The central book of the Five Books of Moses was originally known as Torat Kohanim, or the Law of Priests because of its concentration on the ritual activities of the Levitical priests. That it is unique in many respects as a document that can stand on its own in literary, legal and ritual senses is without question.
But my thought while studying the text this year was not about its separateness, but about its connection to the text that precedes it: the Book of Exodus.
In the final portion of Exodus, in Parashat Pekudei, we read a long, detailed, seemingly redundant account of the construction of the desert sanctuary, the mishkan, and the vestments of the priests. This is seemingly redundant because it repeats, nearly verbatim, the instructions for their fabrication and installation given previously. But the pattern of the text actually has three parts:
-
Instructions are given,
-
The instructions are carried out, then
-
There is an affirmation that the instructions have been carried out correctly.
The affirmation serves to remove any question about the proper completion of the instructions given. In the case of the construction of the mishkan it makes it clear that the work is as God instructed Moses.
The last two chapters of the Book of Exodus, contain 18 repetitions of the affirmation, using a form of the phrase ca’asher tzivah Adonai et Moshe or “as the Lord commanded Moses”.
After the sin of the golden calf and, in its aftermath, the killing of the participants and the plague that represented further retribution; it seems very important to close Exodus with a repeated, almost staccato refrain of obedience.
Again and again, at each step of the process, the correctness of the actions taken is affirmed.
That painstaking repetition of the detail, and the repeated confirmation that what was done was “as the Lord commanded” seems to be an affirmation of reconciliation; the final coda to the episode of the golden calf.
It is the theme of reconciliation that joins the final chapters of Exodus to the first chapters of Leviticus.
The opening of Leviticus, with its detailed specification of the sacrifices to be brought under various circumstances, is frequently seen as offensive to modern sensibilities and, in fact, the idea of (especially animal) sacrifices was problematic even for some of the prophets and for many of the great rabbinic commentators.
Some of the explanations for the centrality of sacrifice seem quite reasonable and others less so but, to me, to be overly concerned with the sacrifices themselves is to miss the point.
What strikes me as much more important than the sacrifices themselves is that the sacrifice prescribed results in the forgiveness of the transgressor.
I don’t read Parashat Vayikra as being principally about sacrifice but rather as being principally and powerfully about forgiveness. And it is that forgiveness that links it back to the ending of the Book of Exodus.
The structure of Parashat Vayikra echoes that of the account of the building of the mishkan. The text first details the procedures for the various sacrifices without reference to who must bring them or comment on what effect they will have.
That section of the text ends with Chapter 4 Verse 1, where God addresses Moses again.
Here begins a series of instructions on the subject of who must bring the sacrifices detailed in the first three chapters. And here we find the parallel to the last portion of Parashat Pekudei.
The three structural elements of this text are:
-
The instructions regarding these classes of sacrifice are given,
-
The instructions regarding who must bring each type of sacrifice are given, and then
-
The affirmation of the effect is stated.
The affirmation refrain of obedience found in the account of the completion of the mishkan is paralleled in Vayikra by a refrain of forgiveness.
Nine times in two chapters of text we are told that after the designated sacrifice is offered v’nislach lo (la-hem), “and he (they) will be forgiven”.
The commitment made here is not conditional. If the specified requirements are met, forgiveness is promised. Forgiveness is prospectively available, conditioned only upon the completion of the prescribed action.
And, critically, it is not the priest who forgives. Forgiveness has been prospectively given by God. The priest is a functionary. His role is to determine whether the sacrifices brought are appropriate and to perform the sacrificial ritual properly. No more.
This limited role of the priest contrasts with that of the priests in Catholicism, for example, where it is the priest himself who has the power to grant forgiveness of sin. Conferring that power on a person creates the very real possibility of its misuse. There have been many examples of the power of absolution being used coercively to the detriment of the faithful and of the church itself.
An Israelite priest might be able to vindictively rule that an animal brought for sacrifice is impure but that was about the extent of the malicious damage that a priest might do. Contrast that with the power to withhold absolution and thereby, in the belief system of the church, to condemn the sinner to eternal damnation.
It is a genius of the sacrificial system that the penalty for an offense was fixed, that the procedure for its offering was known by all, and that the resulting forgiveness was automatic.
To focus on the sacrifice is to miss the crucial point: God has provided a fixed, known and verifiable means for man to obtain forgiveness for transgression.
To argue, as some do, that we should not study the portions of our text that deal with sacrifice; to argue that there is no value or relevance in learning of the “inhumane” practices of our past; is to risk missing the opportunity to recognize just how humane and compassionate the message here really is.