March 24th: Vayikra
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
With what do we come before the Lord? What does God want from us?
These are questions with many answers, and our history as a religious people offers quite a few. Back in pre-Biblical times, people believed that they needed to feed the gods, and their worship involved sacrificing animals so that the gods could get sustenance. This ancient thinking is illustrated in the Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic’s story of Utnapishtim, a Noah-like character who saves himself and lots of animals from a great flood. When the waters recede, and Utnapishtim exits the giant boat and offers sacrifices to the gods, they “hover around the cooking meat like flies.” In deciding to destroy humanity, the gods have foolishly forgotten who feeds them and are now very, very hungry.
As you no doubt notice, this ancient Babylonian tale mirrors the Biblical tale of the Great Flood—though there are a few significant differences. In the Bible, there is only One God, and our God is not hungry. God does, however, enjoy the re’ach nicho’ach, the aroma of the cooking meat. “So Noah came out, together with his sons, his wife, and his sons’ wives. Every animal, every creeping thing, and every bird, everything that stirs on earth came out of the ark by families. Then Noah built an altar to the Lord and, taking of every clean animal and every clean bird, offered burnt offerings on the altar. The Lord smelled the pleasing odor and mused, ‘Never again will I doom the earth because of the humans…’” (Genesis 8.18-21)
From these ancient days until the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, our people worshipped God with sacrificial offerings. Over time, the worship process became more formalized and professionalized, and its high point was the elaborate Priestly Service in the Temple of the Lord in Jerusalem. For our ancient ancestors, the answer to the question was: “We come before the Lord with burnt offerings,” and, as we begin the Book of Leviticus this week, we are taught again the ritual instructions.
After the Temple was destroyed by the Romans, the new situation necessitated a new form of worship. Following the basic pattern of the sacrificial worship service, the Rabbis developed a prayer service in which a main prayer takes the place of the sacrifice. This main prayer is now known as the Amidah, the standing prayer, with nineteen blessings on weekdays and seven blessings on Shabbat. As scholars of the Torah, the Rabbis also included a section of Torah study. And so, for almost 2000 years, we have come before the Lord with prayer and with study.
Through the years, however, many thinkers have expanded the discussion beyond the form of worship. Back in Biblical days, the Hebrew Prophets insisted that ritual alone is not enough for God—that the Lord also demands righteousness and morality. As the Prophet Amos proclaims, ritual propriety mixed with dishonesty in regular life is disgusting to our Lord: “Spare me the sound of your hymns, and let Me not hear the music of your lutes, but let justice well up like water, righteousness like a mighty stream.” (Amos 5.23-24)
When the Prophet Micah summarizes what is most important to God, ritual is merely an implication of a relationship with the Eternal One: “It has been told you, O Human, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice, to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6.8) Rituals are only acceptable if the worshippers behave righteously in every realm of their lives.
There is also what we could call a pietistic theme in many spiritual texts—where we are reminded that ritual forms need to be filled with sincerity and respect. As David prays in Psalm 19.15, “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.” If we want our prayers to be l’ratzon, acceptable, how do we make them so? The basic answer is that we must pray with kavannah, with spiritual focus. In Psalm 51.17, we even pray to be able to pray: “Eternal God, open my lips that my mouth may declare Your glory.”
There is also the necessity of humility. “You do not want me to bring sacrifices; You do not desire burnt offerings. True sacrifice to God is a contrite spirit; O God, You will not despise a contrite and crushed heart.” (Psalm 51.18-19)
Or, as the author of the 12th Century Hymn of Unity elaborates: “It is written: I, the Lord, will not reprove you for lack of sacrifices or your burnt offerings. For I commanded not your ancestors concerning sacrifices and burnt offerings. What have I asked, and what have I sought, but that you revere me? To serve with joy and a good heart; behold, to hearken is better than sacrifice, and a broken heart than a whole offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit. I will build an altar of the broken fragments of my heart, and will bow my spirit within me. My broken spirit—that is Your sacrifice; let it be acceptable upon Your altar. I will proclaim aloud Your praise; I will declare all Your wonders.
Or, as the Baal Shem Tov explains, “There is no room for God in those who are full of themselves.”
When we read the ancient rules of sacrifices, above and beyond the ritual details is the human aspiration to lift ourselves into God’s Presence and be accepted and loved. Our long tradition of prayers and rituals represents our intense and deep desire to live in a positive and loving relationship with Divine. With what do we come before the Lord? With ourselves—our deepest and most sincere selves. “Va’ani tefilati…/May I be my prayer…” (Psalm 69.14) May we be our prayers.