March 19th: Vayikra
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
One of the most frustrating moments in my film watching years occurred in The Hundred Foot Journey, starring Helen Mirren as a snobby French restauranteur. A poor immigrant family from India moves across the road from Dame Mirren’s acclaimed restaurant and opens their own restaurant. The Indian family’s son is quite talented as a chef but is accorded no respect by Ms. Mirren’s haughty (hauté cuisine?) character. After hostility and drama, he finally wrangles an audition: if he can make the perfect omelet, then he can cook at her fancy restaurant. As the young man begins with great earnestness to cook, using his special blend of rare Indian spices, Helen Mirren projects smug skepticism. However, when she tastes his omelet, her countenance changes dramatically: she is overwhelmed with the wonder of its flavor, and the Indian immigrant chef is on his way to stardom. A beautiful scene…but I wanted to taste that omelet! I wanted/want to be overwhelmed by the incredible flavor, but alas, it is a movie, and my sensual experience was thus significantly limited.
I realize that this is not the most earth-shaking problem, but it points to a problem with this week’s Torah portion. In Vayikra, the beginning chapters of Leviticus, we are treated to a series of sacrificial recipes that neither we nor any of our ancestors for the last 1900 years have ever experienced. Since the Temple was destroyed back in 70 CE, we Jews have been worshipping God with prayers instead of sacrifices. Even though there is theological and textual equivalency, the Levitical details of those sacrificial meals—with their various purposes, prescriptions, and options—are limited in their ability to seize our minds and spirits. They are as hard to access as that incredible omelet.
Perhaps this is why the Sages who paired the Torah and Haftarah portions chose a passage from Isaiah for this week. Given our inability to resonate with the sacrifices, the Prophet offers a conceptual look at the role the sacrifices played in our relationship with the Divine. Beginning in 43.21, Isaiah specifies God’s desire for our attention. We are, according to God, “The people I formed for Myself that they may declare My praise.” God wants two things in our relationship/covenant. (1) That we draw close to God, and (2) that we follow God’s moral commandments. Have we maintained this relationship? Hardly! “But you have not worshipped Me, O Jacob, that you should be weary of Me, O Israel. You have not brought me your sheep for burnt offerings, nor honored Me with your sacrifices…Instead, you have burdened Me with your sins, you have wearied Me with your iniquities.” We have not drawn close—which is the meaning of the Hebrew korban / sacrifice, and we have broken the moral law. God is willing to “wipe your transgressions away and remember your sins no more,” but we have to engage God; we have to work on our relationship. “Help Me remember! Let us join in argument, tell your version, that you may be vindicated…” God is not asking us for a criminal defense—an argument in which we try to justify our misdeeds. No, what God wants is a relationship discussion, hoping that with this engagement, we can rebuild our sense of connection and joint purpose.
Isaiah then proceeds into an extended diatribe against idolatry—the essential problem being that people are worshipping the work of their own hands. Idolatry represents a mistaken understanding of reality and of the actual forces in which we exist. It has us relating to ourselves rather than to our Creator, and such a misperception is limiting both to us and to our Creator.
The Kabbalists speak of our partnership with God—that we have a role to play in Creation and in Tikkun Olam. Such a relationship involves knowing each other and working together—being on the same page with God. This is the point of worship. In the olden days, people believed that God loved the aroma of roasting meat and would come around to enjoy it. Thus could we invoke God’s Presence with our sacrificial meals (as outlined extensively and in excruciating detail in Leviticus), and then engage in prayer. When the change from sacrifices to prayers occurred after 70 CE, we sought to continue the relationship but with slightly different techniques. Instead of the sacrificial meals with meat, pan bread, and wine, our Sages developed an extensive conversation with God and codified it. Some of our worship service is Tefilah/Prayer—when we speak to God, and some of the service is Torah—when God speaks to us. In most traditional prayers, Torah and Tefilah are combined—with Biblical verses interspersed with Rabbinic thoughts. The texts of the prayer book thus comprise a vessel for our relationship with God.
This, I believe, is the message of Isaiah as well as many subsequent Prophets and Sages: the techniques of the service—be they sacrificial meals or prayer book services—are all purposed as vehicles for conducting this relationship. They are valuable primarily to the extent that they foster and develop and enhance our time together with the Lord.
In more modern times, this message has found different wording. Reb Israel, the Baal Shem Tov, spoke of it in terms of opening ourselves to God’s Presence and influence: “There is no room for God in those who are full of themselves.” Reb Menachem Mendel of Kotzk put it in almost existential terms: “Where is God? Whenever we open our hearts.” This relational aspect of prayer was also taught by Rabbi Leo Baeck, “The purpose of prayer is to leave us alone with God.”
The science, art, history, and literature of prayer are vast, but the essential kavannah / purpose is that we use the prayer and worship techniques to spend time with God and deepen our relationship. This is not something to learn about from a distance; it is something we can experience ourselves.