The Publication of Laws
The book of Leviticus is also called Torat Kohanim, or the Law of Priests, and with a couple of exceptions, it is wholly attributed to the Priestly Source. There is essentially no narrative in Leviticus; it is a compilation of laws. It does not separate Exodus from Numbers by passage of time or by experience. It is distinguished from them by subject.
The Book and its first portion, Parashat Vayikra, begin: “The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: ‘Speak to the Israelite people and say to them …”
Parashat Vayikra is wholly concerned with sacrifices. It first details procedures for offerings depending on the thing offered: cattle, sheep, birds, or meal. It then specifies what sacrifices are to be brought in several categories depending on the reason for the sacrifice and the identity of the person or group for whom the sacrifice is made.
The first category of offering is voluntary. It is called a free-will or shelamim (peace) offering. Those are to be brought by a person or a group who feel moved to express gratitude or enhance their closeness to God. Those offerings are to be from the herd or the flock.
The second category is more expansive, it is for unintentional sin. The specifications include sacrifices for the unwitting sins of priests, of the entire community, of a chieftain or leader, and for the individual person. The sacrifices required vary in value from a bull, if the sin is by a priest, to a small amount of flour for an individual who could afford no more.
An issue drawing frequent attention in the account of unintentional sins is a shift in language when the sin is by a chieftain, which is understood as leader, ruler, or king. In all other cases of unwitting sin, the language is conditional: if an individual …, if a priest … if the whole community sins. But in the case of a chieftain the language is not conditional; it provides, when a chieftain sins, etc.
The homiletical approach to that change in language is often interpreted these days as suggesting that all leaders will sin. The idea is that power corrupts and that leadership offers the opportunity to transgress. That misses the point that the text here is discussing unwitting errors, not intentional transgressions. It might also suggest that a ruler is continually called upon to act and to make decisions, often quickly and without full information. In such circumstances, some mistakes are almost guaranteed.
The Talmud sees the issue quite differently, as Nechama Leibowitz points out. In Horayot 10b, the argument is made that this provision is to be understood as only the first in a series of implicit rules. If even a chieftain is obligated to bring a sacrifice for even a mistaken transgression, then everyone else must certainly be obligated in the same way. And if a sacrifice is required for even a mistaken transgression, then certainly atonement would be required for a deliberate one. In that way, a single explicit teaching serves to communicate a broader range of implicit ones.
This is an interesting approach, and it is consistent with the interpretive principles of Rabbi Ishmael, which are found in the Introduction to the collection of halachic midrashim called the Sifra. Rabbi Ishmael’s Thirteen Principles are still printed in the introductory section of the morning prayer service in traditional prayerbooks.
Another frequently explored topic is suggested by the fact that God tells Moses to communicate the sacrificial laws in this section to all of the people, not just to the priests. And, since this is a Priestly text, we can ask why the priests would want all the details of these sacrifices to be so widely known. The protection of esoteric knowledge by the priestly class has been a common practice throughout the ages. Why not here?
Two answers suggest themselves: First, the point is made clear that the priests are crucial to the process of obtaining atonement; that is good for the priests. Second, the required sacrifices are made public; that is good for both the priests and the people. It is good for the people because it does not allow arbitrary alteration by the priests. And it is good for the priests because it does not allow argument about what sacrifices are required.
Those two answers are elements of a larger issue that came up in Parashat Yitro: the democratization of knowledge. When the law is given to all, both power and responsibility are shared. They are not shared equally, but they are shared. A society based on shared understandings is more cohesive and, therefore, stronger. Shared knowledge not only gives the individual confidence that his own actions are appropriate, but also allows him to better anticipate the actions of others with whom the knowledge is shared.
While that sort of democratization of information was unusual in the ancient world, it was not unique. In the eighteenth-century BCE, the Mesopotamian king Hammurabi created and publicized a detailed law code. He had a list of 282 laws, which dealt with both civil and criminal matters, inscribed on a 7 foot tall basalt stele that was erected in a public place for all to see. Hammurabi’s Code included a version of what is called the lex talionis, which is represented in Jewish law in the “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,” teaching.
We don’t know what prompted Hammurabi to publicize his code of law, but it might be that he also understood the benefits of sharing the knowledge of both laws and penalties that is at the center of the Priestly texts.
The decision of the Priestly authors to provide for the sharing of knowledge creates a system of checks and balances that strengthens the community and provides for its persistence regardless of the character of those who might occupy positions of power over time.