With this week's parashah, Bechukotai, the central (in both senses of the word) book of the Torah comes to a close. Recent years have produced much study, in many circles, of Sefer Vayikra, and the various results all seem to converge on a profound appreciation of the fullness, complexity and profoundity not only of the book's content, but of the structure which imparts to that content its richness and resonance even today, when we are, seemingly so much at a remove from so many of it's clauses. Bechukotai, as the Ramban has pointed out, is the bringing to a close of the statement of the brit between Hashem and Am Yisrael - a statement which was begun way back toward the end of Shemot. Its provisions - blessings for covenant fulfillment and unspeakably horrific punishment for willful violation - serve as a formal conclusion for the momentous, history-shaping compact between the Infinite One and His self-created finite partner.
Except that the book doesn't end there. Vayikra doesn't come to a conclusion where by all rights it should, at the end of chapter 26, with the words, "These are the statutes, judgements and teachings which Hashem set between Himself and the children of Israel at Mt. Sinai, at the hand of Moshe". Of course that is the fitting conclusion to the covenant, to the entire book. Why would an additional chapter be appended, only to be concluded with words that seemingly unneccesarily echo the verse just quoted: "These (emphasis obvious added) are the commandments which Hashem commanded Moshe regarding the children of Israel at Mt. Sinai"?
A look at the content of this chapter doesn't immediately yield an answer. The chapter deals with vows and oaths - statements which impact upon other objects and individuals and would presume to affect their status. The concluding section, bringing the entire book to a close, deals with dedicatory evaluations - when a person devotes the value of something or someone to the Holy - what is incumbant upon that person regarding the item so dedicated.
Why was this particular chapter left out of the extended covenant, only ot serve as a kind of an appendix, a coda of sorts? I'd like to explore a particular law presented in this section, and try to understand it in light of a curious statement by Hashem in the first few verses of the blessing part of the parashah.
After having elaborated the laws of holy dedications - the laws of hekdesh - and how items which are not immediately usable as part of the sacrificial procedures are to be evaluated and redeemed, the money going to maintaining the general function of the Mishkan/Mikdash, the Torah states (Vayikra' 27:28-29)
This passage raises several questions. First: what is cherem? It seems clearly to be more severe than hekdesh, but what is it? Secondly, does this passage really mean, as it might seem at first glance, that one might doom/devote one's slave to the realm of the Holy and then, seeing as humans are not fit to be offered as sacrifices, then that slave must simply be put to death? Forgive the pun ,but perish the thought!
Regarding the first question: There is a realm where the sacred and the proscribed meet. Somewhere behind our head, something becomes so unique, special, inaccessible that it becomes completely forbidden. The paradox involved with this outcome of human grappling with the limits of evaluation have been explored by anthropologists study many human societies. For us, it is enough to note that the Hebrew word can meet "to utterly destroy", "to completely prohibit benifit from/usage of". In Arabic, the word haram is used for a realm which is inaccessible and therefore holy, such as the Temple Mount, called Haram Ish Sharif, or, more familiarly, the notion of "harem". Thus, a devotion made with the word (and the conception which lies behind it) of haram is one placed utterly beyond retrievability. No evaluation applies to something rendered so inaccessible.
This brings us to the second question: Can one really doom by utterance one's servant to death? Shadal takes on this explanation of the verse head on, and he shows how unthinkable such a notion is. Chazal presents two different understandings of this commandment (Arachim 6b):
What these interpretations have in common is seeing the the process of haram as an utter rejection, a putting beyond the pale, with no return into the human sphere of evaluation and exchange possible.
Let's now switch gears. At the beginning of the parashah, we meet with a series of blessings promised to us by Hashem when we keep His mitzvot and teachings. The blessings are phrases in a generic fashion, as opposed to the almost unbearably vivid detail of the longer curse section which follows. These blessing promise us not eternal life in the world to come, but very earthly benefits: plentiful rain, bountiful harvest, fecundity, peace and security in the land, success in the battlefield. Wrapping up these blessing is the following set of promises by Hashem: (Vayikra 26:11)
The imagery here is that of the Garden of Eden, where Adam and Chavah heard the sound of Hashem strolling in the Garden, and they took cover amidst the trees of the Garden. The imagery is enriched by the midrash, which tells of a king strolling in his orchard, and the sharecroppers, who were intended to accompany him, seeking to take cover from him. He says to them: Why are you taking cover from me; I am just like you!! Likewise Hashem and the righteous in the future to come. Except: that they will still be in awe of Hashem.
With all of this comfort and friendship promised, what place does the clause, "and My Soul shall not abhor you" have? In the words of one commentator: Who would have thought that a people who has faithfully kept the covenant need to be rewarded by the promise, "My Soul shall not abhor you"?
Perhaps we can understand it this way: The Indwelling of Hashem is the soul. That soul, placed in our midst, is, as Chassidut teaches, a piece of the Infinite from on high, with all the paradox that implies. "I will stroll in your midst" is understood by one commentator as the "silver cord" that connects the soul with the Infinite Capacitor above, along which the current of living being in all its dynamism is in constant flux. One MIGHT THINK that the Infinite has no place for the finite, that any attempt to connect the two would result in explusion, rejection, or, phrased emotionally rather than mechanically: abhorrence. But NO! says Hashem. The blessing of holy proximity gained by doing His will is that WITH all the awe, I am here with you, the possibility of image of G-d is realized, "I'm like you!" He impossible allows us to hear.
My soul, my inner essence, expressive of my identity and my uniqueness - that doesn't reject you, that has room for you, that is not threatened by you. To be ultimately me, I don't have to push to infinity what is ultimately you. ONLY HASHEM CAN REALLY TRULY SAY THAT, and have that be the pinnacle of holiness, the complete realize of the call that Hashem made to man/a man at the beginning of Vayikra: "And He called to Moshe".
And as for us humans? For us, holiness is almost inseparably wrapped up in the attempt by us, the finite, to place things beyond the realm of the measured and the relative and securing for them the absolute. Haram is abolute holiness, beyond the possibility of redemption. That attempt to invoke holiness must result ultimately in death, for only death stands inaccessibly beyond the realm of the limited. Hashem understands how entangled we become when we try to approach his paradoxes, when we try to use the gift of language to alter irrevocably the state of things in the revocable realm. He allows us our attempts, and shows us, evaluativly, how to climb down from the high branch we've found ourselves on, in most cases. But the entire passage is placed on the outside of Vayikra, the Covenant of Holiness! Hashem sets apart our ultimate attempts at doing holiness on our own by setting apart, juxtaposed to the rest of Vayikra. He beckons back from the precipice - "it is better not to vow than to vow!", we are taught by Shlomo in MIshlei.
But when we do, He'll take us back. Heck, even when we violate His covenant in the most egregious fashion, and He responds by violently turning away from us, and we suffer unspeakable indignities, until we lay in shambles, strewn over the face of the earth, "I have NOT rejected them, NOR have I loathed them them to utterly destroy them, to rescind My covenant with them".
Only the Soul can bless by not rejecting the soul, and thus, the book isn't over until it isn't over.
Except that the book doesn't end there. Vayikra doesn't come to a conclusion where by all rights it should, at the end of chapter 26, with the words, "These are the statutes, judgements and teachings which Hashem set between Himself and the children of Israel at Mt. Sinai, at the hand of Moshe". Of course that is the fitting conclusion to the covenant, to the entire book. Why would an additional chapter be appended, only to be concluded with words that seemingly unneccesarily echo the verse just quoted: "These (emphasis obvious added) are the commandments which Hashem commanded Moshe regarding the children of Israel at Mt. Sinai"?
A look at the content of this chapter doesn't immediately yield an answer. The chapter deals with vows and oaths - statements which impact upon other objects and individuals and would presume to affect their status. The concluding section, bringing the entire book to a close, deals with dedicatory evaluations - when a person devotes the value of something or someone to the Holy - what is incumbant upon that person regarding the item so dedicated.
Why was this particular chapter left out of the extended covenant, only ot serve as a kind of an appendix, a coda of sorts? I'd like to explore a particular law presented in this section, and try to understand it in light of a curious statement by Hashem in the first few verses of the blessing part of the parashah.
After having elaborated the laws of holy dedications - the laws of hekdesh - and how items which are not immediately usable as part of the sacrificial procedures are to be evaluated and redeemed, the money going to maintaining the general function of the Mishkan/Mikdash, the Torah states (Vayikra' 27:28-29)
"However, any cherem which a man shall doom/devote (yacharim) to Hashem from anything which is his - from man, from domestic animal, from the field of his holdings shall not be sold and shall not be redeemed. Any cherem is holiest of holies for Hashem. Any cherem which will be doomed/devoted from man will not be redeemed - he shall certainly die."
This passage raises several questions. First: what is cherem? It seems clearly to be more severe than hekdesh, but what is it? Secondly, does this passage really mean, as it might seem at first glance, that one might doom/devote one's slave to the realm of the Holy and then, seeing as humans are not fit to be offered as sacrifices, then that slave must simply be put to death? Forgive the pun ,but perish the thought!
Regarding the first question: There is a realm where the sacred and the proscribed meet. Somewhere behind our head, something becomes so unique, special, inaccessible that it becomes completely forbidden. The paradox involved with this outcome of human grappling with the limits of evaluation have been explored by anthropologists study many human societies. For us, it is enough to note that the Hebrew word can meet "to utterly destroy", "to completely prohibit benifit from/usage of". In Arabic, the word haram is used for a realm which is inaccessible and therefore holy, such as the Temple Mount, called Haram Ish Sharif, or, more familiarly, the notion of "harem". Thus, a devotion made with the word (and the conception which lies behind it) of haram is one placed utterly beyond retrievability. No evaluation applies to something rendered so inaccessible.
This brings us to the second question: Can one really doom by utterance one's servant to death? Shadal takes on this explanation of the verse head on, and he shows how unthinkable such a notion is. Chazal presents two different understandings of this commandment (Arachim 6b):
- When a man has been condemned to death by a Beit Din for some crime, then if one says regarding him, "his value is upon me" (i.e., I pledge his value to the Holy realm), then one has said nothing, since a condemned man is accounted as though he's already been executed.
- This verse serves as a further warning not to accept ransom money to pardon someone who has been condemned to death by a Beit Din.
What these interpretations have in common is seeing the the process of haram as an utter rejection, a putting beyond the pale, with no return into the human sphere of evaluation and exchange possible.
Let's now switch gears. At the beginning of the parashah, we meet with a series of blessings promised to us by Hashem when we keep His mitzvot and teachings. The blessings are phrases in a generic fashion, as opposed to the almost unbearably vivid detail of the longer curse section which follows. These blessing promise us not eternal life in the world to come, but very earthly benefits: plentiful rain, bountiful harvest, fecundity, peace and security in the land, success in the battlefield. Wrapping up these blessing is the following set of promises by Hashem: (Vayikra 26:11)
I will place My Dwellingplace in your midst, and My soul shall not abhor you, I will stroll in your midst and I will G-d for you, and you will for Me a people. I am Hashem your G-d Who brought you forth from the Land of Egypt; I broke the poles of your yoke and I led you upright."
The imagery here is that of the Garden of Eden, where Adam and Chavah heard the sound of Hashem strolling in the Garden, and they took cover amidst the trees of the Garden. The imagery is enriched by the midrash, which tells of a king strolling in his orchard, and the sharecroppers, who were intended to accompany him, seeking to take cover from him. He says to them: Why are you taking cover from me; I am just like you!! Likewise Hashem and the righteous in the future to come. Except: that they will still be in awe of Hashem.
With all of this comfort and friendship promised, what place does the clause, "and My Soul shall not abhor you" have? In the words of one commentator: Who would have thought that a people who has faithfully kept the covenant need to be rewarded by the promise, "My Soul shall not abhor you"?
Perhaps we can understand it this way: The Indwelling of Hashem is the soul. That soul, placed in our midst, is, as Chassidut teaches, a piece of the Infinite from on high, with all the paradox that implies. "I will stroll in your midst" is understood by one commentator as the "silver cord" that connects the soul with the Infinite Capacitor above, along which the current of living being in all its dynamism is in constant flux. One MIGHT THINK that the Infinite has no place for the finite, that any attempt to connect the two would result in explusion, rejection, or, phrased emotionally rather than mechanically: abhorrence. But NO! says Hashem. The blessing of holy proximity gained by doing His will is that WITH all the awe, I am here with you, the possibility of image of G-d is realized, "I'm like you!" He impossible allows us to hear.
My soul, my inner essence, expressive of my identity and my uniqueness - that doesn't reject you, that has room for you, that is not threatened by you. To be ultimately me, I don't have to push to infinity what is ultimately you. ONLY HASHEM CAN REALLY TRULY SAY THAT, and have that be the pinnacle of holiness, the complete realize of the call that Hashem made to man/a man at the beginning of Vayikra: "And He called to Moshe".
And as for us humans? For us, holiness is almost inseparably wrapped up in the attempt by us, the finite, to place things beyond the realm of the measured and the relative and securing for them the absolute. Haram is abolute holiness, beyond the possibility of redemption. That attempt to invoke holiness must result ultimately in death, for only death stands inaccessibly beyond the realm of the limited. Hashem understands how entangled we become when we try to approach his paradoxes, when we try to use the gift of language to alter irrevocably the state of things in the revocable realm. He allows us our attempts, and shows us, evaluativly, how to climb down from the high branch we've found ourselves on, in most cases. But the entire passage is placed on the outside of Vayikra, the Covenant of Holiness! Hashem sets apart our ultimate attempts at doing holiness on our own by setting apart, juxtaposed to the rest of Vayikra. He beckons back from the precipice - "it is better not to vow than to vow!", we are taught by Shlomo in MIshlei.
But when we do, He'll take us back. Heck, even when we violate His covenant in the most egregious fashion, and He responds by violently turning away from us, and we suffer unspeakable indignities, until we lay in shambles, strewn over the face of the earth, "I have NOT rejected them, NOR have I loathed them them to utterly destroy them, to rescind My covenant with them".
Only the Soul can bless by not rejecting the soul, and thus, the book isn't over until it isn't over.
Comments