(Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch, Vayikra 1:7)

The Book of Vayikra and its opening parasha, Vayikra, are a kind of pause in the historical development of the Jewish people in its early stages. The Torah intends to teach us something beyond events – the essence of the motivating force of history. The organization of ritual, which is the central subject of the third Book – and above all, the detailed description of the sacrifices – reveal the relationship and the connection between the subject of history, the Jewish people, and its motivating force, the Holy One, Blessed Be He. This connection, in other languages, is labeled 'religion'.

No wonder, then, that so much has been written about the sacrifices, as though the Torah failed to reveal this connection; the uncovering of meaning necessitates copious, variegated, and even extremely contradictory explication. Professor Nehama Leibowitz, z"l, wrote that "The laws of the sacrifices are a sealed tome for us; we comprehend neither the overall rationale for sacrifices nor the reasons behind specific details." But the texts were given to us as such, and we must extract their meaning as best we can. We shall attempt, within the limited framework of this essay, to touch – even if only lightly – the subject of the sacrifice. To this end, we will content ourselves with a deep reading of the passage which opens the subject:

"When a person brings-near a near-offering [a korban] from among you for God from domestic-animals: from the herd or from the flock you may bring-near your korban." (Vayikra 1:2)

1. The first word to require explanation inasmuch as it stands in contradiction to the rules of syntax, is the word 'mikem' – from among you. Its irregular placement at the end of the clause calls attention to itself. We would have expected to read: "When one from among you brings-near a near-offering for God; from domestic animals, etc." We would then have understood that the command to offer sacrifices was given to the Children of Israel, to members of this nation alone, to the exclusion of all other nations. But if we read the text as it is written, the meaning is that sacrificial object is not the animal, but us; "When one brings-near a near-offering from among you (shall he bring it near).

 

 

Thus we have two solutions to the unexpected placement of the word 'mikem':

a. He who offers the sacrifice belongs to the Jewish people.

b. He sacrifices himself.

2. Let us focus on the second proposition: To sacrifice one's self means, of course, offering the Creator that which is most important. This is an act of elevation, of ascension toward the Infinite and cleaving to Him. On the other hand, however, this sacrifice demands one's "bitul", one's self-nullification. In order to climb to the Infinite, one must first of all, as a indispensable condition, cease being finite; one must nullify his finite component. Assuming that our endeavor is successful, is it possible to return from such a spiritual journey? The Sforno speaks with extreme caution: This self-sacrifice is submission, cessation of the inner struggle which rages between the lower component which tends to the material and the higher element which strives to climb higher. To sum it up, in order to give myself to the Creator, I must first of all nullify myself. But this nullification will not lead to self-destruction. On the contrary, it will facilitate my advancement upwards towards my Creator. It is a difficult step – but it can be done.

Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra's explanation is closer to the real world. He interprets "mikem' – from your possessions, and not from other's property." With a little imagination, we can understand that today the sacrificial object might be the car, the refrigerator, anything that belongs to me, which has become part of me; when I am prepared to part with it, it is as though I were not simply donating something of value, but a part of myself.

The Kli Yakar's commentary on the sacrifices of Cain and Abel illuminate another aspect. In both cases, personal involvement was lacking. Cain brought an offering of little value; Abel does not take any initiative – he waits for his brother to act first . . . he is only Hevel (vapor) . . . therefore, even though objectively speaking, his sacrifice was praiseworthy, it did not succeed.

3. Now we can return to the primary meaning of the word 'Adam' (a man, a person) when it appears in juxtaposition to the word 'mikem'. This combination indicates intention of belonging, as pointed out above; "You are called Adam, but not the nations of the world" [Trans. note: a widespread saying. See, for example, Bava Metsia 114b] The sacrifices were, without doubt, unique to the Children of Israel. But the question of defining Israel remains open: Who is Israel? Israel is not clearly defined given. It is in constant movement and flux, e.g., proselytes. In the words of the Talmud (Yerushalmi, Shekalim 1:4) "To include the proselytes."

We have not yet extracted all meaning from the word 'Adam'. The word is used in opposition to its synonym, "Ish" (man, person) which carries the connotation of a hero. 'Adam' , on the other hand, is the common denominator of the entire nation. One need not be a hero in order to attain spiritual ascension; everyone has the ability to sacrifice in the sense defined above.

The Zohar goes further. From the verse "Let us make Adam in our image" it concludes that every man, as a man, strives to return to his roots, the image of God, to approach the condition in which he was at Crea, when humanity – Adam, the first Man – was in perfect harmony with the Creator's plan. The need for sacrifices is connected to our natural striving to return to that era when union with the Creator was direct and natural.

4. We will complete the picture by studying other words in the same passage: The word 'Ki' ['as', 'since', 'when', 'if'] teaches us that the entire process is dependent on the will of the person who brings the offering. Rashi emphasizes that the Torah is dealing with a voluntary offering, not with a mandatory one. The process is initiated within ourselves, without any external constraints.

As we pointed out, our subject provides a wide range of meanings – some contradictory. I have not referred to the major controversy between the Rambam and the Ramban – those giants of thought and exegesis – nor to many others. Each of these savants desired to express his point of view on the subject according to his nature and to his environment. We have before us a great variety of approaches, some antithetical – all legitimate. "Seventy faces to Torah" is neither wordplay nor pleasant idiom; it is the expression of a great and deep truth. No man can lay claim to absolute truth. In every human opinion which strives for truth can be found part of it.

Readers react:

The Holy One, Blessed Be He, said to them: Not that I need your light, but to raise you before the nations . . . so that they say that Israel gives light to Him who gives light to all . . . A parable - a seeing person and a sightless man were walking on the way . . . when they entered . . . said the seeing one to the sightless one "Go and light the lamp . . . So that you not feel yourself indebted to me for having led you on the way. The seeing one is the Holy One . . . Not because I need it, but in order to give you light . . . in this world you needed the light of the Bet Hamikdash, but in the world to come, because of the merit of that lamp I will bring you the anointed king – Hamelech Hamashiach – who is compared to a lamp." (Yalkut Shimoni, Tetsaveh 378)

From this parable and its preceding midrashim, which state that God does not need the light of the lamps, but "in order to give you light", the writer concludes that it is Man who needs the Mishkan and the Mikdash, in order to liberate Israel from the feeling and awareness of dependence upon God; this consciousness is created only with the existence of the Mikdash, and is directed towards the past. When the Mashiach arrives, the Mikdash will no longer be relevant.

In my humble opinion, the writer errs in his understanding of the midrash. "In order to give you light" does not mean that man needs the light which he himself lights in the Mikdash, for God lights the whole world, and supplies all of Man's needs – what, then, does Man add with his light? This question is also raised in the midrash itself. The blind man does not need the light which he lights (nor does the seeing one), -- why, then, does he light it? In order not to be beholden, to express his gratitude; all who see understand that the sightless one does so out of thankfulness, -- after all, he derives no benefit therefrom. Israel, unlike the other nations, "returns" favor to God for his constant bounty. Therefore, in consideration of the merit of Israel's expression of appreciation, God will bring the Mashiach. The Mikdash, then, is not directed towards the past, but towards the future; even when the Mashiach arrives, the Mikdash will not be rendered null and void. Then, too, God will never abandon the world; therefore Israel will continue to thank Him.

Emanuel Shalev

Raanana

Dr. Klein replies:

I am happy that the midrash under discussion raises thoughts not only for me, but also for Mr. Shalev. Close inspection of this midrash reveals that Mr. Shalev interjects elements which, in my opinion, are not present. By doing so, he neutralizes its revolutionary sting. First of all, the midrash does not talk about the world and the environment outside the blind man, the seeing one, the path they walk, and the house they reach. It does not deal with the nations of the world and their relation to God. The midrash deals with the relation of the blind man to the seeing one and the converse. It does not deal with the relation of any other factor to the seeing one.

Secondly, the midrash nowhere says that because of the merit of gratitude, the Mashiach will come. Thankfulness, (according to Mr. Shalev's interpretation) appears when the Bet Hamikdash stands and the blind man has reached the house! Therefore, the interpretation which says that thankfulness precedes the Mashiach and brings him, does not depend on this midrash, but attempts to suit it to other sources, traditional and conservative in nature. Thirdly, the midrash wants to say something diametrically opposed to what Mr. Shalev reads into it. The Holy One does not want the blind man's expression of gratitude: " . . . . So that you not feel yourself indebted to me."

Fourthly, what is "So that you not feel yourself indebted to me for having led you on the way" referring to if not to the past, the period in which the seeing one assisted the sightless one, i.e., the period of galut, and the period of the journey to the house? The midrash's orientation towards the pis indisputable.

Fifthly, why does the midrash made a sharp distinction between the period of the Mashiach-Geula and period of the Mikda, situating the Mikdash as part of the galut? The midrash wants to say that the Bet Hamikdash is part of an unredeemed world. During the galut it seems to be an ideal goal, but all its purpose is to change Man's consciousness during galut. When the blind man returns to the house, he has a different understanding of what happened in the past. Reaching the house does not lead him to a different world in which his eyes are opened, but to a new understanding of the path upon he walked and of the world in which he lives. In effect, the midrash says that the path to the house and arrival there are one and the same, and both are different from the Days of Mashiach!

The audacity of the midrash surprised me too, and in this lies its attraction and its beauty. A midrash such as this forces us to rethink our priorities. The boldness of great men does not diminish their value. On the contrary, it them them what they are -- great men.

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