Chol HaMo-eid Pesach

Exodus 33: 12-34:26

The Cleft in the Rock

Joe Rooks Rapport

On this Sabbath during Passover, we take a break from the sacred and the profane, from sin and sacrifice, from what fits and what is unfit; we set aside all things Leviticus and step into another world. This week’s special portion carries within it one of the most luminous and awe-inspiring images in all of the Torah: Moses, cradled gently in the hand of God, emerges from the cleft of the rock to glimpse a sight of the Divine Presence just as the Glory of God passes by (Exodus 33:21–23).

This vision is one of the most unabashedly human representations of God as can be found anywhere in the Bible. God has a face, which Moses cannot see. God has a hand, which protects Moses until the moment when God’s shining Presence has passed by. And God has a back, which Moses glimpses momentarily, though we have precious little description of what this vision of “God from behind” may have looked like.

Such anthropomorphisms—in this case, visions of God in human form—drive the classic interpreters of the Torah to distraction. They try desperately to recast these physical characteristics as metaphor and literary device rather than the touchable, tangible, actual descriptions of God’s Presence which, we might—on their surface— consider them to be. So strong is the pull of the second commandment not to create for ourselves a picture or an idol of God’s physical form that the very allusion to any human characteristics becomes the source of endless consternation and debate.

I have always sat in wonder at our tradition, which posits an invisible and unknowable God who, nevertheless, has the power to affect our physical world through signs and wonders, who harbors human emotions like compassion and anger, and who has the power to carve ten divine words with a finger on the face of a stone (30:18). Somehow, such completely human descriptions of the Presence of God in our world can pass muster, and yet even the slightest mention of God’s physical characteristics launches a legion of commentators to smooth out the “more primitive language” within the text.

And yet, how can we better “translate” these words than to read them as they are, in the beautifully descriptive and wondrously human way in which they are written:

And the Eternal said, “See, there is a place near Me. Station yourself on the rock and, as My Presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft of the rock and shield you with My hand until I have passed by. Then I will take My hand away and you will see My back; but My face must not be seen.” (Exodus 33:21–23)

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Tzav

Leviticus 6:1–8:36 - Shabbat HaGadol

An Offering of Thanksgiving

Naamah Kelman

Both The Torah: A Modern Commentary1 and The Torah: A Women's Commentary2 offer the following midrash for this week's portion pertaining to the sacrifice of the sh’lamim given as an offering of thanksgiving:

Though all sacrifices may be discontinued in the future (for in the messianic age humankind will be sinless) the offering of thanksgiving [korban todah] will never cease. Though all prayers may be discontinued, the prayer for thanksgiving will never cease. (Vayikra Rabbah)

The sacrifice or offering of well-being known as sh’lamim, meaning “wholeness” and/or “peace,” is first mentioned in Leviticus 3:1, in the first parashah of the Book of Leviticus. In Tzav, this week’s portion, the Torah elaborates on the purpose and practice of this sacrifice, particularly describing its two purposes. It is used either as an offering of thanksgiving or in fulfillment of a vow. Although it is an animal sacrifice, it may be supplemented with grain and flour offerings as well. Here, let us focus on the idea of an offering of thanksgiving.

Professor Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, in her running commentary on the first parashah of Leviticus in The Torah: A Women’s Commentary,3 notes that the sh’lamim offering is linked to celebrations and often brought on feast days. She states that the largest part of this sacrifice was distributed among the priests and the offerers. It was often brought after the burnt offering, which is an offering to God only. She continues:

This means that when Israelites brought sacrifices, some offerings were solely for God, as it were, and some to be eaten by community members . . . . This practice turns the eating of meat into a sacred act (17:1–7) and reflects the concern for taking life for human consumption; the sacrifice has nothing to do with atonement. As Jacob Milgrom observes, this ritual allowed the Israelites to acknowledge the miracles of their lives and express gratitude for them (Leviticus: A Book of Ritual and Ethics, Jacob Milgrom [Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004], p. 28).

The offering of thanksgiving in the form of sacrifice, or later in our tradition in the form of prayer, is the highest expression of gratitude. We praise and we exalt and recognize the miracles of our lives. Deeper gratitude recognizes the simple gift of our lives and the gifts of our daily lives. Our rabbis, ancient and contemporary, are telling us that perhaps this is the practice we must really cultivate: the practice of thanksgiving! But how?

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Vayikra

Leviticus 1:1−5:26

[God] Called Out

The Eternal One called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: "Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When any of you presents an offering of cattle to the Eternal: You shall choose your offering from the herd or from the flock." - Leviticus 1:1-2

Who Is Required? Who Is Entitled? Who Is Excluded?

The third Book of the Torah, Leviticus (Vayikra), begins with a description of the olah (the burnt offering) brought by an individual Israelite. Just before the offering of the animal, it is said: “You [the offerer] shall lay a hand upon the head of the burnt offering, that it may be acceptable in your behalf, in expiation for you” (Leviticus 1:4).

As a vegetarian and a Reform rabbi, I must admit that the laying on of hands on the offering feels somewhat challenging. But if I consider this ritual in its original context, I learn that it was very significant for the individual in the cultic culture of the Temple: it established a special connection between the offerer and the offered animal.1 The visceral contact with the animal just before its slaughtering, enhanced a symbolic identification between the offerers and their offering. It also meant that the Israelite, the lay person, got to actively participate in the offering process, which other than that was reserved to the priests. Therefore, we may conclude that this was a very important ritual, and that it was perceived as the ultimate act of atonement and transference of the offerer’s sins to the offered animal.

Who was obliged (or entitled) to the laying on of the hands? The Torah says: “Speak to the Israelite people, and say to them: When any person [adam] of you presents an offering . . . ” (Leviticus 1:2). This seems to include all of the people of Israel, and those who are associated with or living among Israelites. Yet the Mishnah says: “All may perform the laying on of hands excepting a deaf-mute, an imbecile, a minor, a blind man, a gentile, a slave, an agent, or a woman” (M’nachot 9:8). This set of exclusions is rather unexpected: the list of people who are not entitled to the laying of the hands includes atypical categories of people, and it only mentions women at the very end.

The exclusions seem to be a later rabbinic innovation compared to the inclusive language used in the Book of Leviticus to describe the laying on of the hands. In this way, although women were welcomed in the Temple and were allowed (and sometimes required) to bring their own offerings, they were deprived from an essential aspect of the offering ritual. Nevertheless, at least some tannaitic sages argue that women were allowed to do so, and one sage testifies to a case where women actually did lay their hands on their offering:

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Vayakhel-Pekudei

Exodus 35:1–40:38 & 12:1–20 - Shabbat haChodesh

See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Heal Me
MARCI N. BELLOWS

“Magic mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

With these few words, I can evoke a familiar image within you—the evil queen of the “Snow White” story, who is immensely concerned with being the most beautiful woman in the land.

Armed with a magic mirror, she asks it if she is the fairest one of all. For much of her life, she is indeed the most beautiful. Yet, one day, the fairy tale tells us, the mirror reveals that Snow White is now the most beautiful. Thus the queen sets out to destroy Snow White and remove her prime competitor. The mirror, one of the ultimate symbols of vanity and self-obsession, reveals much about the character of the evil queen.

Mirrors have been around for quite a long time. They hold a certain power in the cultural landscape, and human beings have always been fascinated by them. While mirrors can help us feel beautiful or confident, they also can devastate, depress, or even frighten us. I’m sure that as soon as primitive humans observed the reflective properties of water or metals, they must have become obsessed with their own appearance.

You also may recall the Greek mythological tale of Narcissus. His is a moral tale in which the proud and unfeeling Narcissus is punished by the gods for having spurned all his male suitors. Some believe it was intended to be a cautionary tale addressed to young men.

In one version of the story, a young man named Ameinias loved Narcissus but was scorned. To rebuff Ameinias, Narcissus gave him a sword, which Ameinias used to kill himself on Narcissus' doorstep. As he died he hurled curses upon Narcissus. The curses were fulfilled when Narcissus became entranced by his own reflection in a pool. Completing the symmetry of the tale, a desperate Narcissus took his sword and killed himself.

Even today, mirrors play a powerful role in cultural literature, including Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass and the “Mirror of Erised” in the Harry Potter series.

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