A Principled Defense of The Book of Leviticus: VaYikra 5769

When I first arrived here at Temple Emanu-El one of the first tasks I undertook was setting up the bookshelves in my Office. I wanted to make sure that all the books that I could possibly need to make an important rabbinic decision or to consult with to write a sermon were readily available; at least those books which my wife gave me permission to remove from our home.
One set of books she most certainly did not allow me to take to work was the wonderful series of Torah Commentaries by the Jewish Publication Society. This set of five scholarly books, corresponding to the Five Books of Moses, she deemed too valuable to waste away in my office, instead she preferred to keep them close by, resting on the bookshelf in our family room.
So you can imagine how pleased I was to discover that Rabbi Kaunfer had in fact left this very set of books for me on one of his former shelves. (What a mensch!) I was indeed grateful until I discovered that in fact it was missing a volume! Any guesses as to which volume of the five it was missing? Sefer Vayikra, of course! That good ol’ book of Leviticus, the book we began reading in shul this morning. But before I could even fret about the missing volume, a tour of the office closet space provided to me by the wonderful Diana Grimes revealed to me a treasure. Tucked away behind a dusty collection of old bar-mitzvah benshers, were not one, but three volumes of the JPS commentary on Vayikra, still in their plastic covers! After doing a little institutional research, Rabbi Franklin explained to me that years ago during one of his cycles teaching the Men’s Torah Club they were working their way through the 5 books in the JPS Torah Commentary Series, when he found himself the target of a mutiny. No one wanted to study Sefer Vayikra! Hence, this collection of books remains in that closet to this very day.
And who can blame them? It is no wonder why, at first glance, this book remains a mystery to us as modern Jews. Whereas the other four books of Moses contain compelling narrative sections concerning the forefathers and mothers, the Exodus from Egypt, the rebellions in the desert or Moses’ last teaching to the Children of Israel; aside from a few brief exceptions there is nary a narrative to be found in the entire Book of Leviticus! In place of the famous stories found in Genesis, Exodus or Numbers, Leviticus offers us laws; and not only that, but laws mainly concerning the Priests, which means lots of gory details about sacrifices, Kashrut, skin diseases and sexual behavior. In fact, due to its overwhelming focus on the laws concerning the Priests, the Kohanim, and the Levites, the Levi’im, the rabbis chose to nickname Sefer Vayikra as “Torat Kohanim” or the teachings of (or for) the Priests. In light of all this, it is not so surprising that Rabbi Franklin’s Men’s Torah Class would have rebelled and nor is it surprising to find a host of unused volumes of Sefer Vayikra hidden away in our office closet.
But this morning I want to make a principled defense on behalf of the Book of Leviticus. I want to show you the redeeming qualities that it offers us and I want to argue that the reason why it doesn’t speak to us with the same intensity as other books is not because it is flawed as a book, but because WE, as modern Jews are reading it wrong! You see, this book was written for a very specific time and place; and it reflects the ritual practices and the moral values of a people who lived in a drastically different world than we live in today. So the natural trap we fall into is to read this book literally! When instead, since the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE the Rabbis of the Mishnah and the Talmud have instead encouraged us to read the Book of Leviticus figuratively; as a metaphor for our own modern times.
Allow me to show you what I mean. This morning we read from Parshat Vayikra, the first weekly parasha in the Book of Leviticus. As some of you no doubt noticed, this morning’s parasha is ripe with detailed descriptions of the animal sacrifices that were to be maintained in the Sanctuary of the Tabernacle. There are three main types of sacrifices that are described here: the Olah, the burnt offering, consisting of a bull, a lamb or a bird, which was entirely consumed upon the altar. The Torah tells us, that as this sacrifice burned, it gave off a re’ach nicho’ach, a pleasant odor to the Lord. Next is the Minhah offering, the grain offering, appropriate for a variety of occasions though perhaps a less-costly alternative to the sacrifice of a bull or a goat. Finally we learn of the Zevah Sh’lamim, the Sacred Gift of well-being. This sacrifice consisted of some of the same animals used in the Olah, the burnt offering, but this sacrifice was to be consumed by both the priests as well as by donor his or herself. In this way, you make a donation to the Temple, please the Lord, and you get to enjoy a bit of it yourself! Think of this as the first version of a tax deduction for charitable donations.
So, how do we as moderns feel when we read of the details of these animal sacrifices? Grossed out? Maybe a bit embarrassed by our more primitive ancestors? Certainly we feel grateful that we live in a more civilized time and place. But does this mean that we should simply ‘skip’ this parasha each year because it makes us feel ‘icky’? Should we throw the baby out along with the bathwater?
Well, I think we can take a cue from the Rabbis who lived through the destruction of the Temple cult and needed to adapt Judaism to better fit their own social reality. What did they do? They chose to read these chapters figuratively, explaining that God does not actually like the smell of barbeque! Instead the rabbis understood the biblical notion of sacrifices as being a metaphor for living a prayerful life. In place of the sacrificial cult, they instituted daily prayer, even borrowing from the literal nomenclature of animal sacrifice (Minhah and Musaf for example) and metaphorically applied them to the new institution of daily prayer.
Another primary focus of Sefer Vayikra is the designation of those things that are pure, tahor, and those things in our world that are tamei, impure. In the eleventh chapter of the Book of Leviticus we are informed of the famous dietary laws mandated to the Israelites, popularly known as Kashrut, although this term is actually a later, post-biblical invention. We are told that land animals must have cleft hooves and must chew their cud in order to be considered suitable for eating; fish must have fins and scales. Camels, rabbits and the infamous pig are listed as unsuitable for Israelite consumption, rendering them assur, or forbidden for countless generations. Any birds of prey such as an eagle or hawk, or those that are scavengers such as vultures are also forbidden, along with a large variety of creepy-crawlers, though not the grasshopper, that is Kosher, thank God. This dietary menu of do’s and don’ts has been with our people for thousands of years, forever encouraging us to live differently than other religions, as well as consistently inspiring questions such as ‘what’s that whole kosher thing all about?’
And what is it all about? Are we to understand this section of the Book of Leviticus literally? Are there truly animals which are ‘pure’ and therefore fit for human consumption as well as those that are ‘impure’ and therefore not fit to eat? Those that do read this section of text literally have come up with thousands of fascinating perushim, or explanations as to why this type of animal is Kosher while this type is not. These explanations remind me of a scene in the movie ‘Pulp Fiction’ where the two main characters debate the virtues and the shortcomings of the pig. One says to the other, “But bacon tastes good, pork chops taste good.” While the other responds “Well sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie but I’ll never know cause I won’t eat the filthy thing!” (For those that are interested, I edited a bit.)
But instead of understanding the laws of Kashrut literally, if we use them as a metaphor for living a holy way of life, we may find that this message is indeed in sync with our modern world. After all, these days each of us takes great care with regard to regulating what we consume each night on our kitchen tables. We now know that as much as we may want to, we cannot simply eat our way through life. We are told by our doctors (and our spouses, who may or may not be doctors) that we must watch what we eat. Sometimes we do so in order to keep ourselves in good health and sometimes we do so (in the case of vegetarians) in accordance with our principles.
Is this really so different from what Leviticus is encouraging us to do? Isn’t the Torah asking us to elevate our tables to the heights of an altar? To consider the act of eating carefully, meticulously and with the holiness that it deserves? Today, we as Jews are required to keep Kosher not because we believe this list to be the literal definition of pure or impure animals, but rather because we think it means something in our lives. It means something to live according to our long-standing traditions. It means something to turn the act of eating into a religious act. And if we read Leviticus as a metaphor, then perhaps we can more comfortably understand why eating in a most holy manner it is of extreme importance to God.
Finally this morning I want to deal with what is perhaps the most troubling aspect of Sefer Vayikra for many of us and the section of text that has been at the heart of the halachic debates in our movement for a number of years. In Leviticus chapters 18 and 20 Sefer Vayikra details a list of sexual relationships which are forbidden and deemed as inappropriate expressions of our natural sexual desire. Many of the forbidden relationships found in these lists we as moderns would agree are inappropriate. Certainly to this very day we abhor instances of incest or licentious relationships with multiple partners of the same family. But the debate intensifies when we come Leviticus 18:22 which reads
ואת זכר לא תשכב משכבי אשה תועבה היא.
Which the NJPS translates as “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman, it is an abhorrence.”
Again we return to the issue of literalism. Are we to understand this prohibition on homosexual relationships as an eternal decree forbidding any kind of homosexual intimacy? Is it possible that the relationship the Bible is referring to here is somehow different from our own definitions of homosexuality? And even if it isn’t, is it possible that our own society has a different definition of what is or what is not a moral relationship between two consenting adults? For what it’s worth, I certainly think so.
So I return to this book, neatly wrapped in its original plastic. Perhaps the time has come for us to unwrap this book. To remove it from the confines of literalism and open ourselves up to the possibility that it still may have what to say about our modern world. Is it really such a stretch to say that we as a society could stand to worship of the cult of the individual less and instead stress the value of a little sacrifice? Is it really so crazy to think that boundaries which serve to transform our dinner tables into an altar for God as well as vehicle to protect the precious gift of our bodies? Finally could we agree that while morality should always be paramount to any society, it is nonetheless a value which may evolve according to the determinations of that society? If we think the answer to these questions might be yes, and if you listen carefully, you might even hear the gentle crinkle of plastic as an ancient book becomes meaningful once again.

Shabbat Shalom.