Vayikra – The Smell of Success

Shabbat VaYikra

“The Smell of Success”

By: Rabbi Jeffrey H. Miller

 Wthout any fanfare, Sefer VaYikra jumps right into the nuts and bolts of the sacrificial system.  Up until now, sacrifices have been integral to human interaction with God but unregulated.  Kayin and Hevel brought sacrifices with catastrophic results – for both of them.  So, too, did Noach.  Our Avot brought korbanot, as did their contemporaries.  Moshe’s (stated) reason for wanting a mini-vacation for his people was to bring sacrifices:

…and you shall come, you and the elders of Israel, to the king of Egypt, and you shall say to him, ‘The Lord God of the Hebrews has happened upon us, and now, let us go for a three days’ journey in the desert and offer up sacrifices to the Lord, our God.’

וּבָאתָ֡ אַתָּה֩ וְזִקְנֵ֨י יִשְׂרָאֵ֜ל אֶל־מֶ֣לֶךְ מִצְרַ֗יִם וַֽאֲמַרְתֶּ֤ם אֵלָיו֙ יְהֹוָ֞ה אֱלֹהֵ֤י הָֽעִבְרִיִּים֙ נִקְרָ֣ה עָלֵ֔ינוּ וְעַתָּ֗ה נֵֽלֲכָה־נָּ֞א דֶּ֣רֶךְ שְׁל֤שֶׁת יָמִים֙ בַּמִּדְבָּ֔ר וְנִזְבְּחָ֖ה לַֽה אֱלקינוּ

[Shemot 3:18]

From (about) this moment onward, sacrifices become mostly ritualized.  Spontaneity gives way to formality.  The Talmud (B’rachot, Ch. 4) teaches that our daily prayers are both structured around, and are a substitute for, the korbanot that guided the lives of our ancestors.  The very arrangement of our communal prayers (frequency, times, etc.) correspond with the practices enumerated at great length in the Torah.

Besides our routine, daily prayers, we all experience moments of passionate and powerful prayers that are unconnected with Shacharis, Mincha or Maariv.  So, too, in the time of the Beis HaMikdash, there were deeply personal sacrifices unrelated and distinct from the established daily cycle.

And it is precisely there that Sefer VaYikra beings:

And he shall split it open with its wing feathers [intact], but he shall not tear it completely apart.  The kohen shall then cause it to [go up in] smoke on the altar, on top of the wood which is on the fire. It is a burnt offering, a fire offering [with] a pleasing fragrance to the Lord. people would not stay at home for fear of being blinded or burned by those rays.

וְשִׁסַּ֨ע אֹת֣וֹ בִכְנָפָיו֘ לֹ֣א יַבְדִּיל֒ וְהִקְטִ֨יר אֹת֤וֹ הַכֹּהֵן֙ הַמִּזְבֵּ֔חָה עַל־הָֽעֵצִ֖ים אֲשֶׁ֣ר עַל־הָאֵ֑שׁ עֹלָ֣ה ה֗וּא אִשֵּׁ֛ה רֵ֥יחַ נִיחֹ֖חַ לַה:

[VaYikra 1:17]

Rashi makes the following observation about this voluntary sacrifice (Korban Nedavah).  Citing VaYikra Rabbah, he notes that the burning of feathers is NOT a particularly pleasant fragrance at all:

But surely you will not find even the simplest of people [i.e., even a person who is not particular,] who, when smelling the odor of burnt feathers, does not find it repulsive.

והלא אין לך הדיוט שמריח ריח רע של כנפים נשרפים ואין נפשו קצה עליו

The verse presents us with conflicting physical senses.  The full-feathered bird certainly looks more substantial on the altar, but it leaves a ‘foul’ odor.  (Sorry!)  On the other hand, the defeathered bird on an open grill looks a lot less grand but it smells like my house on a Friday night, which is to say, delicious.

Two questions emerge from the pasuk and Rashi’s commentary:

• Why is the smell of burning feathers on the alter a רֵ֥יחַ נִיחֹ֖חַ לַה, a pleasant aroma for HaShem yet repulsive for us? and
• Why does the Torah instruct us to choose what is visually appealing but malodorous (instead of the other way around)?

We may try to dismiss the first question since, anthropomorphism aside, “smell” certainly cannot mean the same thing when applied to the Divine.  Still, since the Torah (and hence God) purposefully uses this metaphor, our question remains.  In fact, by telling us that the smell of burning feathers is unpleasant for us yet deeply enjoyable by HaShem, Rashi is teasing us and priming us for an important revelation:

Why then does Scripture command us to send [the feathers] up in smoke?	ולמה אמר הכתוב והקטיר
[The feathers are left intact] so that the altar should appear sated and adorned with the sacrifice of the poor man [who could afford only a bird]. — [Vayikra Rabbah 3:5]	כדי שיהא המזבח שבע ומהודר בקרבנו של עני

Our verse makes sense when we appreciate that a bird is brought upon the altar by the poor who could not afford to bring a more expensive cattle sacrifice that are mentioned earlier in Chapter one of VaYikra.  The less fortunate are just as desirous of the middle class and upper class of wanting to bring a beautiful korban and making the best impression upon God.  They therefore sacrifice the bird – feathers included – even if it makes them uncomfortable.  They are not showing off to the Kohen, the neighbor, or God.  They are not trying to keep up with the Joneses.  After all, this is a private moment, and the bird is to be utterly burnt on the mizbaech.

The answer to the second question resolves the first one as well.  What HaShem finds so pleasing is that his people do not just fulfil the letter of the commandment.  They willingly sacrifice some of their own comfort in order to beautify the experience for HaShem.  In this way, they are adding the element of “hiddur mitzvah” (the beautification of the mitzvah beyond its strict legal requirements).

Based on the verse in Moshe’s Song at the Sea that is recited daily, the Talmud (Shabbos 133b) teaches the following lesson:

“This is my God and I will glorify Him [anveihu]…” [Ex. 15:2]… The Sages interpreted “anveihu” as linguistically related to ‘noi’, beauty, and interpreted the verse homiletically: Beautify yourself before Him in mitzvot.  Even if one fulfills the mitzvah by performing it simply, it is nonetheless proper to perform the mitzvah as beautifully as possible.  Make before Him a beautiful sukkah, a beautiful lulav, a beautiful shofar, beautiful Tzitzit, beautiful parchment for a Torah scroll, and write in it in His Name in beautiful ink, with a beautiful quill by an expert scribe, and wrap the scroll in beautiful silk fabric.

זה א-לי, ואנוהו – התנאה לפניו במצות; עשה לפניו סוכה נאה, ולולב נאה, ושופר נאה, ציצית נאה, ספר תורה נאה וכתוב בו לשמו בדיו נאה, בקולמוס נאה, בלבלר אומן וכורכו בשיראין נאין.

How do we, whose cultural and scientific weltanschauung have grown so greatly, continue to relate to the very notion of sacrifices?  How do we internalize these sections of Torah some twenty centuries after the last sacrifice was brought on the altar of the Beis HaKMikdash?

Of course, the reason we no longer have a Beis HaMikdash upon which sacrifices are brought is because God Chose to allow its destruction in the aftermath of our grievous sins.  Rabbi Soleveichik notes poetically that HaShem took His Wrath out on His House instead of His people:

The nation’s sin … was so severe that the Jewish people really deserved to be exterminated.  The Beid Hamikdash was the substitute, the sa’ir la’azazel (scapegoat)…

[Chumash Mesoras HaRav, Sefer Shemos, P. 332]

In other words, every time we daven (or knowingly fail to daven), we are reminded that God never abandoned us.  We therefore reciprocate by reminding God that we are doing the best we can with the limited resources we have.  We don’t just substitute prayers and Torah study for sacrifices; we beautify the lyrics of tefilah with melodies that inspire the heart, and we enhance our ritual objects with delightful coverings and cases.

But we do so within our means.

When I was in grade school, I would come home from school after the first day with textbooks that needed to get covered.  My friends always seemed to have the coolest, glossy covers.  I did not.  My mother would take a paper bag from the supermarket, cut it, turn it inside out, and fold it ever so precisely over the book.  We were left with a plain brown canvas upon which we drew our own, one-of-a-kind book covers.

• It took years for me to fully understand what my school was teaching by making us cover text books;
• It took more years for me to finally realize that my mother could not afford the store-bought covers; and
• It took me decades to appreciate that the hand-made book covers that my mother made from repurposed shopping bags may not have been Picassos but were priceless nonetheless.

The Talmud quoted above concludes with the following opinion:

Abba Shaul says: ‘Ve’anveihu’ should be interpreted as if it were written in two words: Ani vaHu, me and Him [God]. Be similar, as it were, to Him, the Almighty: Just as He is compassionate and merciful, so too should you be compassionate and merciful.

אבא שאול אומר ואנוהו הוי דומה לו מה הוא חנון ורחום אף אתה היה חנון ורחום

The Sages, interpreting ואנוהו as “to beautify”, applied it to ritual observance.  Abba Shaul, explaining it as an obligation to emulate God, interpreted it to a general obligation to be compassionate and merciful.

The Sages and Abba Shaul were both right.

Shabbat Shalom!