PARASHAT EMOR

By Rav David Silverberg

            Parashat Emor concludes with the disquieting incident of the megadef, the individual who publicly blasphemed the divine Name, an offense which rendered him liable to capital punishment (24:10-23).

Rashi, commenting on this episode (24:10), cites two theories presented in the Midrash to explain what led the megadef – the son of an Egyptian man and Israelite woman – to blasphemy.  The first theory builds upon the juxtaposition between this incident and the immediately preceding section, which presents the mitzva of lechem ha-panim – the “showbread” placed each week on the table in the Mishkan.  What troubled the megadef, according to this view, was the fact that the bread was placed on the table every Shabbat and eaten by the kohanim only a week later.  Why, the man wondered, would the kohanim eat the bread a full week after baking it, rather than it eating it fresh?  He deemed this disrespectful to the Mishkan, to the point where he resorted to blasphemy.

            The second theory that Rashi cites attributes the megadef’s blasphemy to a personal misfortune that he suffered.  He had pitched his tent among the tribe of Dan, with which he naturally associated and felt a sense of belonging given that his mother belonged to this tribe.  Strictly speaking, however, he was not a member of Dan, since his father was a gentile, and not a member of Dan.  The case came before Moshe, who ruled in favor of the Dannites who demanded that this individual leave their territory.  The ruling incensed the megadef to the point where he publicly blasphemed God’s Name in the middle of the camp.

            One might wonder whether perhaps some connection exists between these two theories.  Are these presented in the Midrash as two entirely independent, mutually exclusive opinions as to what took place, or should we perhaps view them as two angles of the same story?  Secondly, how might we explain the first theory, that the megadef was led to blasphemy by the concept of stale bread in the Mishkan.  Why did this phenomenon trouble and offend him so dramatically?

            We might speculate that the megadef, who, though technically an Israelite, came as an outsider, was enchanted by Benei Yisrael and very much sought to become a full-fledged member of the nation.  He viewed life as an Israelite as an idyllic condition to which he aspired.  The miraculous existence in the wilderness, the Shekhina’s presence among the people – this was the perfect life that he sought and which inspired him to seek permanent residence in the Israelite camp.

            Soon enough, however, he realized that life among Benei Yisrael wouldn’t be quite as ideal as he thought.  He pitched his tent – and a legal battle ensued, a battle which he eventually lost.  This experience brought the megadef to complete disillusionment.  Could this happen among a nation in whose midst the divine presence resides?  Is this the ideal life that a Torah nation is to enjoy?  Expecting a spiritual and material utopia, the megadef encountered a life with obstacles that must be overcome, and complications that must be resolved.  He found that even in a reality characterized by the Shekhina’s presence, there is “stale bread,” not every detail of life works and satisfies to perfection.  The rosy, utopian expectations proved to be unrealistic, and the realities of life, the “stale bread” that must be endured even in otherwise ideal situations, led the megadef to disillusionment and utter rejection of God.

            The “stale bread” of the Mishkan thus might symbolize the less-than-perfect conditions that remain even with the Shekhina’s discernible presence.  We can never expect complete perfection.  As rewarding and fulfilling as Torah life is, there will always be bumps in the road and an occasional thorn in the rosebush.  Unlike the megadef, we firmly believe that the reality of “stale bread” in no way undermines the beauty of the Shekhina’s presence, that the challenges that we must confront along the road of Torah life are simply part of the process, and not, Heaven forbid, a cause to abandon or reject it.

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            The Torah in Parashat Emor (22:27) presents the halakha known in Talmudic jargon as mechusar zeman, which means that an animal becomes suitable as a sacrificial offering only at the age of eight days old.

            The Sefer Ha-chinukh explains the reason for this command based on the premise that animals in their first week of life are generally undesirable.  Still small and feeble, animals at this tender stage were not customarily used for any purpose, such as for gifts, consumption or commerce.  Naturally, then, the Torah commanded that these low-quality animals should likewise not be used as sacrificial offerings to God.

            Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch presents a different theory to explain this provision:

We think that we may venture to make the supposition that it is in this phase of animal life that the beginning of an approach to human character shows itself.  Egotism, love of oneself, looking after oneself, is the powerful spring that moves animal life.  Sacrificing oneself for the existence of another creature and devoted care for its well being, as occurs in the birth and care for the young, and as shown in the mother love of animals, is the first elevation to that forgetfulness of self, which, in the general love of one’s fellow man forms the most divine trait in the nobility of human character.  This human-like spark is not to be allowed to be extinguished, but rather is it to be stressed by significant consideration in the animal-creature that, as an offering, is to represent the ideal of morality to which Man is to aspire.

This trace of humanity renders the animal being fit for such representation, and the fact that it has to be taken into consideration shows the Jewish conception of sacrifices in their having the sole purpose of the furthering of human morality, and sharply differentiates it from the pagan idea which sees in sacrifices a killing which gives satisfaction to their [the pagans’] gods.

            According to Rav Hirsch, the Torah disqualifies animals for sacrifices during their first week of life in consideration of the “human-like spark” which arises in the mother animal at this time.  While animals are naturally driven to focus exclusively on their own needs and wants, after birth the mother displays the distinctly human feature of selflessness and devotion to another creature.  This quality lies at the heart of the Torah’s concept of korbanot, which are intended to express an individual’s submission to, and willingness to sacrifice on behalf of, God.  The Torah therefore instructed that we do not “extinguish” that “spark” of humanity by sacrificing an animal in its first week of life, when it is under the constant care of its mother.  We are thereby reminded of centrality of this most basic core value – the ability and willingness to overcome the egotistical instinct – within the concept of korbanot.

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            Parashat Emor presents the mitzva of the korban ha-omer, the offering brought in the Beit Ha-mikdash on the second day of Pesach, which includes a measure of the first grain harvested that season (23:11).  Among the more famous aspects of this mitzva is the Torah’s formulation in specifying the day when this offering is to be brought: “mi-machorat ha-Shabbat” – “the day following the Shabbat.”  Chazal understood “Shabbat” in this verse as a reference to the first day of Pesach, the observance of which had been discussed several verses earlier (23:6-7).  It this emerges that the omer offering should be brought on the day following this occasion, or on the second day of Pesach.

The Talmud relates that the heretical Sadducee sect, which denied the authority of the oral halakhic tradition, rejected the traditional understanding of this verse.  Insisting on the plain, straightforward reading of the written Torah, the Sadducees contended that the Torah refers to Sunday – the day following “Shabbat” in the plain sense of the term.  They therefore advocated performing this ritual on the first Sunday after the first day of Pesach.  This disagreement seems to have been a major source of contention during the times of the Second Temple.

            The debate surrounding the term “mi-machorat ha-Shabbat” also affects the obligation of sefirat ha-omer, which begins on the day when the korban ha-omer is brought (23:15).  We, of course, following the oral tradition of the Sages, begin counting on the second day of Pesach, regardless of which day of the week this happens to be.

            Numerous attempts have been made by scholars over the centuries to explain why, according to the accepted tradition of the Oral Law, the Torah speaks of the first day of Pesach with the term “Shabbat” in this context.  Netziv, in his Ha’amek Davar, attributes this reference to the fact that the Torah deals here in the context of the Beit Ha-mikdash.  In this framework, Netziv explains, there is no difference between Shabbat and Yom Tov.  Outside the Temple, there are discernible differences between the two observances, particularly with regard to the provision of okhel nefesh, which allows food preparation on Yom Tov.  The Beit Ha-mikdash, however, is designated exclusively for the service of God through the rituals performed by the kohanim at the holy site, and with regard to these rituals, Halakha makes no distinction between Shabbat and Yom Tov.  On both occasions, the offering of obligatory sacrifices a’aHa’a(such as the daily tamid sacrifice and the musaf sacrifices offered on special occasions) overrides the Shabbat prohibitions.  The kohanim offer these sacrifices as usual, despite the fact that this process entails several melakhot (activities prohibited on Shabbat and Yom Tov).  Voluntary offerings, by contrast, may be offered neither on Shabbat nor on Yom Tov, as these sacrifices do not override the Shabbat and Yom Tov prohibitions.  In the framework of the Beit Ha-mikdash, then, the observances of Yom Tov and Shabbat are identical.  Hence, when the Torah addresses the particular context of the Temple – such as in the discussion of the omer offering brought in the Mikdash – it justifiably refers to Yom Tov as Shabbat, since in the Temple these two occasions are observed the same way.

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            As mentioned earlier this week, Parashat Emor concludes with the story of the megadef – a man born to an Israelite mother and Egyptian father who publicly blasphemed the Divine Name.

            Among the many questions that arise upon studying this narrative is its inclusion in Sefer Vayikra.  The story of the megadef is one of only two narrative sections in this sefer, which is otherwise a strictly halakhic text.  The other narrative, the story of the Mishkan’s consecration, naturally relates to the theme of the rituals in the Mishkan – particularly the sacrifices and the restrictions of tum’a – to which the first half of Sefer Vayikra is almost exclusively devoted.  The narrative of the megadef, however, does not, at first glance, appear to relate to any broader theme of Sefer Vayikra, leaving us wondering why it was included in this sefer.

            Rav Avraham Gordimer (http://yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/734152/Rabbi_Avraham_Gordimer/Parshas_Emor_-_The_Megadef_(Blasphemer)) suggested that the answer might lie in the specific theme that occupies Parashat Emor.  This parasha focuses primarily on the laws relevant to the kohanim, and the halakhot of the festivals.  Many have noted that these two categories of halakhot reflect, respectively, the concepts of kedushat ha-adam – the sanctity of the human being – and kedushat ha-zeman – the sanctity of time.  The kohanim are a group of people designated for a higher level of sanctity, and Shabbat and the festivals are periods of time set aside as occasions of kedusha.  Rav Gordimer noted how the concept of kedusha reflected in these laws differs fundamentally from the message conveyed in the previous parasha, Parashat Kedoshim.  That parasha is introduced with the admonition of “kedoshim tiheyu” (“you shall be sacred”), and proceeds to present a wide array of laws governing everyday life, whereby a person achieves sanctity.  The kedusha of Parashat Kedoshim is what we might call a “universal” kind of holiness, a stature that each and every individual is able – and indeed obligated – to achieve.  All members of Benei Yisrael must work to attain this level of sanctity by conducting their affairs in strict accordance with the laws outlined in the Torah.

            In Parashat Emor, however, we encounter a much different kind of kedusha – a stature that is formal, rigid, confined, restricted and predetermined.  A kohen is endowed with this type of formal sanctity simply by being born to a kohen, and the sacred occasions are treated as such by virtue of the calendar date.  These statuses occur automatically, on their own, without any effort invested by Benei Yisrael.  True, the status of kehuna imposes certain obligations upon the kohen, and the sacred status of Shabbat and the festivals results in a range of mitzvot that we must all observe.  However, the status remains regardless of the kohen or the nation’s conduct.  The kohen retains his kedusha status regardless of his observance of the priestly code, and the holidays are holy even if they are neglected.  This concept of kedusha differs sharply from the kedusha of Parashat Kedoshim, which depends solely on the individual’s compliance with the Torah’s guidelines for achieving this status.

            The megadef, as Rashi (24:10) cites from the Midrash, was the victim of a fixed, predetermined status.  Having been born to an Egyptian father, he was denied the legal right to pitch his tent among his mother’s tribe, and this caused him frustration which drove him to blasphemy.  By concluding Parashat Emor with this account, the Torah perhaps seeks to emphasize the need to accept the conception of kedusha expressed in this parasha – despite the obvious difficulty we may have in understanding its rationale.  However one chooses to explain the reason for this fixed system of kedusha, it was ordained by the Almighty and is therefore something for us to embrace, even if it seems “unfair.”

            Rav Gordimer added a further insight into the mitzvot of the kindling of the menora and the lechem ha-panim (“show bread”) which are presented just before the story of the megadef.  The light of the menora is commonly understood as a symbol of the Divine Presence, and the lechem ha-panim represents the livelihood and sustenance provided by God.  In concluding Parashat Emor, the Torah guarantees Benei Yisrael that the spiritual and material blessings of the Mishkan are available to all members of the nation, and not merely to the kohanim.  Even if certain groups of people enjoy certain privileges with regard to the Temple rituals or other functions, God does not deny the benefits of the Shekhina’s presence to any faithful member of the nation.  Regardless of a person’s position among Benei Yisrael, he will be lovingly cared for by the Almighty and granted the blessings symbolized by the menora and the lechem ha-panim.

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            Parashat Emor contains the section known as the parashat ha-mo’adim – the section detailing the various festivals observed throughout the year.  God commands Moshe, “Speak to the Israelites and say to them: The festivals of the Lord which you shall observe as sacred occasions – these are My festivals: Work shall be performed for six days, and the seventh shall be a Shabbat of rest, a sacred occasion…” (23:2-3). Interestingly, the list of “sacred occasions” presented in this parasha begins with Shabbat.  Before the Torah discusses the occasions of Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot, it makes mention of Shabbat, the first of the sacred occasions.

            It clearly emerges from this presentation that Shabbat is included under the category of mo’adim, or “festivals.”  While we generally distinguish between Shabbat and Yom Tov, the Torah here explicitly classifies them together under the same category of sacred occasions.  This gives rise to the question as the precise relationship between the two, and in what way Shabbat may be considered a mo’ed.

            Rav Soloveitchik famously described Shabbat and Yom Tov as two different manifestations of giluy Shekhina – the human being’s encounter with the Divine Presence.  (See Shiurim Le-zekher Aba Mari, vol. 1, pp. 64-68.)  Both occasions are characterized by this encounter – and, in fact, the word mo’ed itself likely evolves from the Hebrew word for “meeting” – but this encounter is experienced differently on Shabbat and on Yom Tov.  On Yom Tov, Benei Yisrael visit God, so-to-speak, in the Beit Ha-mikdash, His representative abode.  Each individual must bring personal sacrifices, just as guests bring gifts to their hosts.  Yom Tov is an occasion for “visiting” God and rejoicing in His presence.  On Shabbat, by contrast, God visits our homes, as it were.  As the Lekha Dodi hymn beautifully expresses, we greet the Divine Presence with the fervor and enthusiasm of a groom greeting his bride and bringing her into his home.  Halakha requires preparing one’s home and oneself before Shabbat as though he prepares for a distinguished guest.  The home must be made clean and orderly, candles are lit, special foods are prepared, and we bathe and don our finest clothing.  We prepare for the special guest – the Shekhina – that enters our home and remains with us throughout Shabbat.  On Yom Tov, the focal point is the Beit Ha-mikdash and the sacrifices we offer to God.  Even though today, in the absence of the Mikdash, our Yom Tov preparation and observance very much resembles that of Shabbat, in the times of the Temple these were very different experiences.  Shabbat focused on the home, where we host the Almighty, whereas the observance of Yom Tov revolved around the Beit Ha-mikdash, where we go to visit God.

            We might add that this distinction explains the difference in the themes of the musaf prayers on Shabbat and Yom Tov.  In the Yom Tov musaf prayer, we bemoan our inability to offer the festival sacrifices: “But because of our sins, we have been exiled from our land and distanced from our territory, and we are unable to go and be seen and bow before You, and perform our obligations in the House that You chose…”  Later in the musaf prayer, we beseech God to restore the Beit Ha-mikdash and enable us to once again offer the festival sacrifices: “Our God and the God of our forefathers – compassionate King, have compassion on us… Return to us in Your abundant compassion… Build Your home as it was originally, and establish Your Temple on its foundations...”  As joyous as our Yom Tov celebration is, it is fundamentally deficient in the absence of the Temple.  The experience of the Beit Ha-mikdash lies at the very heart of the Yom Tov observance, and we therefore sense its absence very profoundly on Yom Tov, prompting us to pray for its restoration.

            The observance of Shabbat, however, is not affected by the absence of the Mikdash (other than in the broader sense of our general inability to fully serve and experience God in the Temple’s absence).  On Shabbat, our focus is on our homes, rather than the Mikdash, and we can therefore observe this day fully even after the Temple’s destruction.  In the Shabbat musaf prayer, although we indeed pray for the Temple’s restoration, this prayer is far shorter and less mournful than the prayer recited on Yom Tov.  On Shabbat we recite simply, “May it be Your will…that You bring us joyously to our land and implant us in our borders, and there we shall perform before You our obligatory sacrifices…”  We ask that we once again be granted the privilege of offering the Shabbat musaf offering, but we do not elaborate on our anguish over the Temple’s loss.  Since the essence of the Shabbat observance is not affected by the absence of the Mikdash, it does not receive the same emphasis in the Shabbat prayers as it does in the Yom Tov prayers.

            In a broader sense, the observances of Shabbat and Yom Tov perhaps reflect two different aspects of avodat Hashem generally.  On Shabbat, we need not leave our homes to experience the Shekhina.  Shabbat represents the possibility of bringing God into every part of our lives, of infusing any aspect of life with sanctity and meaning.  Avodat Hashem encompasses all of a person’s existence, affecting every moment of the day.  At no point is a person free from his obligations as a servant of his Creator.  Yom Tov, however, requires that we make a pilgrimage to the Beit Ha-mikdash to experience the Shekhina.  This demonstrates that it is not enough to bring God into our day-to-day life; we must occasionally take time off from our ordinary routine to experience kedusha.  The possibility – and obligation – of bringing God into our homes, into our day-to-day affairs, does not exempt us from taking time away from those affairs to “visit” God.  We must, indeed, bring God into our homes and workplaces, but we must also occasionally leave our normal surroundings in order to experience the Shekhina.

            Shabbat and Yom Tov are thus both mo’adim, models of the human being’s encounter with the Shekhina, and represent the two levels on which this encounter must occur.

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            Parashat Emor begins with the law of tum’at kohanim, which forbids kohanim from coming in contact with tum’at meit – the ritual impurity associated with human corpses.  A kohen may not contract this kind of tum’a except in the situation of the burial of an immediate relative, and the kohen gadol may not become temei meit even upon the death of an immediate relative.

            A number of Acharonim cite and discuss an intriguing comment of the Rokei’ach (Rabbi Elazar of Worms, Germany, 12^th century) that likely reflects a broader definition of this prohibition of tum’at kohanim.  The Rokei’ach ruled that a kohen’s wife is allowed to enter a cemetery during pregnancy, despite the fact that the fetus, the child of a kohen, will contract tum’at meit.  The Rokei’ach explains his ruling on the basis of the famous halakhic concept of sefeik sefeika, or “double doubt.”  Although we generally act stringently when faced with a situation of uncertainty concerning a Torah law, we may act leniently if two points of uncertainty are involved.  In the case of the kohen’s wife, two factors allow for the possibility of allowing her to enter a cemetery.  Firstly, the fetus may be a girl, and daughters of kohanim are not included under the prohibition of tum’at kohanim.  Additionally, Halakha treats all newborns as a “safeik neifel” – a potential “stillborn” – until an infant completes its first full month of life.  Until that point, it has yet to be established that the infant was born strong and healthy enough to survive the neonatal stage, and therefore during the first thirty days a baby is not yet definitively considered a newborn child.  This uncertainty concerning the infant’s status during pregnancy combines with the uncertainty concerning its gender to produce a sefeik sefeika, and the Rokei’ach therefore allows the woman to enter a cemetery.

            Several Acharonim raised the question of why the Rokei’ach had to resort to the principle of sefeik sefeika to permit a kohen’s wife to enter a cemetery during pregnancy.  After all, even if the fetus is male, he certainly does not have the formal status of a kohen before birth.  And, even if we were to confer priestly status upon the male fetus, he obviously bears no halakhic obligations, and there should thus be no prohibition entailed in bringing him into a cemetery.

            Rav Elchanan Wasserman, in his Kovetz Shiurim (vol. 2, siman 41), cites Rav Zalman Liphshitz of Brisk as noting that the Rokei’ach evidently accepted a broader definition of tum’at kohanim, as forbidding even causing impurity to a kohen.  Not only are the kohanim forbidden from contracting tum’at meit, but others are likewise enjoined not to cause a kohen to become temei meit.  Once we assume that a fetus can contract tum’at meit – an assumption which the Rokei’ach clearly accepted – then it becomes theoretically forbidden for his mother to enter a cemetery during pregnancy, since she will have then caused a kohen to become impure.  Even if the fetus is not considered a kohen at that point, he will obtain the status at birth, and thus by entering a cemetery the mother in effect causes a kohen to become temei meit – if only several months later.  It is only because of the sefeik sefeika principle that she may enter the cemetery.

            This idea likely also underlies the ruling of the Tur (Y.D. 373) that child kohanim must be kept away from tum’at meit.  Regarding other prohibitions, while parents bear a general obligation to train their children in mitzva observance, others are not strictly required to actively prevent children from performing forbidden acts.  According to the Tur, the prohibition of tum’at kohanim marks an exception to this rule.  He draws proof for his position from the Gemara’s comment in Masekhet Yevamot (114a) regarding the opening verse of Parashat Emor, “To warn the adults with regard to the children.”  This would imply that adults bear an obligation to ensure that child kohanim – who are not yet personally obligated in mitzva observance – stay away from tum’at meit.  This ruling is in contrast to the Rambam’s position in Hilkhot Avel (3:12) that although one may not actively cause a child kohen to become tamei, adults are not required to keep young kohanim away from tum’at meit.

            The Tur’s ruling, like the comment of the Rokei’ach, appears to expand the prohibition of tum’at kohanim to include an obligation upon the entire nation to preserve the ritual purity of the priestly tribe.  This definition manifests itself with regard to minors, who do not bear a personal obligation toward Torah observance, thus necessitating that the adults assume the responsibility to keep them away from tum’at meit.

(Based on Rav Chayim Leib Eisenstein’s Peninim Mi-bei Midresha, Parashat Emor)

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            Among the mitzvot presented in Parashat Emor is that of the korban ha-omer, the offering brought in the Temple on the sixteenth of Nissan, which consisted of a portion of a newly-harvested grain (23:9-14).

            The Mishna in Masekhet Menachot (65a) describes in detail the procedure for harvesting the grain for this offering, which took place on the second night of Pesach.  Particular emphasis is placed upon the public nature of this event.  The Mishna tells that the “ayarot ha-semukhot” – neighboring towns – would come to the field outside Jerusalem where the harvesting took place, to observe the ritual of harvesting the new grain for the offering.

            The Arukh La-ner (Rosh Hashanah 5a) raises a simple question regarding the attendance of these villagers: why were there people in the towns surrounding Jerusalem on the second night of Pesach?  The obligation of aliya le-regel requires all males to go to Jerusalem for the festival of Pesach, and to remain there overnight.  The only ones remaining in the surrounding towns were the women and the few men who were exempt from aliya le-regel (such as those who were ill or tamei).  Would these individuals suffice to make the harvesting a public event?  The Mishna says that the harvesting took place “be-eisek gadol,” with great publicity and fanfare.  How was this achieved if the only ones who attended were those who did not go to Jerusalem for aliya le-regel?

            The Arukh La-ner’s son (as cited in the Arukh La-ner) noted that from the Tosefta’s description of this event (Menachot 10:6), it appears that the observers came from Jerusalem, and not from the surrounding villages: “They [the harvesters] would leave [Jerusalem] and a large populace would leave with them…”  According to this version, then, indeed, the people who joined the harvesters to observe the event were, as we would expect, pilgrims who had assembled in Jerusalem for aliya le-regel as required by the Torah.

            The Mishna, however, mentions the attendance of the residents of the surrounding communities, giving rise to the question of why these townspeople were not in Jerusalem.

            Rav Avraham Mordechai Albert, in his work Birkat Avraham (Ashdod, 5768), answered based on a comment in the Midrash (Rut Rabba) concerning the story of Megilat Rut.  When Naomi returned to Bet Lechem with Rut, the Midrash writes, and “the entire city” expressed astonishment at Naomi’s level of poverty (Rut 1:19), it was the time of the omer harvesting, when all the people were assembled together.  Drawing proof for its assertion that all the people in the area assembled to observe the omer harvest, the Midrash cites the aforementioned Mishna in Masekhet Menachot, but with one notable difference.  Whereas our editions of the Mishna state that “the neighboring towns come” to the harvest, the Midrash cites the Mishna as stating, “the neighboring towns used to come.”  The Imrei Emet, as Rav Albert cites, explained this to mean that this practice was observed before the construction of the Beit Ha-mikdash, when the omer offering was brought in the Mishkan, but there was as yet no obligation of aliya le-regel.  Once the Temple was built, and everyone gathered in Jerusalem on Pesach, there was nobody in the surrounding towns to attend the harvest.  At that point, the observers came from Jerusalem, as indicated by the Tosefta.  The Midrash seeks to prove that the practice of people gathering for the omer harvest was observed already during the time of Megilat Rut, which took place before the Temple’s construction.  It therefore cited the Mishna’s comment that before the times of the Temple, the people in the towns surrounding the harvested field would assemble to witness the harvest.

            Quite possibly, the correct, original text of our Mishna, too, was that the surrounding towns “used to come” to observe the harvesting, before the times of the Mikdash.  The Mishna made reference to this ancient practice in order to demonstrate that the requirement to publicize this event is inherent to the mitzva of the omer harvest, and dates back to the times of the Mishkan.  But once the Mikdash was built, then, indeed,   the people came to the harvest from Jerusalem, where they were staying in fulfillment of the mitzva of aliya le-regel.