This week’s Torah portion, Tzav, is the second in the book of Vayikra/Leviticus, a book dedicated to the various priestly rituals and laws relating to the Temple in Jerusalem. At the heart of priestly practice was the sacrificial system, in which Israelites would bring offerings to the Temple – grains, fruits, and animals – as a korban, an offering meant to bring the person closer to an experience of the divine. The early chapters of Leviticus lay out the various kinds of korbanot/offerings, all intended for different purposes—to atone for sin, to offer gratitude, to celebrate abundance, to acknowledge surviving a harrowing experience. In exploring earlier Torah descriptions of offerings made by key Biblical figures at key moments, and what these sacrificial offerings might reveal about the ones we read about in Leviticus, Rabbi David Kasher writes :
“Each korban represented a unique expression of sentiment, designed to respond to some significant human experience. We can therefore come to read the offerings as we might read letters or notes, each one projecting a particular frequency, which can then be translated into a kind of prayer. Those notes might even be combined, two or three sounding at once in the form of multiple offerings, as we attempt to process the sometimes conflicting emotions that make up the content of our spiritual lives.”
Kasher concludes by saying that “Leviticus thus becomes not just a repository of ancient Temple rituals, but a book that attempts to give us tools for mapping out the complex journey of the human soul.”
I love thinking about not just the Temple ritual but Judaism in general – indeed, any set of spiritual practices—as “tools for mapping out the complex journey of the human soul.” I am hearing quite often the challenge that many people are feeling in this moment as Jewish holidays approach, wondering how it is possible to celebrate with all of the suffering that is happening in Gaza and in Israel. How can we express joy when we are so intimately connected to devastation happening in places we deeply care about? And of course that is not just a question for this moment, or only regarding the holy land; at any moment, some community, somewhere on this planet, is experiencing violence, upheaval, starvation, war.
What Kasher lifts up in his exploration of the motifs of the Biblical sacrifices is that this is what it means to be human: to navigate the complexity of situations and emotions that accompany them, and to hold apparent contradictions at the same time. Devastation is occurring, and we still need to celebrate abundance when we experience it. People we care deeply about are suffering, and we still need to offer gratitude for the blessings in our lives. And vice versa: the blessings of our individual lives must not overshadow our concern for the catastrophes affecting others. Our “offerings” must take into account that devastation, and make atonement for any guilt we might carry.
As we head into the Shabbatot preceding Passover, that complex festival of freedom, may we remember, even amidst all the hard news, to savor those blessings we have in our lives. May we “offer” what we can for the sake of greater wholeness and peace, and pray that our collective offerings bring us closer to the Source of Life and Its healing power.
