Let Us Draw Near

Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1-6:7

David Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA

The entire system of sacrifices in Leviticus is about nearness to God. This is evident in the opening verses of our parasha, Vayikra. The Hebrew root ק-ר-ב is the root of both “brings near” (yakriv) and “offering” (korban). The phrase “presents an offering” (yakriv korban) has a poetic repetition better captured in Everett Fox’s translation, “brings near a near-offering.”

The opening word, Vayikra, “He called,” also connotes invitation and intimacy. Jewish commentators point out that this personal invitation to Moses comes immediately after the end of Exodus, where the cloud of Hashem’s presence so fills the Temple that Moses cannot enter (Exod 40:35)! As R. Aviva Richman points out, being prevented from entering the Mishkan must have been a blow to Moses, making the personal invitation of Vayikra that much sweeter.

The traditional view of the korbanot, or sacrifices, is that, bereft of a Temple in which to offer them, we are in a state of long-term galut, or exile. Even when we have a Jewish nation in the land of Israel, our inability to resume the sacrifices leaves us separated from God, unable to draw close, and in a state of unending ritual impurity.

Certainly this is true on some level. Without the Temple our people are scattered and fractured, and ways that people draw close to the Creator proliferate beyond number. On the other hand, the besorah of Yeshua implies that the situation is not so bleak:

Therefore, brothers and sisters, we have boldness to enter into the Holies by the blood of Yeshua. He inaugurated a new and living way for us through the curtain—that is, His flesh. We also have a Kohen Gadol over God’s household. So let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and body washed with pure water. (Heb 10:19-22, TLV)

The model of the korbanot is one where we participate as partners with God in maintaining the relationship. Our parasha starts with God calling to Moses, but it immediately follows with “when anyone of you brings an offering to Adonai” (v. 2). You may have noticed that many of the details of the building of the Mishkan appear twice: once when God commands and another time when Moses (or the artisans) actually do the work. Accordingly, the author of Hebrews does not stop at what Yeshua does as Kohen Gadol (High Priest) for us, but continues with the same theme as our parasha: “So let us draw near.”

But in this time of galut, when even our flawed status quo is shaken and the structures and systems we (mistakenly?) relied upon are showing their weakness, what do we do? How do we draw near?

Prayer: continuing the sacrifices

When the Temple was destroyed our sages first turned to prayer as a way to draw near. Regular prayer times were already in place before the Temple’s destruction (e.g. Acts 3:1), so it was a small step to establish the three daily services, shacharit, mincha, and maariv, based on the sacrificial schedule.

There is a natural tendency to turn prayer into something that serves our needs, rather than bringing it as a gift. This tendency to be a taker instead of a giver is a temptation in any relationship—and usually a destructive one. Once prayer becomes truly a relational act that contains both giving and receiving, it will draw us nearer to our Creator. As it says, “Adonai is near (karov) to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth” (Psa 145:18).

Shabbat: build the Mishkan in time

R. Abraham Joshua Heschel famously described the Shabbat as “a sanctuary in time” (The Sabbath, p. 29). While Moses and Aaron, Betzalel and Oholiav built the Mishkan in the desert with various types of labor, we all build this sanctuary each week by desisting from those same types of labor.

It is not a rest for our health (though it may be healthy!), as much as a boundary like that around the Mishkan that Moses set up before the presence of Hashem filled it (Ex. 40:33). We create a space for holiness by distinguishing the day, putting boundaries around it.

When we have guests stay over, I need to move my computers, guitars, and assorted books from the guest room so they have a comfortable place to stay. So we make room for God’s presence on Shabbat, and allow his presence to draw near.

Kehilah: let’s do it together

Without Kehilat Israel, the congregation of Israel, the Mishkan is never built. Note that when God commands Moses, “Have them make a Sanctuary for me,” it is not “so that I may dwell in it,” but rather, “so that I may dwell among them” (Ex. 25:8, emphasis added). Each Israelite having a shrine in their own tent doesn’t work; the building must be done together.

In this modern life it’s easy (or at least easier) to forget that we are social animals, built to be deeply interdependent on one another. Much of Western thought considers a human as a free-floating individual, but that is its great flaw: human life is defined by relationships. Anything meaningful we do will be shaped and enabled by the communities we live in, whatever shape that may take.

Kehilah, community, also gives us endless opportunities to love others. As R. Jonathan Sacks reminded us, sacrifice is best understood as an expression of love. Yeshua’s sacrifice demonstrates the depth of God’s love for us; his teaching makes it clear that loving God and loving your neighbor are not simply the most important commandments, they are interdependent, mutually reinforcing. What, then, could be more important than living lives of sacrifice, love, and mutual commitment?

Mussar: work out your salvation with fear and trembling

R. Yisrael Salanter compared mussar study, study of the classic Jewish texts on inner change and ethics, with the mincha offering (Ohr Yisrael, Letter 12; see Lev 2). Why does this comparison make sense?

R. Salanter saw that religious life was deeply compromised if it was purely external. Today most religious leaders treat as axiomatic that character matters, but few of us have truly mastered the disciplines that develop character. The issues, individual and societal, that motivated R. Salanter to innovate practices of mussar still persist. As a result, many times our communities must rely on new members who have not had the time and mentorship to develop into healthy contributors. The mussar tradition provides tools for the renovation of our inner selves, strengthening our families and communities, drawing us all nearer each other, and to God.

In the end it’s not overly complicated, but neither is it easy. The service of the Mishkan is not tangential, but is fundamental to our spiritual life together. R. Eliezer Melamed sums it up beautifully:

Even though there is a big difference in status between the Mishkan and the rest of the world, in reality the whole world is meant to be a Mishkan, that is, a place where the Shekhina (Divine Presence) can dwell. Consequently, all of man’s labor must be connected to the crafting of the Mishkan… Therefore one must orient all his actions toward the greater glory of God—in the field or in the factory, while engaged in scientific research or in business, all in order to improve the world and perfect it, until it reaches its ultimate purpose of being a Mishkan for the Shekhina. (Peninei Halakha: Laws of Shabbat, vol. 1).

So even without the sacrifices, the scope of our participation has not shrunk, but grown! This is the meaning of Hebrews inviting us to enter—in boldness!—the very place we were once kept from, the Most Holy Place. Further, while the original Mishkan was built once and then completed, we can participate in its building and rebuilding every day: living lives of prayer, Shabbat, and mitzvot as people of humility, faith and character. Thus may we draw near to God that God may, in mercy, draw near to us.