S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT VAYIKRA

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            One of the categories of voluntary sacrifices discussed in Parashat Vayikra is the shelamim offering.  The fats of the animal brought as a shelamim were burned on the altar, while the meat was eaten mostly by the ba’alim (person bringing the sacrifice, and his family and guests); a small portion of the meat was shared with the kohen who tended to the sacrifice.

In describing the offering of the fats of the shelamim upon the altar, the Torah writes, “Aharon’s sons shall offer it on the ola which is upon the wood which is upon the fire” (3:5).  Rather than simply requiring the kohen to place the animal fats on the fire which burned on the altar, the Torah instructs that the fats must be placed “on the ola.”  The term “ola” refers to the burnt-offering, the voluntary sacrifice which was entirely burnt upon the altar, as discussed in the first chapter of Sefer Vayikra.  What does the Torah mean when it requires burning the fats of the shelamim “on the ola”?

            Rashi explains this verse to mean that no sacrifice may be offered upon the altar before the daily ola, that is, the tamid offering that was brought each morning.  By requiring that the fats be placed “on the ola,” referring to the daily tamid sacrifice, the Torah teaches that the tamid must have been already offered on the altar before any sacrifice is offered.

            Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, in his commentary, notes the broader implications of this concept, particularly as reflected by the context in which it is introduced.  As mentioned, the Torah speaks here of the shelamim sacrifice, which is, generally, an individual offering.  (National shelamim sacrifices – shalmei tzibur – were brought very rarely.)  A person brought a shelamim sacrifice as a celebration to mark a festive occasion.  The requirement to ensure that all the meat was eaten within two days necessitated the inclusion of family members.  The shelamim was thus a personal, family event, in direct contrast to the tamid sacrifice, the daily offering which was purchased with public funds and thus represented the entire nation.  Moreover, as opposed to the shelamim, which, as mentioned, was eaten in the form of a feast, the tamid was entirely burnt upon the altar.  The shelamim thus represents the festive, joyous aspect of religious observance, whereas the ola signifies humble, somber devotion and submission to the Almighty.  The tamid, the ola offering brought each day by the entire nation, expresses Benei Yisrael’s national, collective sense of duty and submission to the Almighty.

            Rav Hirsch explained that by commanding that the fats of the shelamim be placed upon the tamid, the Torah alludes to the inextricable bond between our national sense of devotion to God and the joys of personal, family life.  He writes, “…this could be to express the great Truth, that it is just in the pure happiness of the families and individuals that the national devotion to the Torah finds its fruits…”  The Torah seeks to demonstrate that there is no contradiction between the ola and the shelamim, between humble submission to God’s authority, as reflected by the ola, and the festive, joyous aura that characterized the shelamim feast.  Our national sense of religious duty and devotion to God is to lead to the shelamim, to the exhilarating sounds of families joyously celebrating together around a sacrifice.  Both are integral components of the sacrificial rite in the Mikdash, and both are integral components in the religious life envisioned and mandated by the Torah.

Sunday

            Yesterday, we noted the Torah’s puzzling description of the shelamim offering, the animal sacrifice whose fats were placed upon the altar while the meat was eaten by the kohen and, mainly, by the individual bringing the sacrifice.  The Torah writes that the kohen tending to the sacrifice would place the animal’s fats “on the ola which is upon the wood which is upon the fire” (3:5).  The fats were not simply placed upon the altar, but were placed “on the ola.”  The ola is the first kind of sacrifice discussed by the Torah in Sefer Vayikra.  The obvious question arises as to what the Torah means when it requires burning the fats of the shelamim “on the ola.”

            The Meshekh Chokhma suggests that the Torah here makes a halakhic clarification regarding the burning of the shelamim fats.  The obligation to place the fats upon the altar would, seemingly, require that the fats be placed directly on the altar, without anything in between them and the firewood.  At the very least, we might assume, the fats may not be placed on anything other than firewood or other fats.  The halakhic rule of “min be-mino eino chotzeitz” establishes that two objects of the same kind do not constitute a “disruption” (chatzitza) for one another.  Thus, we would concede that if animal fats from a previous sacrifice are burning on the altar’s firewood, one may place the shelamim fats upon those fats, and the shelamim fats would be considered as placed directly upon the firewood.  However, it would be invalid, at first glance, to place the shelamim fats on an ola sacrifice that had been previously placed on the altar.  The ola sacrifice is entirely burnt; both the meat and the fats are burned on the altar.  Seemingly, then, if one places the fats of a shelamim over an ola, the meat of the ola – which is a different substance than the animal fats – “interrupts” between the fats and the altar, such that the mitzva remains unfulfilled.

            For this reason, the Meshekh Chokhma suggests, the Torah wrote that the shelamim fats may be placed “on the ola.”  Since we would have intuitively concluded that the shelamim fats may not be placed on an ola, for the reason discussed, the Torah made an explicit stipulation allowing this placement of the shelamim fats.

            Why, in fact, did the Torah permit placing the shelamim fats on top of an ola?  Why does the meat of the ola not constitute a “disruption” between the fats and the altar?

            The answer, perhaps, relates to the nature of the ola sacrifice.  Later, in the beginning of Parashat Tzav (6:2), the Torah says about the ola sacrifice, “eish ha-mizbei’ach tukad bo” – “the fire of the altar is kept going on it.”  The ola sacrifice essentially served as part of the fuel that sustained the fire on the altar.  There in Parashat Tzav the Torah requires that the fire on the altar continuously burn (“Eish tamid tukad al ha-mizbei’ach lo tikhbeh” – 6:6).  It appears that the ola was one of the means by which it was ensured that the flame on the altar would not be extinguished, as the fire burned on the meat and fats of the animal.

            If so, then we can readily understand why an ola sacrifice would not “interrupt” between the shelamim fats on the altar.  The ola was considered part of the altar’s firewood, and thus the obligation to place the fats on the altar’s fire could indeed be fulfilled by placing the fats over a previously-offered ola sacrifice.

Monday

            The second verse of Parashat Vayikra establishes that one who wishes to bring a voluntary animal sacrifice should offer either a bull, sheep or goat.  The Da’at Zekeinim Mi-Ba’alei Ha-Tosafot commentary notes (citing from Torat Kohanim) that the Torah allows as animal sacrifices only domesticated animals which (at least in ancient times) were widely bred and easily accessible.  Rather than require Benei Yisrael to go hunting for wild game to bring as sacrifices, God designated for sacrifices specifically the animals that were most easily obtained.  Da’at Zekeinim comments that this is an expression of God’s benevolence and kindness toward Benei Yisrael, as He did not with to overburden them by requiring them to sacrifice animals which were difficult to capture.

            The implication of this comment, seemingly, is that in principle, going into the jungle and hunting wild animals would be a greater expression of devotion to God than simply taking a sheep from one’s herd.  The time and exertion entailed in bringing a deer, for example, would demonstrate one’s desire to serve his Creator at the highest standard, and his willingness to go to great lengths and endure considerable inconvenience for this purpose.

            One might wonder, then, why the Torah disqualifies animals such as a deer as sacrifices.  We understand that God did not want to overburden Benei Yisrael by requiring the offering of wild animals, but why did He take away this option?  Why did He not allow those who wish to demonstrate the highest levels of devotion to go to the jungles and hunt for deer and bring them as sacrifices?  God did not, for good reason, make such sacrifices obligatory, but why did He make them invalid?

            Rav Moshe Feinstein (in Kol Ram, vol. 3) explained that sometimes, voluntary measures that entail significant time and exertion are not only unnecessary, but also discouraged.  Self-imposed acts of devotion often have the effect of depleting one’s limited resources of time, energy and concentration, at the expense of his basic obligations and responsibilities.  The Torah established the institution of voluntary sacrifices to allow us to extend beyond the strict demands of Halakha and express our personal spiritual feelings in a way that could not be done through the performance of the mandatory mitzvot alone.  However, the Torah also sought to ensure that these voluntary acts of devotion would not take too much time or attention away from our basic obligations.  Hunting for sacrifices could easily lead to a situation of people spending days in the hunt, thinking that they thereby express their devotion to God, but taking precious time away from pursuits such as Torah study, raising a family, and communal involvement.  God therefore chose to disqualify wild animals as sacrifices, in order that voluntary sacrifices would not come at the expense of more critical and basic religious duties.

            Before trying to do great things, we must first ensure that we are doing all the good things that we are supposed to be doing.  It is certainly admirable to go beyond the strict call of duty – but only after we have answered that call, and adequately fulfilled all our basic obligations.

Tuesday

            There is a famous controversy among the Rishonim regarding the reason underlying the institution of the korbanot (sacrifices).  The Rambam, as cited in the Ramban’s commentary to Parashat Vayikra (1:9), famously explained the sacrifices as a necessary means of reinforcing Benei Yisrael’s rejection of paganism and pagan sacrificial rites.  According to the Rambam (at least as the Ramban understood his comments), the rituals of the korbanot are not intrinsically significant, but were necessitated due to the strong pagan influence to which Benei Yisrael had been exposed.  The Ramban vehemently disputes the Rambam’s theory, and insists that the sacrifices required by the Torah indeed have inherent value, and do not simply fill the need to provide an alternative to paganism.  He explains that the procedures done to the animal sacrifice reflect the consequences that a sinner deserves on account of his wrongdoing, thus leading him to repentance.  The Ramban then proceeds to present an additional perspective on sacrifices “al derekh ha-emet” (according to mystical teachings).

            The Meshekh Chokhma suggests a “compromise” position of sorts between these two views of the Rambam and the Ramban.  He writes that the fundamental reason and purpose of the korbanot depend upon the circumstances.  In the times of the Beit Ha-mikdash, when sacrificial offerings were allowed only in the Temple, the sacrifices were intrinsically significant as a vehicle by which Benei Yisrael drew closer to God.  However, as the Mishnayot relate toward the end of Masekhet Zevachim, there were two periods when Benei Yisrael were permitted to offer sacrifices on bamot – private altars – and were not required to bring their sacrifices specifically to a central location.  Immediately after Benei Yisrael crossed into Eretz Yisrael, the Mishkan was positioned in Gilgal, but without the ark.  Under these circumstances, sacrifices were allowed on bamot.  This occurred again after the destruction of the Sanctuary in Shilo.  From then until the Temple was built, private altars were allowed because the ark was not in the Mishkan.

            The Meshekh Chokhma contends that offering sacrifices on bamot served the purpose mentioned by the Rambam, but not the purposes mentioned by the Ramban.  Meaning, these sacrifices did not bear inherent religious significance, and were sanctioned only as a response, of sorts, to paganism.  Sacrifices in the Mishkan and Beit Ha-mikdash, however, were inherently significant as a medium of fostering a close relationship between the Almighty and His nation.  In this vein the Meshekh Chokhma explains a series of verses in Sefer Tehillim (51:18,20-21): “For You do not desire that I give a sacrifice; You do not want a burnt-offering… May it please You to make Zion prosper; build the walls of Jerusalem.  Then shall You desire sacrifices offered in righteousness, burnt and whole offerings…”  David here asserts that God does not desire sacrifices until “the walls of Jerusalem are built,” meaning, until the Temple is erected.  As long as sacrifices are brought on private altars, God does not desire the offering of sacrifices, even if He allows and sanctions them.  It is only after the Temple’s construction that God desires Benei Yisrael’s sacrificial offerings.

            Toward the end of his discussion, the Meshekh Chokhma makes reference to a passage in the Zohar in Parashat Mishpatim, stating that this passage bears relevance to his theory.  The passage to which the Meshekh Chokhma refers (as noted by Rav Shimon Diskin in his Mas’at Moshe) discusses one of the aforementioned verses in Tehillim: “For You do not desire that I give an offering; You do not want a burnt-offering.”  The Zohar notes that, as we know from Parashat Vayikra, God certainly wants Benei Yisrael to bring sacrifices.  What this verse means, the Zohar explains, is that God does not want us to offer sacrifices to the divine Name of Elokim, which denotes the divine attribute of strict justice.  He desires our sacrifices only when we offer them to the divine Name of Havaya, which represents the divine attribute of kindness.  (See also Menachot 110a and Ramban to Vayikra 1:9.)

            It appears that the Meshekh Chokhma understood the Zohar’s comments as expressing the distinction he drew between sacrifices offered on bamot and sacrifices offered in the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The situation of heter bamot, when there is no centralized location for offering sacrifices, is one of distance between God and Benei Yisrael.  Under such circumstances, God does not truly desire our sacrifices.  He sanctions them and accepts them for the reason discussed by the Rambam, as a necessary means of rejecting idolatrous worship.  Essentially, however, sacrifices in these times of distance are not desirable.  As David writes there in Tehillim, “For You do not desire that I give an offering; You do not want a burnt-offering.  The offerings of Elokim are a broken spirit; a broken, despondent heart will not be despised by Elokim.”  In situations characterized by the divine Name of Elokim – the attribute of justice and distance between God and Am Yisrael – God wants us to sacrifice our spirits, not animals.  But in the times of the Beit Ha-mikdash, when the relationship between the Almighty and Am Yisrael is one of closeness and affection, then He indeed desires our sacrificial offerings.  He lovingly accepts our offerings as a person rejoices over a gift received from his dear friend.  Korbanot offered during periods of closeness are looked upon as expressions of love and devotion.  It is thus only once the Temple is built and God “takes residence” within it that He “desires sacrifices offered in righteousness, burnt and whole offerings…”

Wednesday

            The first topic discussed in Parashat Vayikra is the korban ola, or burnt-offering, the voluntary sacrifice that was entirely burned on the altar.  The Torah instructs that the kohanim must skin the slaughtered animal and dissect it (“hefshet ve-nitu’ach”), at which point the various parts of the animal are arranged on the fire on the altar.  Interestingly, the Torah writes before instructing that the animal parts be placed on the altar, “The sons of Aharon, the kohanim shall place fire on the altar, and shall arrange wood on the fire” (1:7).  This refers to the halakha known as the ma’arakha, the logs of wood that the kohanim were instructed to place on the altar each day for the purpose of sustaining the fire (see Vayikra 6:5).  The obvious question arises as to why the Torah makes mention of this halakha here, in the context of the instructions regarding the voluntary ola offering.

            The Ramban, in his Torah commentary, explains that the Torah sought to distinguish between the voluntary ola offering and the tamid, the mandatory ola sacrifice that was brought twice each day.  As the Gemara discusses in Masekhet Yoma (33a), the kohanim were required to arrange wood on the altar each morning before tending to the morning tamid sacrifice.  One might have thought that before every personal, voluntary tamid, too, it was required to add firewood to the altar before the kohanim slaughter the sacrifice.  The Torah therefore speaks of the ma’arakha only after it describes the procedure of slaughtering, skinning and dissecting the korban, indicating that the kohanim do not have to add firewood to the altar before they begin tending to the ola.

            Still, the question remains as to why this verse is necessary at all.  As Malbim notes, arranging the ma’arakha was done each morning so there would be sufficient firewood for the day’s offerings, and, in any event, the kohanim were required to ensure a constant presence of fire on the altar (“eish tamid tukad al ha-mizbei’ach lo tikhbeh” – Vayikra 6:6).  There was thus always a fire on the altar.  Why, then, did the Torah write that the kohanim must place wood upon the altar before placing a voluntary ola offering on the altar?

            Rashi, in his commentary to Masekhet Yoma (27b), suggests a simple explanation of this verse.  He writes that the Torah actually refers here to the arranging of the ma’arakha that took place each morning, before the offering of the tamid.  Before the Torah could command placing an animal sacrifice upon the altar where it would be burned, it must first inform us that a fire would be constantly burning on the altar.  The command regarding the ma’arakha is presented only later, in Parashat Tzav, and therefore the Torah interjected here in Parashat Vayikra with a brief comment that the kohanim were required to place a large pile of wood on the altar each morning in order to sustain the fire.  This information was necessary for us to know before the Torah could then proceed to command that the fats and meat of the ola must be burned on the altar.

            Malbim suggests a different explanation.  According to one view in the Torat Kohanim (Tzav, 2:10), during the forty years in the wilderness, the kohanim would extinguish the fire on the altar when the time came to disembark and journey.  (According to the other view, the flame continued burning even during travel.)  If so, Malbim writes, then we could perhaps explain this verse here in Parashat Vayikra.  It may have happened on occasion that the nation would encamp during the afternoon hours, after the final time for offering the morning tamid sacrifice, and a person would then show up in the Mishkan with a voluntary ola offering.  In such a situation, there was no fire on the altar to burn the sacrifice, since the normal rituals, including placing the ma’arakha, had not been performed that day.  Regarding such a situation, perhaps, the Torah writes that the kohanim must first place wood on the altar and kindle a flame before they proceed to place the sacrifice on the altar.  Although normally this would not be necessary, since in any event the kohanim ensured a constant presence of fire on the altar, it became necessary in the situation of midday encampment, when an individual brought an ola before the fire on the altar was rekindled.

Thursday

            Parashat Vayikra begins with a discussion of the korbenot nedava, personal voluntary sacrifices which people had the option of bringing to the Mishkan (the ola, mincha and shelamim).  God introduces these laws by telling Moshe, “Adam ki yakriv mikem korban le-Hashem…” (“A person among you who offers a sacrifice to the Lord…” – 1:3).  Rashi, citing the Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 2:7), notes the Torah’s use of the word adam (“person”) in this context.  According to the Midrash, the Torah here alludes to Adam, who offered a sacrifice to God – a sacrifice which, in a certain sense, serves as a paradigm that all future sacrifices should follow.  Meaning, as the Midrash comments, Adam offered his sacrifice before any other person was created, such that the entire world was indisputably in his possession.  It was not possible for Adam to offer a stolen animal as a sacrifice, because, quite simply, there was nobody from whom he could have stolen.  By using the word “adam” in the context of the korbanot, the Torah indicates that all sacrifices must resemble Adam’s sacrifice, and a stolen sacrifice is disqualified.

            This halakha, of course, is readily understandable, and warns against the hypocrisy of trying to serve God while mistreating other people.  We might wonder, however, why specifically the situation of Adam was invoked as the paradigm through which this halakha conveyed.  Adam’s case was clearly extreme.  Even if he had been corrupt, he did not have the possibility of offering a stolen animal.  In fact, one could argue that Adam does not serve as an accurate example in this regard, since he was unable to offer a stolen animal, and thus his sacrifice does not necessarily attest to his integrity and the sincerity of his offering.  How might we explain the paradigm of Adam’s sacrifice?

            Possibly, the Midrash seeks to teach us not only that we may not offer a stolen sacrifice, but that we should not offer voluntary sacrifices at all until we are incapable of stealing.  Chazal pointed to Adam’s offering as the paradigmatic example of a voluntary sacrifice specifically because it was impossible for him to steal – and this is precisely the kind of person one must be before he decides to bring a voluntary sacrifice.  Before we undertake voluntary religious measures such as sacrificial offerings, we must first do something which Chazal deemed far more basic – work on our characters to ensure that we are honest and upright.  We have no business spending large sums of money on voluntary animal sacrifices if we are able to seriously consider stealing from other people.  God welcomes voluntary sacrifices only from “Adam,” from people who have achieved a basic level of moral and ethical conduct.  Honesty and integrity must come before voluntary sacrifices, and the Torah therefore speaks of sacrifices being offered only by “Adam” – by those who would not even contemplate the possibility of cheating other people.

Friday

            One of the voluntary korbanot discussed in Parashat Vayikra is the mincha offering, which consisted of flour and oil (2:1-16).  Throughout most of its discussion of this offering, the Torah speaks of the person bringing the sacrifice in second person, as though God speaks directly to him: “If you offer a mincha offering baked in an oven… And if your sacrifice is a mincha in a frying pan… Any mincha that you offer to the Lord shall not be made into leaven…”  Naturally, in reference to the kohen ministering to the offering, the Torah speaks in third person (“The kohen shall separate from the mincha a handful from it…  And the leftovers from the mincha shall be for Aharon and his sons…”).  Since the Torah speaks to the person bringing the sacrifice, it refers to the kohanim in third person.

            There is, however, one verse in this section which is written in the second person form, despite the fact that it appears to be directed toward the kohanim: “And you shall season all your meal offerings with salt…” (2:13).  This verse requires that salt be added to all sacrifices, a job that was, presumably, assigned to the kohanim.  As they were the ones who tended to the offerings, it is reasonable to assume that it was their responsibility to add salt.  Why, then, does the Torah direct this command to the individual offering the sacrifice?

            One answer, perhaps, is that the verse refers to the individual’s responsibility to provide salt along with the sacrifice.  Although it was the kohanim who actually poured the salt over the offering as part of the sacrificial ritual, the person bringing the sacrifice bore the responsibility to provide salt for this person.

            The Ramban, however, in his commentary to this verse, explains differently, claiming that “melicha kesheira be-zar” – even a non-kohen can perform the act of melicha, salting the sacrifice.  Although the salting was done as part of the sacrificial rituals, it differed from the other stages of the process in that it could be performed by a non-kohen.  The Torah therefore directed this instruction toward the person bringing the sacrifice, to indicate that this part of the ritual did not require a kohen.

            Rav Eliezer Lipman Lichtenstein, in his Sheim Olam commentary to Sefer Vayikra (Warsaw, 1877), questions the Ramban’s comments in light of the Gemara’s discussion in Masekhet Sota (14b) of the procedure for offering the mincha.  Citing the Tosefta (Menachot, chapter 1), the Gemara specifies each step in the process of offering a korban mincha, including the adding of salt.  It is clear from the Gemara that melicha took place only after the korban was brought to the top of the altar.  No non-kohen was ever permitted to approach the altar, and it therefore seems inconceivable that a non-kohen could perform melicha on a sacrifice.  Indeed, the Gemara in Masekhet Menachot (20a) initially considers a situation where a non-kohen salts a sacrifice, and it then immediately rejects such a possibility, noting that a non-kohen is not allowed to approach the altar.  The Ramban’s comments thus seem, at first glance, to run in opposition to the Gemara.

            In defense of the Ramban’s remarks, the Sheim Olam suggests that although in practice the salting took place atop the altar, it could, strictly speaking, be done earlier, before the sacrifice is brought upon the altar.  He notes that after the Gemara in Masekhet Sota cites the Tosefta’s outline of the procedure for offering the mincha sacrifice, the Gemara goes through each step and identifies its Biblical source.  It shows where the Torah mentions or alludes to each halakha concerning the mincha offering listed in the Tosefta.  Curiously, however, the Gemara does not identify the source requiring performing melicha specifically on top of the altar.  Elsewhere in the Talmud, the Sheim Olam observes, the Gemara provides the Biblical source requiring performing certain rituals specifically on top of the altar (Yoma 45a regarding the lighting of the alita wood; and Zevachim 65a regarding melika).  The absence of any Biblical source to this effect with regard to melicha might suggest that according to Torah law, the salting does not have to be performed after the sacrifice is placed on the altar.  Strictly speaking, it appears, the melicha may be done even earlier, but Chazal enacted that it should be performed only once the offering is on the altar.  Therefore, the Ramban may indeed be correct in asserting that, as far as Torah law is concerned, melicha could be performed by a non-kohen.