Description
In Discussion, Volume 3 – Sefer Vayikra – By Pinchas Winston
THE CONCEPT IS still the same: use discussion as a means to convey concepts from the parsha. The words of the Torah have been elucidated countless times since Torah was given at Mt. Sinai, and even more so in recent times. But rarely has conversation been used to make the ideas and stories of the Chumash come alive and sound so relevant, thousands of years later.
This has become especially important for Sefer Vayikra. It’s more technical. It’s called “Toras Kohanim,” because it details sacrifices and others aspects of the service of the kohanim. There is narrative, but not as much as in the other books of the Chumash, and much of what is discussed is no longer applicable today in non-Temple times.
But that doesn’t mean we can stop relating to such mitzvos, and a story is a great way to travel back in time and relive, somewhat, the mitzvos when they WERE applicable. The imagination is a powerful device for “time travel,” and such time travel is a very powerful educational tool.
It is also worth pointing out something very important about the entire Sefer Vayikra, an idea revealed by the very first word of the book itself, “vayikra”:
And He called—vayikra—to Moshe… (Vayikra 1:1)
“Calling” is an expression of affection…To the prophets of the nations of the world He revealed Himself through expressions denoting chance and impurity, as the verse says, “vayikar—and [God] happened to [meet] Bilaam” (Bamidbar 23:4). (Rashi, Vayikra 1:1)
Without the Aleph, the word “vayikra,” which means, “and he called,” becomes “vayikar,” which means “he chanced upon.” The addition of the Aleph transforms the word “vayikar,” which alludes to GODLESS reality into, “vayikra,” which means a GODLY reality.
Rashi makes this point here because the Aleph of “vayikra” is written smaller than the rest of the letters. Thus the word “vayikar” is more visible than the word “vayikra,” and the question is, why?
Aleph represents the number ONE, and therefore GOD. It is also two Yuds, joined by a diagonal Vav. In gematria, the three letters equal 10+10+6, or 26, the numerical value of God’s four-letter Ineffable Name.
This tells us that it is up to the Jewish people to transform “vayikar” into “vayikra,” a non-Godly world into a Godly one. God provides the “vayikar,” the world itself. It is OUR job, and OPPORTUNITY, to use His world in a Godly manner, so that it REVEALS the reality of God, not hide it.
When a Jew does, they simultaneously weaken, and eventually defeat their nemesis, Amalek who, as his name indicates, EXISTS to make people DOUBT the reality of God.
Hence, the Torah states:
For there is a hand on the throne—kisay—of the Eternal… (Shemos 17:16)
Why is [kisay] written Chof-Samech, and not Chof-Samech-ALEPH…God swore that His…throne will not be whole until the name of Amalek is completely obliterated. (Rashi)
Attach the Aleph to “vayikar,” transform it into “vayikra,” and we destroy doubt in God’s existence and Amalek. Then, and ONLY then, will the the Aleph be returned to “kisay,” and God’s throne will become complete:
God will be King over the entire land. On that day, God will be One, and His Name One. (Zechariah 14:9.
This is the theme of ALL of Sefer Vayikra, and the discussions to follow.
Parashas Vayikra
A burnt offering of cattle must be an unblemished male, brought to gain acceptance, before God by the entrance of the Appointed Tent. (Vayikra 1:3)
ELAZER STOOD BY the opening of his tent. He wasn’t a kohen or even a levi. He couldn’t officiate in the Mishkan, even if he weren’t only 10 years old. But that didn’t stop him from standing there, at the opening of his tent, in awe of the massive cloud over the Mishkan in the distance.
He was no stranger to miraculous clouds. Six had protected them from the elements of the desert. One went ahead of them and paved the way for them to walk. But this one over the Mishkan was unique, more special and holy, representing the Shechinah that had encompassed and descended upon their divinely-designed but humanly-built creation, the Mishkan.
The Mishkan became fully operational as of the first of Nissan, the second year after leaving Egypt. What an experience that was! It sounds like a simple thing, but it was far from it. Two opposite worlds came together in the most extraordinary way, a miracle beyond imagination.
Ten plagues?
Hard to grasp, but not impossible.
Splitting of the sea?
Same.
But SEEING the Presence of God, the Infinite WITHIN the finite…that is a mind bender.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Elazar’s father asked his son, seeing his fascination.
“Yes, Abba.”
“What is even more amazing is what goes on INSIDE the Mishkan,” his father commented.
“Korbanos!” Elazar said excitedly.
“That’s right, all kinds of them.”
“Do you know about them?” Elazar asked his father. He was really curious.
“What would you like to know?”
“How does it work?”
“You mean all the steps involved in bringing a sacrifice?”
“Yes,” Elazar said, enthusiastically, nodding his head. “Let’s start with a Korban Olah!”
“Okay,” his father replied. “I see you already know the names of the sacrifices.”
“Not all of them,” Elazar answered, “but I’ve heard that one mentioned a lot.”
“Well,” his father began to explain, “an olah, first of all, is one that is burned completely on the mizbayach. The Korban Tamid, which is brought two times each day, seven days a week, is also a Korban Olah.”
“None of the olah is eaten by the person who brought it, or even by the kohen offering it. This is different from other korbanos, for example, a Korban Shlamim, which is also burned on the mizbayach, but the remainder is eaten by the person who brought it and by the kohen who offered it.”
“The ‘olah,” which means ‘go up,’ is called that because ALL of the animal goes up in smoke to Hashem.”
“The flesh of the animal is first divided and then placed on the wood on the mizbayach, which is constantly burning for the sacrifices offered daily. The olah is left to burn slowly. The flesh, including the horns or the beard of the goats, is usually reduced to ashes by the next morning. The ashes are removed by a kohen and disposed of at a tahor place outside the Mishkan.”
“What about the skin of the animal? Is that burned as well?” he asked his father.
“That’s a good question,” his father complimented him. “No, the skin—that is, the hide of an olah—is shared among the kohanim on duty at that time to use as they please.”
“What else?” he pressed his father.
“Well, of course, like all korbanos, an olah can’t have a blemish. But unlike a Shlamim, which can be either a male or female animal, an olah can only be male.”
“What else?”
“You are a curious one,” his father told him. “Let’s see what else I know…Ah! An olah can be brought by an individual, either as a neder or as a nedavah, that is, as a vow or as a donation. If a person just says that he is going to bring an olah, then it is considered a neder, a vow. If, however, he chooses a specific animal to be his olah, that is a nedavah, a donation.”
“What’s the difference between the two?” Elazar asked, confused. “Either way the person has to bring the korban to the Mishkan!”
“True,” his father answered him. “An important difference is what happens if the animal somehow disappears or dies before the owner gets the chance to bring it to the Mishkan. In the case of a neder, he has to replace the animal with another at his own cost. But in the case of a nedavah, since he chose a specific animal to be his olah, nothing can replace it, so he doesn’t have to bring a sacrifice.”
“Ahhhh,” Elazar said. “Seems that it is a lot safer to promise a nedavah,.”
“Perhaps,” his father said. “But a lot of times people want to bring a korban to Hashem so much that they would prefer to replace a lost one.”
“I would LOVE to bring one!” Elazar said, wide-eyed. “I would be happy to sell whatever I have to buy one and bring it to the Mishkan!”
His father laughed, admiring his young son’s enthusiasm. In fact, he was so touched by it that it made him think about bringing an olah himself.
“What was a Korban Olah for?” Elazar asked, looking towards the massive cloud over the Mishkan.
“I believe it atones for bad thoughts.”
“Thoughts?”
“Yes. Thoughts are not physical,” the father explained, “like something you can see or touch,” and he picked up a piece of fruit to make his point. “But BAD thoughts can lead to something physical if, Chas v’Shalom, they become a sin. So to fix that, we bring something PHYSICAL and burn it completely on the mizbayach. This transforms something PHYSICAL into something SPIRITUAL, like thoughts.”
“I understand that,” Elazar answered, proud of himself. However, he added, “but it is SO hard to control my thoughts. Without even thinking about something, it can just pop into my head, and at the worst times too!”
His father laughed. “That happens to all of us, my son.”
“It does?”
“Yes. It isn’t something that most people can control.”
“Why would Hashem make us like that, if thinking bad thoughts is so bad?”
“For the same reason Hashem gave man a yetzer hara. To test us. To challenge us. To give us the opportunity to CHOOSE to do the right thing, so that we can receive reward in Olam HaBa for doing so, and feel better about ourself in THIS world too.”
“A person may not be able to control what pops into his head during the course of a day, or when it will happen. But he CAN choose what to do about a thought once it does come in.”
Elazar considered his father’s words, and took them to heart. There was something very comforting about them, and they also told him what he had to do.
“This is why it is so important,” his father said, “to be careful about how we live our life. Everything we see, hear, or smell is ‘written down’ inside our brain. WE may forget about those things,” his father explained, “but our BRAIN does not. And many times things happen in life to make us remember them, and not always in the best way or at the best time. That is why the Torah is makpid about what a Jew becomes involved with.”
Clearly his son was absorbing it all.
“But you have to remember,” he continued, “if you do think about something you know you shouldn’t, don’t panic! Instead, do your best to gently push the thought away, like blowing smoke through the air. Just let it drift away. Then you can go back to what you WANT to think about.”
They both stood quietly for a few moments, watching the Shechinah over the Mishkan in the distance. Then he told his son, “In a sense, this is what korbanos are all about.”
Elazar looked at his father with a face that said, “How so?” So he explained further.
“Well, basically there are four aspects to the korbanos.”
“Four?”
“Yes. There’s the wood of the mizbayach to burn a korban, the salt to put on it, the korban, which is the animal itself, and of course the person who brings the korban. Each of these four things is part of the tikun.”
“Which tikun?” Elazar asked.
His father smiled. “To answer that,” he continued, affectionately stroking his son’s head, “we have to go back in time.”
“Back in time, Abba?”
“Yes, Elazar, all that way back to the very first chet ever performed by a person.”
“The ‘Chet Aitz HaDa’as Tov v’Ra’”?
“Very good, Elazar. ExACTLY!”
“When Adam HaRishon ate from the Aitz HaDa’as, he damaged the world on four levels, Domaim, which is the mineral world; Tzomayach, which is the level of plants and things that grow from the ground; Chayah, living creatures; and of course man, who is called a ‘Medabehr.’”
“Four worlds, four things.”
“That’s right,” his father said. “And I’m sure you can figure out which is for which.”
Elazar’s face showed that he was thinking hard.
“The animal is the Chayah…” he said, “and the person bringing the korban is obviously the Medabehr.”
He thought another minute or two, and then finished, “And the salt is the Domaim, and the wood is the Tzomayach.”
“Perfect!” his father said proudly. “So you see,” he explained further, “that although it is no simple matter to take the life of an animal, it is for a very HOLY purpose, ‘Tikun Ma’aseh Bereishis.’ A Chatos or an Asham accomplish the same thing, even though they were brought because of sins that happened in our time.”
“So when we sin,” Elazar reasoned, thinking as he spoke, “we’re just making Adam HaRishon’s kilkul worse, and THAT causes ANOTHER animal to have to be killed.”
His father sighed deeply.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” he told his son. “The korban may atone for the chet, but perhaps we will have to answer on Yom HaDin for the loss of animal life it caused.”
Elazar’s expression said it all. He had taken the message to heart.
“That’s just another reason,” he told his father, “to try to be a tzaddik!”
“Yes it is,” his father agreed, “it definitely is.”
The two of them stood with their eyes transfixed on the Heavenly Cloud off in the distance. They were totally unaware that the Shechinah had not only been part of their discussion, but “smiled” now because of it.
