It Would Have Been Enough (and Still We Don’t Say ‘Thanks’)

As we make our way into the book of Leviticus, which we began last Shabbat, it can become more challenging for us to find meaning among the texts about ritual sacrifice and the priestly laws. But this week’s Torah portion, Tzav, is actually one of my favorites. Seriously, it is. This was the week, in the Jewish calendar, that I was accepted to rabbinical school. By chance, I taught a Torah study ten years ago in my home congregation on this week’s portion, Tzav, that’d I’d prepared a few weeks in advance, unaware of how relevant the text would be to my own life.

Parashat Tzav, not unlike many of the other Torah portions in Leviticus, outlines priestly laws regarding the central shrine – the mishkan in the wilderness or the Temple in Jerusalem – and the sacrifices that occurred in those places. Among them, this week’s portion outlines the laws regarding three offerings: the sin offering, the guilt offering, and the offering of well-being.

The first two, the sin offering and the guilt offering, are pretty similar to one another. An animal is sacrificed to atone for something an Israelite has done. Some of the offering may be burnt for God to enjoy and the rest nourishes the priests. The individual bringing the sacrifice eats none of it.

But the third sacrifice, the offering of well-being is different. The Torah tells us that it is to be offered for thanksgiving. Along with the animal for the sacrifice, the individual making this thanksgiving offering brought along ten loaves of four different types of bread, forty loaves in total. The animal for the sacrifice along with one of each type of bread were given to the priests. The remaining thirty-six loaves of bread remain in the possession of the one offering the sacrifice. But here’s the kicker – the thanksgiving offering must be eaten on the day that it is offered; none of it, our text tells us, may be set aside until morning. That means that if you make a thanksgiving offering, you end up with thirty-six loaves of bread and less than a day to eat them. That’s a lot of carbs!

Sforno teaches that the thanksgiving offering was necessary for someone whose life had been in danger, but was saved. Because of the number of loaves of bread that remained with the individual and the time limit placed upon him to consume them, there was only one way to understand this. The purpose was to ensure that the individual would share the bread with others. By sharing his bread, he would share his good news.

It should be noted that sharing what one has been through does not apply to the previous two offerings. “There was no particular place specifically designated for bringing the sacrifice of the sin offering [or the guilt offering] in the Mishkan (BT Sotah 32b). This is significant. The sin offering was offered by one who had sinned and now wished to repent. If there were a specified physical location for these sacrifices, the identity of the sinners would become readily known. And this might in itself discourage repentance. Because the sin offering was offered in the same place as was the burnt offering, no one could be certain that the bearer of the offering had actually sinned. In this way, the matter would remain a private one between the individual and God and the sinner would be spared public embarrassment” (Mordechai Katz).

But this is not the case for the thanksgiving offering, it had a designated spot for bringing the sacrifice to make it easier to publicize one’s good news. As Rabbi Zelig Pliskin teaches, “The only time that such publicity was a part of the offering was in the case of good news. A person felt deep gratitude to God for help and in this joyous state one shared the joy with others. When one brought an offering for a sin, this was not publicized. When things were going wrong in one’s life, one did not do this. Only when one had an event to be thankful for did one publicize it. While there is definitely a need to share problems and difficulties with a sympathetic and understanding listener, the main areas to publicize are the good that happens to you.”

The week that I was accepted to rabbinical school, I had the fortuity of being able to share my good news publicly because the Torah portion that week and the material I’d prepared around it were all about gratitude and publicizing our good news. The theme of gratitude in Parashat Tzav, however, extends beyond my own personal experience and its relationship with the portion. It also links us to the festival we’ll begin Monday at sundown, Passover.

Elie Wiesel teaches, “Dayeinu is the song of our gratitude. A Jew defines himself by his capacity for gratitude. A Jewish philosopher was once asked, ‘What is the opposite of nihilism?’ And he said, ‘Dayeinu,’ the ability to be thankful. We all know the song:
Had God brought us out of Egypt,
Only brought us out of Egypt,
Had God brought us out of Egypt,
Dayeinu!

One midrash (Sifre on Deuteronomy, Piska’ot 337 and 339) may be one of the sources that helped to frame the significance of Dayeinu. According to the midrash, the Israelites grew anxious wondering if Moses would return from the mountain, from his conversation with God. They began to ask, “Where is Moses, the man who brought us out of Egypt, who split the sea for us, who gave us manna, who performed miracles and wonders for us.” Dayeinu shifts the focus back to God. It was God who brought us out of Egypt, who split the sea, who gave us manna, and who performed miracles and wonders for us. It wasn’t all about Moses, it was about our relationship with God. As David Arnow writes, “By putting the focus on God rather than on Moses, and extending the narrative beyond the Exodus, Dayeinu reminds us that leaving Egypt was only a beginning, a prerequisite for building and enduring relationship with the ultimate One of Being” (My People’s Passover Haggadah, vol. 2, p. 49).

Dayeinu expresses the gratitude that we failed to express in the wilderness. If you remember, almost as quickly as we’d made it across the parted waters, we began to complain about the mud on our feet. We began to beg to return to Egypt, if only for the food that we had when we were slaves to Pharaoh. “In the Bible, the people express little satisfaction. They miss Egypt, with its cucumbers and melons; they lack water to drink and meat to eat; they abhor the idea of dying in the wilderness” (Wendy Zierler, My People’s Passover Haggadah, vol. 2, p. 70). But Dayeinu allows us to express that omitted gratitude as each of us recalls our personal redemption from Egypt.

One question remains: Would it really have been enough? Would it have been enough if God had only brought us out of Egypt and had not divided the sea? Wouldn’t we have been trapped between the water and the Egyptian army? Would it really have been enough if God had given us the Torah, but never brought us into the land of Israel? Wouldn’t we still be wandering in the desert? Would it really have been enough?

One commentator seeks to answer this question. Abudarham teaches it would not have literally been enough if God had only done any one of these steps along the way. Each favor was part of a Divine promise that God was obligated to keep. But God could have kept the promise without the spectacular means used at each juncture. It is not only because God brought us out of Egypt to safety, establishing a lasting relationship with us that we offer our gratitude, but also for the miraculous ways in which we encounter God in the world, something we continue to do on a daily basis (Alyssa Gray, My People’s Passover Haggadah, vol. 2, p. 60).

This is why the thanksgiving offering described in Parashat Tzav is substantial and why it must be eaten in such a short period of time. Each and every day we have the opportunity to offer our gratitude for what we have, appreciation we must share with others. And this is why the fifteen verses of Dayeinu recount so many different moments in our relationship with God, affirming that any one of them would have been enough. If God had left out even one step, we wouldn’t have made it to where we are today. If God had left out even one miraculous detail, it would not have been as powerful and awe-inspiring of a journey as it has been. And so, we offer our thanks. Shabbat Shalom… and Chag Sameach, Happy Passover.

A Taste of Torah - Vayakhel-Pekudei

There is a connection in this week's Torah portion, Vayakhel-Pekudei, between the building of the Mishkan, the place where the Israelites worshipped God in the wilderness, and the observance of Shabbat. In the beginning of the double portion, Moses gathers the people and tells them that we are to work for six days, but that the seventh day should be a holy sabbath of complete rest.

Later the portion outlines the 39 categories of work that are forbidden on the Sabbath. Each of these is tied to the type of work that needed to be done in order to build the Mishkan. The question for us as modern Jews is what does it mean not to work on Shabbat and what does it mean to rest? According to one midrash documented in the 18th century Ladino commentary, Me-am Lo'ez, "It is true that tpeople say that the Hebrew word for the Sabbath (Shabbat) can be seen as an acrostic of shenah b'Shabbat ta'anug, Sleep on the Sabbath is a delight." But Me-am Lo'ez teaches us that this only applies to those who study Torah all week long. Only they can rest on Shabbat. If we don't spend our whole week studying, then Shabbat is barely long enough to allow us to study Judaism, let alone to rest.

What does this mean for us today? It means that we must allow Judaism not to be something that happens now and then, on Shabbat and on holidays, but something that is part of our daily lives. We should exist in the world Jewishly during the six days in which we work so that we can truly rest on Shabbat and connect with one another and with God.

A Taste of Torah - Shabbat Zachor and Tetzaveh

Our Torah portion this week, Tetzaveh, is filled with intricate details about the priests' clothing and sacrifices that are to be offered on the altar of the Tabernacle, hardly things that we might find meaningful today in the ways in which we practice Judaism. But in reading over the parashah and some commentary, I encountered an interesting verse towards the end of the portion. "Seven days you shall perform purifcation for the altar to consecrate it, and the altar shall become most holy; whatever touches the alter shall become consecrated" (Exodus 29:37). The last part of that verse, in Hebrew, reads 'kol ha-noge'a ba-mizbei-ach yikadeish - everything that touches the altar will be holy.'

A few of our commentators (Rashbam and Ibn Ezra, in particular) read this verse and see a warning against coming to close to the altar. Rather than reading "whatever touches the altar," they read "whoever touches the altar" and teach that it means that before someone can touch the alter he or she (though likely he in those days) must be ritually pure. Others (Rashi and Bekhor Shor among them) indicate that it means that anything that touches the altar will become holy, whether it is a person or an object. Rashi goes so far as to say that even something that was previously ritually impure will become holy just by coming in contact with the altar.

What does all this mean for us? When I read Rashi's commentary, and commentary of those who agree with him that the altar has the power to make anything holy, I think about how we convey holiness today. In Judaism, holiness is inherently about separation, about distinction. God makes things holy by setting them apart from other things. But here, we see that things become holy by coming in contact with other holy things, in this case, the altar. As we make our way through this Shabbat towards the holiday of Purim, we can think about how Mordechai and Esther drew the king away from Haman, and towards themselves in order to bring him closer to holiness. Just by being in Esther's presence, Ahasuerus was able to make better decisions, perhaps, and became holier by being in the presence of holiness. It's sort of the opposite of guilt by association; it's holiness by association. It would benefit all of us to keep that in mind when we make decisions about our behaviors and interactions. Do we want to disassociate ourselves with the altar and its holy power. Or do we want to be closer to the altar and its holiness, closer to the likes of Mordechai and Esther. Shabbat Shalom and Happy Purim!

A Taste of Torah - Mishpatim

This week's commentary is in honor of Amy, whose birthday Torah portion is Mishpatim, who studied law and advocates for reproductive choice, among doing all sorts of other wonderful things. Happy Birthday, Amy!

“Life for life, eye for, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise” (Exodus 21:23-25). Our Torah portion this week seems to put forward the idea that we can seek vengeance on others in the form in which they have hurt us. The texts seems to indicate that capital punishment, the death penalty, is acceptable. But our sages have realized the harshness with which this would come across. Or, as Martin Luther King, Jr., said it, “The old law of an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.” So, what do we make of this law?

Ibn Ezra, the 12th century Spanish commentator indicates that one would have to be ignorant to take these words literally. Instead, he teaches, there is a ransom for each of these categories. “Eye for eye” means that while the one who caused the damage deserves to have his eye gouged out, he is permitted to make a payment to make up for the harm he has caused.

Interestingly, one of the most contentious issues comes out of the words that lead up to this list. Here’s the text in its entirety: “When men fight, and one of them pushes a pregnant woman and a miscarriage results, but no other damage ensues, the one responsible shall be fined… But if other damage ensues, the penalty shall be life for life, etc.” (Exodus 21:22-23). It in this text that Jewish belief about abortion and reproductive choice are based. According to this text as a whole, a miscarriage is a loss of property, while a death (of the man’s wife) as a result of the fight, is a loss of life. Judaism teaches that life begins at birth, not at conception, so if the fight between the two men results in losing the pregnancy, a life has not been lost. From this text develops Jewish law around abortion. Jewish law understands the fetus as part of the mother until it is born. Accordingly, the rabbis understand that there are times when an abortion is necessary in order to save the life of the mother, whose life is more important that the fetus she carries.

A Taste of Torah - Yitro

The original top ten list comes to us this week: The Ten Commandments. (Though, I should mention that none of the commandments is more important than any of the others. But I digress.) Among them is the 9th commandment: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Abravanel, the 15th century Spanish-Jewish commentator, writes that first, God warns us not to harm our neighbors with our actions. Do not murder; do not harm his body. Do not commit adultery; do not harm his family. Do not steal; do not harm his possession. After these precautions, God warns us not to harm our neighbor with our words: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Literally, bearing false witness is lying under oath, but Abravanel takes it one step further and says that this includes a prohibition against mocking our neighbors, slandering them, disparaging them, or insulting him publicly. Abravanel believes, and I agree, that included among the Ten Commandments is the requirement to treat one another respectfully and avoid causing others any kind of harm, be it through our actions or through our harm.

Next Friday is Freedom to Marry Day. Between this Shabbat and next Shabbat, countless groups around the country will gather to stand in solidarity with gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and queer neighbors who are not allowed access to civil marriage in most states in our country. Here in Minnesota, people of faith, along with many others, will gather at the Minnesota Capitol at 8:30 am on Thursday, February 11 along with Outfront Minnesota to say, “I do support love.” As long as marriage equality is not a reality across our country, we will continue to have neighbors who are mocked, slandered, disparaged, and publicly embarrassed through their being told that they are less than equal in the eyes of our state and our federal government. It is not enough to be sure that our actions do not hurt others, as Abravanel teaches us, but we must make sure that neither do our words cause harm. I encourage you to find a way this week to stand on the side of love and support marriage equality in our country.

A Taste of Torah - Beshallach

Our tradition teaches us that on Shabbat, we are supposed to have two loaves of challah at our Shabbat dinner tables. This week's Torah portion, Beshallach, provides the reasoning for this custom. After we have crossed the Sea of Reeds to freedom, the Israelites find themselves in the wilderness complaining about the lack of food, remembering that even though they had been enslaved, they always had enough to eat in Egypt.

God speaks to Moses and lets him know that each day bread in the form of manna will rain down from the sky. The Israelites should gather their share each day. On the sixth day (Friday), when the Israelites brought what they needed home, they would find that they had double what they needed (Exodus 16:5), a portion for Friday and a second portion for Shabbat. Next, Moses and Aaron tell the Israelites, "By evening you hsall know it was the Eternal who brought you out of the land of Egypt" (Exodus 16:6). Didn't they already know that it was God who had brought them out of Egypt? Apparently not. A few verses earlier, when the Israelites complain and say that they had had enough to eat in Egypt and it would have been better for them to have stayed there, they credit Moses and Aaron with having brought them into the wilderness.

The double portion of manna on Friday, which we now observe as the two loaves of challah at our Shabbat dinner tables, is meant to remind us that while Moses and Aaron helped lead us out of Egypt, it was actually God who brought us from slavery to freedom. When we sit down at our Shabbat dinner tables, or even when we eat an ordinary meal, God expects us to remember God's role in our lives. We have freedom not only because of our own actions and our own fortune, but also because of our relationship with God.

A Taste of Torah - Bo

This week, we find the conclusion of the ten plagues and the Israelites' exodus from Egypt. (Next week, we'll get to the Sea of Reeds with the Egyptian army still on our tails.) In the midst of the story, we read that along with us, an erev rav, a mixed multitude went up with us from Egypt, along with all sorts of animals (Exodus 12:38). Our commentators ask about this erev rav, this mixed multitude who left Egypt with us. Most of the commentators agree that the mixed multitude were people of other nations (some say only the Egyptians and some say they had converted to Judaism) whom God chose to free alongside us.

Me'am Lo-ez, the 18th century Ladino commentary from the Ottoman Empire, teaches that when Pharaoh agreed to let the Israelites go, he refused to allow this mixed multitude to exit with us. But the Egyptians - those who would stay behind - saw that the Israelites refused to leave without the mixed multitude. We had our freedom, though it wasn't enough if those others who needed their freedom couldn't come along with us.
In the past two weeks following the earthquake in Haiti, its aftermath, and aftershocks, the world has responded. Most notably, CBS News highlighted the Israeli Defense Forces' "field hospital, the Rolls Royce of emergency medical care."




Beginning with our exodus from Egypt, the people of Israel have understood that unless the whole world is better off, we are not better off. We may at times choose to be critical of Israel and decisions her leaders make, but we should also count the blessings that Israel has bestowed upon the world and the role that the Jewish people continue to make towards fixing the broken world in which we live.