefit from it after it [the final time] has passed.

The obligation of notar reflects the notion of faith in God's ability to provide one's needs, and instructs that one should not experience or display inordinate anxiety with regard to his livelihood.  It is improper for a person to excessively "strangle himself," to refrain from consuming, out of fear that he will not have enough for tomorrow.  Of course, as the Sefer Ha-chinukh himself discussed amidst his treatment of the korban oleh ve-yoreid (121, as we mentioned last week), the Torah strongly discourages squandering one's assets, even for the purpose of mitzvot.  On the opposite end, however, the Torah likewise frowns upon anxious hoarding of funds and supplies out of concern for the future, insisting that a person trust in the Almighty's ability to help him earn a proper livelihood.  This message is expressed through the law of notar, which requires that one partake of all his sacrificial meat by a certain time and then destroy anything left over.

            Of course, this concept is among the primary themes and underlying messages of the manna, with which God fed Benei Yisrael throughout their sojourn in the wilderness.  A daily portion for each individual fell every morning, and any manna that was left overnight spoiled and became inedible.  Benei Yisrael were thus trained to go to sleep each night without any provisions for the next day, relying instead on God's ability to sustain them.

            Interestingly enough, Rav Mordechai Elon (as cited in the Tekhelet Mordechai commentary to the Haggada) suggested that this theme underlies as well the procedure for the afikoman at the Pesach seder.  Early in the seder, we take a piece of matza and hide it, just as the needy must stash away a portion of their limited food supply for the following day.  As we commemorate the uneasiness and anxiety experienced by our impoverished and oppressed ancestors, we, like them, find it necessary to divide our food into two portions, one which we leave on the table while storing the other for the future.  By the time we conclude the seder, however, we have reenacted our ancestors' emergence to freedom.  At this point, as we experience the confidence and security that comes with freedom and wealth, we retrieve the stored portion of food and bring it to the table.  No longer are we anxious about the future, as we have now been taken to freedom by the Almighty, who has guaranteed us protection and a sufficient means of sustenance.

            Rav Elon goes so far as to boldly assert that the word afikoman evolves from the two words afiku mann – "bring out the manna."  As we reenact the experience of redemption, we take the piece of food that had been stored for the future and now treat it like manna, as something that we can confidently eat to completion immediately, securely relying on the Almighty to provide our means once again tomorrow.

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            Among the topics discussed in Parashat Tzav is the korban toda, or thanksgiving offering, which an individual would bring to the Mikdash to celebrate and give praise to the Almighty for being rescued from a dangerous situation.  Among the unique features of the korban toda is the inclusion of loaves of leavened bread.  Earlier in Sefer Vayikra (2:11), the Torah commanded that all grain – or mincha – offerings be unleavened; no leavened products were permitted as part of a sacrificial offerings.  The korban toda marks a striking exception to this rule, and a number of different theories have been proposed to explain the rationale underlying this unique provision.

            Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his Yalkut Yehuda, suggests that the Torah forbade leavening mincha offerings because it was generally the poor, who could not afford an animal sacrifice, who would bring a korban mincha.  As we know from the Pesach Haggada, matza is referred to a "poor man's bread," because it is simpler and less expensive to prepare than proper, leavened bread.  In many cases, then, the poor individual offering a humble meal offering would not generally bake or partake of tasty, chametz loaves of bread; he subsists mainly on matza.  Now the korban mincha was eaten only by the officiating kohanim (after a small handful was placed upon the altar); the person bringing the offering did not share a portion in the offering.  Thus, had the Torah allowed the kohanim to eat the mincha as leaven, this would cause the poor individual distress seeing the kohanim partaking of his offering in a more luxurious fashion that he generally eats.  Out of sensitivity to the poor person's feelings, the Torah required that the kohanim eat the mincha only in unleavened form, just as the poor individual generally eats.

            Of course, this concern does not apply to the korban toda, which is shared by the kohanim and the person bringing the offering, and therefore the Torah allows and in fact demands that one bring chametz loaves as part of his thanksgiving offering.

            Secondly, Rav Ginsburg suggests, this distinction between the mincha and korban toda likely relates to their different functions.  The korban mincha, though brought voluntarily, is generally offered by an individual seeking atonement and hoping to restore his strained relationship with the Almighty.  In this context, it is appropriate for the korban to be prepared in a simple, crude manner, and the Torah therefore forbids allowing the flour to leaven.  A korban toda, by contrast, is brought as a feast to celebrate a joyous occasion and express gratitude to the Almighty.  Certainly, it is proper for such a feast to include proper loaves of bread.

            We might also suggest a different point of distinction between these two korbanot, based on the Rambam's comments in his Guide for the Perplexed (3:46) concerning the prohibition against leavening mincha offerings.  The Rambam attributes this law to the common practice among the pagans to offer elaborate cakes, breads and pastries as part of their worship.  In the interest of opposing these practices, the Torah instructed Benei Yisrael to offer only unleavened grain products.  This theory advanced by the Rambam might very well account for the distinction between the mincha and toda offerings.  The bread accompanying the korban toda is not placed upon the altar; it is rather shared by the kohanim and the individual bringing the offering.  Hence, it does not correspond to the baked offerings of the pagans, which were offered upon their altars, and there was thus no need to require specifically unleavened products.  For this reason, perhaps, the Torah allowed offering chametz with the korban toda, something it did not do with regard to the korban mincha.