Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1-5:26

Leviticus is an enduring love story.

Blame it on Jane Austen. Thanks to her, close to a third of mass-market paperbacks sold are romance novels. The main readership is female, English speaking, and well-educated. The books they read often follow a set formula; knowing what to expect provides comfort and readers become caught up in the story precisely because events proceed in a recognizable manner. Under different circumstances we'd call this a ritual.

There is an added pleasure one finds in reading the well-written Austen books. Hers is a world of precise behaviour and etiquette among the characters. Pride and Prejudice, which has been called "the best romance novel ever written," offers some fine examples of such rituals that are used to establish the characters:

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room: he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance… Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the proudest most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again.

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen, pp. 7-8

I'll bet you never thought of Leviticus as a love story but it is. The rituals of the relationship between the Divine and human partners are quite obvious as detailed through the korbanot, the offerings that are discussed in the beginning chapters of the book. The root of korban, k-r-b, means to "bring close," or "draw near": thus the sacrifice as a romantic dinner. The ritual details are similar to the etiquette of a Jane Austen novel: You know what to expect, what is expected of you, and you certainly know when things are out of place. Everything is carefully controlled and choreographed. In these 19th century novels this is done through arranged visits, dinners and dances. In Leviticus it is the order, the rites and the procedures that draw our attention.

Of course, this description does not do justice to the book of Leviticus, which is more than an infatuation or romance: It is an enduring love story. Nowhere is this more evident than in the very first verse of the opening parasha: The Lord called (va-yikra) to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting… (Leviticus 1:1) The opening word va-yikra (he called) may allude to this by its very spelling. The final letter, aleph, is written in smaller font than the other letters. There may be a simple explanation for this:

The nineteenth-century Italian Bible scholar Samuel David Luzzatto explains that originally the Torah was written without leaving space between words. When a scribe found that the last letter of one word and the first letter of the next word were the same, he might choose to omit one of the repeated letters in order to conserve space. At a later time, when it became customary to write out every word in full, one of the repeated letters was written in small script to indicate that originally it had not appeared in the text at all.
The letter alef [sic], with which the word va-yikra, in Leviticus 1:1 ends, is a case in point. The word el, which follows it, begins with an alef, and the letter alef in va-yikra is written small as an indication that at one time this repeated letter did not appear.

This is the Torah, Alfred J. Kolatch, p. 237

Simple is not the same as elegant. Sforno sees the term va-yikra as an encouragement for Moses, who is fearful of entering God's abode without permission. Similarly, Nachmanides explains the use of language as God's beckoning to Moses. There are those who take the small aleph itself to be a lesson in Moses' humility. Ba'al Ha-Turim elaborates that Moses was commanded to write this letter in normal size, but the aleph is divine and is used by the angels. Moses feared that he would be accused of haughtiness in writing the aleph as large as the othr letters, but at the same time he could not disobey God, hence, he wrote it with a smaller letter. (Jane Austen fans may envision all these explanations as showing a demure Moses hiding his face behind a fan.)

What happens if the aleph is left out completely? The verb would then read vayikar as in Numbers 23:4, where God appears to the prophet Balaam. According to Rashi, the difference between vayikar and vayikra, is a sense of purpose. The former can be read as happenstance: God "came across" Balaam. The latter requires preparation. Rashi also notes that whatever verb is used to designate God's communication with Moses, be it d-b-r (speak), a-m-r (say), or ts-v-h (command) it is preceded by va-yikra, God's calling to Moses. Rashi explains this as "the language of affection."

What a powerful description! Chocolates, flowers, and champagne are empty gestures without affection. Love may be the foundation upon which the relationship is built but the girders are affection. This is the constant from that first flirtation, to infatuation, intense passion and long-term love. Leviticus is all about maintaining the loving relationship between God and Israel. Some of the korbanot (offerings) suggest romantic dinners as mentioned above; others are the regular meals that are a major part of any marriage. A number of these offerings are vital to restoring harmony; they represent a way of way of healing a troubled relationship.

In the 1970s best-seller Love Story Erich Segal wrote that "Love means not ever having to say you're sorry." Not so. Vayikra through its focus on ritual purity and offerings teaches that saying and showing you're sorry (through specific sacrifices) is essential to a lasting and loving covenantal relationship.

Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Michal Shekel