Blood on the Altar (Leviticus: e.g., 4:17-19)
Questions by Joel Cohen
Animal sacrifice is hard enough to understand. For when we see it displayed in contemporary times, as practiced, for example, by the Santeria religion, it seems, inhumane, and at least arguably barbaric. True, as Maimonides would and did maintain, one can understand it in ancient times as God’s effort to wean the House of Israel from the barbarity of human sacrifice practiced then among the nations of the world. One can also understand that animal sacrifice was intended as a substitute for the punishment of death for the Israelities who violated God’s sacred commands – i.e., “ the animal’s blood for our blood.” Essentially, the blood from the sacrificial animals would remind the people of their vulnerabilty, and how God chose to spare them through animal sacrifice.
But the blood-letting ceremony on the altar seems particularly bizarre. For example, in the instance of the korban chatas, when the young bull was sacrificed, the priest would dip his finger and sprinkle it seven times before God toward the Curtain; he would put some blood on the horns of the altar; and the remaining blood he would pour on the base of the Elevation Altar at then entrance of the Tent of the Meeting. But nothing says that the individual offering the sacrifice (presumably, in substitution for his own body) would be situtated nearby so that the experience of the blood-letting would infuse his personal consciousness.
Maybe, just maybe, animal sacrifice was merely a ritual intended to satisfy God Himself, and had nothing to do with the consciousness of the offeror, other than the monetary sacrifice he made in purchasing the animal whose carcas, and kidneys and fat and diaphragm and liver, etc. -- each identified individually -- would go up in smoke.
Gentlemen, please help me to understand why this practice should sound like a good thing to me (and, presumably, the many others who might see it as I do). Yes, I know – God instructed us to do it. But still . . . .
Rabbi Adam Mintz
Joel---this week you have jumped ahead of yourself. You have posed the question regarding why the offerer of the korban does not stand by as the blood is being sprinkled. You sound as if you understand the process of the sprinkling of the blood in the first place. I would like to focus on the mitzvah of sprinkling the blood and then answer the question that you asked.
When the Torah describes the mitzvah to sprinkle the blood, it tells us that the blood must be sprinkled “around the altar.” This was accomplished through the sprinkling on two opposite diagonal corners of the altar so that the blood would actually be found on all four sides of the altar.
But why does it matter how many sides of the altar have the blood? We have to imagine that the altar must have been a pretty messy place---did one more blood offering really make a difference?
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that this detail of the blood sprinkling is essential in understanding the reason for the entire practice. We are obligated to sprinkle the blood, explains Rabbi Hirsch, because it represents the soul of the person who is sacrificing the korban. But, what is the relationship that the korban is trying to establish? According to Rabbi Hirsch, the sacrifice strengthens our relationship with God. This relationship is one that encompasses everything that we do and is represented by the fact that the blood is sprinkled on the entire altar. The process of sacrifice is the process of giving our complete being to God. How better to reflect that essence than by sprinkling the blood on the entire altar.
So, why is the sprinkling done by the kohen? The Talmud explains that the process of sprinkling the blood was one of the most complex activities that took place in the Temple. It had to be done by the experts---having anyone else hanging around would only serve as a distraction to the process. So the kohen sprinkled the blood for the offerer of the sacrifice but he was instructed to remain at a distance. Sometimes, we non-kohanim are most helpful from a distance!
Eli Popack
Joel, you could not have said it better. No matter how many rational explanations we will provide for the Mitzvot, some of the details will always be “out there”.
Popular conception has it that after G‑d created a world, He decided to give us earthlings a moral code to follow. Thus, the Torah was born--somewhat as an afterthought. It's here to keep the world civilized and sprinkle some meaning into man's often chaotic life. Something like a self-help manual for humankind.
Now, such a manual is not a bad thing to have. But if that were the sum total of Torah, it would have very little to do with G‑d Himself. It might be part of the Creator-of-the-World job description, but--like if Einstein were to sew his pants--it has little do with G‑d's essential wisdom. Don't steal, don't hurt anyone, give charity--very nice, but this you call infinite wisdom?
And so, we are told that, "The Torah preceded the world by 2000 years." (Midrash Psalms 90:4)
In other words, the Torah is not just G‑d's guidebook for man. It precedes man, precedes world, and precedes all of existence. It's G‑d's own will and wisdom, that He, so to speak, discusses with Himself. And He decided to share that with us.
That’s why in every Mitzvah there are some details that don’t seem to fit with the rationale or meaningful experience that the general Mitzvah is supposed to provide. It’s a small reminder that the grasp of the human mind on G-d’s wisdom is both perfect and imperfect at once. Is it possible that the mind and will of the Creator could fit within the mind of the created?
Truth be told, according to the Kabbalah, G-d’s will is beyond His own wisdom as well. But we’ll leave that for another time….
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Vayikra, Leviticus 1-5, is this week's Parsha. The Parsha features the details of bringing a korbon - sacrifice in the Temple. These korbonos created a rayach nichoach - pleasant spirit for G'd. This nachas was given to Hashem because we did what Hashem wanted (the sin and guilt offerings do not say this expression as these offerings were due to a misdeed). Any mitzvah should, therefore, give Hashem nachas as we are doing what Hashem wants.
The difference is that the one bringing the korban was doing so specifically because Hashem wanted it done. Other mitzvahs are performed as an expression of the individual. The korban was performed as an expression of what the Almighty wanted.
The main part of the korban was the feeling the person expressed while offering it. That feeling can be duplicated now even without a korban. The idea of a korban was to establish a relationship with Hashem. We don't need barbeque for that, just a proper feeling in the heart.
(Based on Likuitei Sichos vol 32)
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About 35 years ago, Rabbi Vorst was starting his job as the Chabad representative in Holland. Right before Passover, Rabbi Vorst received a phone call from the Lubavitch Headquarters in Brooklyn, New York. Rabbi Hadokov, the Rebbe's personal secretary, told Rabbi Vorst that the Rebbe wanted him to go to a small town and give shmura matza (handmade matza) to the Jew that lived in the town. Rabbi Vorst explained that the town was very far away and he was busy preparing for the upcoming Passover Seder and he didn't even believe that there were any Jews in that town. Rabbi Hadokov told him that he must go.
Once he arrived, Rabbi Vorst spent many hours looking for the Jew but could not find one. On his way out of town, he stopped at the local gas station to get petrol for his return trip. He asked the gas station attendent if there were any Jews in town. The gas station attendant told Rabbi Vorst that he believes that a Jew works in the local butcher shop. When the rabbi entered the store, the man working behind the counter took one look at Rabbi Vorst and fainted. When he woke up he told the Rabbi his story. The man and his mother were the only Holocaust survivors from his family and that they moved to this little town in Holland to get away from further persecution. One her death bed, his mother made him promise to always keep his faith and never marry a non-Jew. Lately the local priest had been coming into the store to try to convince the man to convert. At first the man refused, but as time went on, the priest kept coming back into the store. The man finally agreed to convert, although he didn't really want too. He told the priest that he needed three days to consider it.
For three days, the man prayed asking for a sign that he should remain Jewish. On the third day with just hours from the deadline, the man prayed even more, asking G'D for a sign. At 5:55 PM, just five minutes away from the deadline, Rabbi Vorst walked into the door with his matzah. Rabbi Vorst invited the man back to his house for Passover.
Twenty-five years later, Rabbi Vorst was in Israel praying at the Western Wall, when a man ran up to him and asked the Rabbi in Dutch, if he remembered him. The man told the Rabbi that he was the butcher from that small town and that he had moved to Israel, got married, and now has a family. The man told the Rabbi that he owns everything to Rabbi Vorst.
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My flight's delayed so i decided to squeeze you in - joel - to these precious few minutes i have... i like your question but i'm surprised this is all you can come up with, "killing animals and sprikling their blood doesn't make sense"? i couldn't say it better than eli "duh!", i like what rabbi mintz has to say however i'm pretty sure it doesn't meet your "Gentlemen, please help me to understand why this practice should sound like a good thing to me" premise. so once we established that this concept wouldn't fly in "the city" we can now begin to take a look at the more mystical elements that existed in a more open form back then and that still exist today but needs more perspective to understand. for that we have rabbi mintz' explanation and many others. here's a thought: blood represents the essence of life. When we throw it at the altar (sacrifice) its an indication that even at our deepest element (blood) there is always something higher to lay down to. Maish.
Holy Chutzpah
Chabad of the West Side
This week's Torah portion of VaYikra features the many types of animal sacrifices that could be brought in the Temple. The Torah makes a point of saying that all sacrifices could be made with only three animal types: sheep, goats and oxen.
Maimonides writes in his Guide For The Perplexed that the reason for the Torah's selection of these three species is connected with the notion that the sacrifices were designed to repudiate the various forms of idolatry that were prevalent at that time. He writes that the Egyptians worshipped the lamb, the Babylonians worshipped the goat and the Indians worshipped the cow. Whenever any of these was offered as a sacrifice in the Temple, it reinforced the idea that these forms of idolatry were meaningless.
Chassidic thought offers an alternative explanation for the selection of these three species and it is based on a deeper understanding of what sacrifices were all about. Chassidic thought begins by quoting the famous commentator Rabbeinu Bachaye who explains that the Hebrew word for sacrifice, Korban, is etymologically related to the word Karov, meaning to get close. A korban is thus a way of getting close to G-d.
In order to get closer to G-d, one must first consider what it is that separates himself from Him. Each one of us has two energies, one positive and one negative, one is known as the G-dly soul and one is known in Kaballah as the animalistic soul. Our G-dly soul's interest is to maintain a close relationship with G-d. But the G-dly soul's ambition is hampered by the animal soul's desire to satisfy its own selfish interests.
There are two ways to overcome the problem that our animal soul has created. The first is to shun the animal soul and battle it. The second approach however is to convince the animal soul itself to shed its negative traits and to get closer to G-d.
In order to accomplish this objective, one must understand the nature of one's individual animal soul. Not all animal souls are created equally. Some may be compared to a goring ox - the type of personality that has no regard for other people and will aggressively trample anything or anyone that gets in his way.
The spiritual idea behind bringing a Korban, a sacrifice, of an ox is to get that raging bull to use its strength and determination for positive and constructive matters. Once the energy and drive of the "ox soul" is harnessed, no obstacle, no matter how great, will be able to stop this person on his path of Mitzvahs. Thus, the goring ox can become a passionate force for all that is good and holy.
There are other animals that are more like a timid lamb. A lamb, though very innocent and pure, is totally absorbed in itself and its own desire to eat and satisfy its appetite.
The person with a lamb personality has to use that drive for self gratification and employ it in the service of G-d. Rather than focusing on physical pleasures in which to indulge, when a person brings his lamb Korban - when he tries to bring his lamb personality close to G-d - he discovers the joy and satisfaction in doing spiritual things. He realizes the pleasure there is in helping another person or the blissful state that can be reached when praying to G-d.
The third animal type is the goat, a brazen individual. This animal soul has a lot of chutzpah and is not intimidated by anyone. This negative personality can also be transformed into something positive. When one employs his chutzpah in a holy way, he realizes that he doesn't have to be a follower of any and every new fad and trend. The chutzpah teaches him to be a leader, to be unconventional and not to be impressed by the masses. In the words of the Mishnah: "Be bold as a leopard - not to be influenced by peer pressure."
The prophet tells us of the wolf lying with the lamb in the future Messianic Age. One interpretation of this phenomenon is that the animal nature within people (the wolf or the non-kosher energy) will be transformed and even that negative power will be included with our good traits (the lamb or the kosher qualities) in our service of G-d.
Beautiful explanation Lubav, and although it sheds the proper light on the practice of korbonos in all its depth and profoundness, how does it answer the esteemed litigators question about the oddness of sprinkling the blood etc.?
Maish,
It addresses the possible conclusion that Mr. Cohen suggested, which, acc. to the explanation I quoted, is not the Torah's intent. Here is Mr. Cohen's paragraph:
Maybe, just maybe, animal sacrifice was merely a ritual intended to satisfy God Himself, and had nothing to do with the consciousness of the offeror, other than the monetary sacrifice he made in purchasing the animal whose carcas, and kidneys and fat and diaphragm and liver, etc. -- each identified individually -- would go up in smoke.
Good Shabbos
Lubav...
Very well explained and it does indeed deal with the above mentioned issue. But what about the blood being sprinkled in particular? i believe that needs its specific need to be explained from the chassidic approach.
Looking forward...
Ok Maish, not sure if this is "chassidic" , but here goes, from Ohr Somayach:
Insights
Appropriate Oblomovitis
“…and throw the blood on the Altar…” (1:5)
Of the great battles of history, the struggle to get out of bed in the morning ranks with El Alamein and Gettysburg.
Many early-morning Napoleons have met their Waterloo when faced with the supreme effort of raising themselves from the torpor of slumber into the harsh light of day.
In 1858, the Russian writer Ivan Goncharov published the novel Oblomov . The eponymous central character famously fails to leave his bed for the first 150 pages of the novel, and Oblomov has become a Russian archetype of sloth and inertia.
On the other hand, we need no wake up call on the first day of our vacation. We spring out of bed with all the alacrity and enthusiasm of an athlete. Similarly, our self-sacrifice in being the first in the lunch queue or the opening morning of the spring sales is legion.
Once there was a certain scribe who went off to learn Torah in the Beit HaMidrash. While he was gone, someone came to buy a pair of tefillin from him. His children said that their father wasn’t home, and so the would-be buyer went and bought from someone else. When the scribe returned and found out what had happened he was furious that no one had come to fetch him from the Beit HaMidrash.
A few days later, the scribe was again learning in the Beit HaMidrash when a tax inspector came knocking at the door of his home. Remembering their father’s previous wrath, the children hastened to summon him to the house. His reaction when confronted with this unwelcome visitor needs no description.
“…and throw the blood on the Altar…” (1:5)
In Judaism, we have “do mitzvot” and “don’t-do mitzvot”, and G-d has given us the character traits to accomplish both.
Every korban (offering) required that both the blood and the fat be placed on the altar. Blood represents alacrity, and thus it atones for running to do a “don’t-do”mitzvah — for example when we rush to say a juicy piece of gossip rather than tarry and avoid it.
Fat symbolizes lethargy, and it atones for indolence and non-performance of “do mitzvot” — when we wear the snooze button down on our alarm clock instead of getting out of bed to go to shul.
“Do mitzvot” require alacrity to begin and finish them. “Don’t-do mitzvot” need all the sluggardliness of a bed bug to keep us far from trouble.
Lubav, you couldn't have taken this a worse route as far as i'm concerned. For starters Ohr Sameach right off the bat is the wrong way to go for depth. the analogies given here are of such a shallow nature and extremely superficial, i highly doubt this would in any way satisfy he who searches for meaning, and in this case a real answer without presumption to the esteemed litigators style of question. To a simpleton, the assumptions that may make sense to you are off the deep end to him, e.g. "blood symbolizes alacrity" etc. who says? although we always have a foundation of "kabolas ol" in our understanding of torah, yet there is still the need to have as much of it make sense on levels comprehensive to a simpleton, which is why chassidus is the way to go when we talk about sensitive issues as sacrifices etc, because it approaches these issues from a different premise and creates new realities that we couldn't see before. please stick do that approach it's beautiful.
Good Shabbos
Maish,
Hope this helps: (Even if it doesnt sing to you, remember, its from the Rebbe...)
Chassidic Masters
The Offered Beast
Based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Courtesy of MeaningfulLife.com
Why, if a person sinned and wished to make atonement, or he was just in a generous mood and wished to offer something to G-d, does he sacrifice an innocent animal? Why doesn't he sacrifice himself, for example?
Answer the Chassidic masters: he does.
The Torah, they explain, makes this very point in the verse that introduces the laws of the korbanot:
A man who shall bring near of you an offering to G-d, from the beast, from the cattle and from the sheep, you shall bring close your offering...
As Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi points out, the verse does not say, "a man of you who shall bring near an offering," but, "a man who shall bring near of you an offering" -- the offering brought is "of you". The sacrificed animal is a projection, in the extra-human sphere, of a process transpiring in the intra-human sphere.
Man, says the Talmud, is a world in miniature. Which means that the world is a man in macro. Our world contains oceans and continents, forests and deserts, men and beasts; so, too, does man. The human psyche includes a subconscious "sea" and a "terrestrial" persona; it has lush forests and barren deserts; and it has a "human soul" and an "animal soul."
The human soul -- also called the "G-dly soul" -- embodies all that is upward-reaching and transcendent in man. It gravitates to its source in G-d, driven by an all-consuming love for G-d and the desire to lose itself within His all-pervading essence. Its modes of expression are the thought, speech and deed of Torah--the means by which man achieves closeness and attachment to his Creator.
The "animal soul" is the self that man shares with all living creatures: a self driven and fulfilled by its physical needs and desires. Its vehicle of expression are the endeavors of material life.
"A man who shall offer of you an offering to G-d, from the beast, from the cattle and from the sheep, you shall bring close your offering." When a person brings an animal from his paddock as a gift to G-d, the gesture is devoid of meaning unless he also offers the animal within himself.
The Ox and the Plow
What is to be done with this animal?
The beast within man has not been placed there just so that it should be suppressed or uprooted. "Much grain is produced with the might of the ox,'' remarked the wisest of men, and the Chassidic masters say that this is a reference to the animal inside our hearts. An ox run amok will trample and destroy, but when dominated by a responsible human vision and harnessed to its plow, the beast's vigor translates into a "much grain" -- a far richer crop than what human energy alone might produce.
The same is true of the beast in man. Nothing -- not even the G-dly soul's keenest yearnings -- can match the intensity and vigor with which the animal soul pursues its desires. Left to its own devices, the animal soul tends toward corrupt and destructive behavior; but the proper guidance and training can eliminate the negative expressions of these potent drives and exploit them towards good and G-dly end.
The first type of korban described in our Parshah is the olah -- the "ascending" offering, commonly referred to as the "burnt offering." The olah is unique in that it is an absolute offering: after it is slaughtered in the Temple courtyard and its blood is poured upon the Altar, it is raised up upon the Altar and is burned, in its entirety, as "a fiery pleasure unto G-d."
The burning of something is the physical counterpart of the sublimation process described above. When a substance is burned, its outer, material form is eliminated, releasing the energy locked within. This is the inner significance of the korban: the animal energy within man is divested of its material forms and offered upon the altar of service to G-d.
The Eaten Offerings
After detailing the various types of korban olah, the Torah goes on to discuss the other two primary categories of offerings -- the korban chattat ("sin offering") and korban shelamim ("peace offering")
Like that of the olah, the blood of these offerings was poured on the Altar. But unlike the wholly burnt offering, only certain parts of chattat and shelamim "ascended" by fire. The Torah designates certain veins of fat (called the chalabim) which should be removed and burned. But the meat of the korban was eaten under special conditions of holiness. (The meat of the chattat was eaten by the priests, and that of the shelamim by the person who brought the offering, with certain portions given to the priests).
There are portions of our material lives which, like the burnt offering, are wholly converted to holiness: the money given to charity, the leather made into tefillin, the energy expended in Torah study, prayer and the performance of a mitzvah. But there is also the money we spend to feed our families, the leather we make into shoes, the energy we expend on the everyday business of physical life. But these, too, can be serve as a korban to G-d, when they are "eaten in holiness"--when the money is honestly earned, the food is kosher, and our everyday activities are conducted in a way that is considerate of our fellows and faithful to the divine laws of life.
The "blood" of the animal soul -- its fervor and passion for material things--must be poured upon the Altar; its "fat" -- its excessive indulgence and pleasure-seeking -- must be burned. But the gist of the animal self -- its "meat" -- can be sanctified even when it is not wholly converted into a holy act. As long as they are "eaten in holiness," our material endeavors can be a means of a "bringing close" (--the meaning of the word korban) of man to G-d.
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