Parshas Vayikra 5781
In 2020, people in the United States spent an estimated $75 billion on pets and pet related supplies. That’s “billion,” with a “b”. Clearly, people love their pets. Though not a pet owner, or really much of an animal lover myself, the ability to identify with a soft, cuddly animal is not lost on me. I’ve had my own experiences of emotional identification with animals, even those neither cute nor cuddly.
Though not my usual practice, there were a number of years when I opted for performing Kaparos before Yom Kippur with a real, live chicken. And there’s a major advantage. Seeing a warm blooded animal that you had personally held but moments before now being ritually slaughtered before your very eyes serves as a far more dramatic wakeup call than money ever could. The message hits you right between the eyes: You’re deserving of this. You haven’t fulfilled your end of the bargain. You aren’t worthy of the life that Hashem continues to bless you with. This chicken can be offered in your place only because of Hashem’s abundant mercy. Powerful.
This, of course, is a modern day echo of the institution of korbanos, a topic that will occupy much of Sefer Vayikra, which we’ll begin this Shabbos. There is a visceral association one has with an animal being offered in his place, an identification that reminds the offerer that, in truth, he should be placed on the altar, not the animal at all. Ideally, this is a moment of truth that dramatically impacts his behavior from that point forward. The type of animal offered and the various laws that circumscribe the entire process are all means of eliciting specific feelings within the bearer of the korban, reforging the entirety of his relationship with Hashem for the better.
Perhaps the most basic of all these laws is that the animal must be תמים, or “whole”. That is to say, free of any wound or blemish. From the vantage point of actually identifying with the korban, this law reminds us to offer the very best of ourselves to Hashem. No half-hearted mitzvah observance and no shortcuts. We serve Hashem in a manner that is whole and unblemished, full of vigor and vibrancy.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch takes this idea a step further, explaining that all too often, we reserve our most fervent prayer for the bedside of the sick and for times of utter despondency. When we have no hope, when our own talents have failed us, we turn to Hashem to set things right. We serve Hashem from a place of incompleteness, when things are lacking and need to be made whole. The unblemished korban is a reminder to do no less when all is well. Even when we are complete, when life is in order, when there is no crisis, we must turn to Hashem with no less sincerity than when we are panicked.
When in our Shemoneh Esrei does the emotion flow most easily? When we plead for health and recite Refa’einu? When we are desperate for wealth and utter Barech Aleinu? Or when we thank Hashem in Modim for all that is right on an un-spectactular Tuesday morning, when there are no pressing worries and everything is squared away? We turn to Hashem with passion and devotion when times are blemished; do we do the same when things are whole?
Nowhere in post-Churban life do we take note of a missing korban more than on the Seder night. The absence of the Korban Pesach is felt in every corner of the Haggadah, where brief recitations and muted actions serve as a mere placeholder for what was once the focal point of the entire evening. Like every other korban, the Korban Pesach needed to be תמים—whole and complete. This year in particular, what we lack in its absence is even more unfortunate than in other years.
Pesach last year felt hollow in so many ways. The familiar sights and sounds of familial get togethers, communal camaraderie, and in-shul tefilos were all absent. And yet in many ways, Hashem’s presence could be felt more palpably than ever. It was so easy to see world events as Divinely orchestrated, insofar as they represented a clear and sudden break from the natural order of things. Questions circulated about what Hashem wanted from the Jewish People and humanity at large, and best estimates of Hashem’s reasoning began to percolate.
We now seem to be turning the page on the darkest times of the pandemic. The rate of infection has slowed dramatically, vaccines are being dispensed, and freedoms we once took for granted are slowly becoming normal once more. How will we respond to this period of renewed wholeness?
If the past year was a time of imperfection, we are slowly moving back to a state of wholeness. The question is, will we continue to be G-d conscious? Will we still see Hashem as pulling the strings of history, still see His hand at work in every day life? Will we live life as though Mashiach could truly come at any moment, as was the pervasive feeling when the world as we knew it ground to a hault one year ago? Will we continue to ask the question of what He wants of us, and do our best to respond to that call? Now more than ever we could use the Korban Pesach to show us the right way forward.
Perhaps there will yet be a Korban Pesach on our Seder tables this year. If not—if there’s no whole, unblemished animal to remind us of drawing Hashem’s presence even into the whole, unblemished realms of life—then let’s learn the same message from the Haggadah itself. The Haggadah is a text that recounts Hashem’s greatness not during the slavery, but after we’ve been liberated. Hashem is not only a force to turn to when times are sour, but a father to connect with when they are sweet.