Vayikra, the first parshah in Leviticus, opens with the laws of the sacrifices—specifically animal sacrifices—that were offered in the Tabernacle and later the Holy Temples in Jerusalem. In general, the sacrifices are categorized into four types: the Burnt Offering (Olah), the Sin Offering (Chatat), the Guilt Offering (Asham), and the Peace Offering (Shelamim).

Whenever we study about the sin-offering—the sacrifice that was brought to atone for the inadvertent committing of a sin—I am reminded of the adorable story of a rabbi who is walking home from synagogue one Friday night, and through an open window he sees three of his prominent congregants playing cards. He knocks on the door, with no answer. Finding the door unlocked, he enters the house where he discovers a heated card game underway, bets and counter-bets being fervently exchanged, money flying back and forth. Despite his entrance, they barely notice him.

“Gentlemen,” he began in a loud but loving voice, “what’s happening here? Surely, you’ve forgotten that it is Shabbat?”

“Quite frankly, rabbi,” one of them responds, “we remembered.” The others nod in agreement.

“Well then,” the rabbi continues, “surely you’ve forgotten that playing cards is not in the spirit of Shabbat, and it is forbidden to handle money on Shabbat?”

“Quite frankly, rabbi, we remembered that as well,” said the self-appointed spokesman.

Perplexed, the rabbi asks, “Well then, is there anything accidental about this situation?”

“Yes rabbi,” he responds, “We’ve forgotten to draw the drapes!”

Suprarational Connection

When a Jewish child is brought into cheder for the first time, there is a celebration, an inauguration of sorts. One of the main customs at this exciting event involves placing a few drops of honey onto a copy of the opening page of Vayikra and reading the verses with the child, who then licks the honey off the page. Symbolically, this teaches the child that the words of Torah are sweet.

The question naturally arises: Why commence a child’s formal Jewish education with the book of Vayikra, the third of the Five Books of Moses? Why not start at the beginning, with the parshah of Bereishit?

The Midrash explains that the sacrifices are referred to as taharot, “pure” items, and children are pure, so it makes perfect sense for the pure children to begin their studies with these pure items.1

Taking this a step deeper, we note Vayikra’s focus on the irrational—or suprarational—relationship between G‑d and the Jew. The commandment to offer sacrifices is one that transcends understanding. Some opinions suggest that sacrifices were only appropriate in ancient times, when various religions practiced them, and G‑d wanted to offer the Jewish people something similar to the practices of the other nations. Maimonides suggests this in his philosophical treatise, Guide for the Perplexed.2 However, in his halachic works, Maimonides negates this point of view, and writes that in truth the mitzvah of sacrifices is “a law without reason.”3

Sacrifices serve as an expression of the unique, special relationship between G‑d and the Jewish people. Consider this analogy: a woman asks her husband to buy her flowers for a special occasion— her birthday, their anniversary—or perhaps on just an ordinary day.

“Please bring me flowers,” she says.

“What do you need flowers for?” he argues. “Flowers might last two or three days—a week if you’re lucky—and then you put them in the trash. What a waste! Let me buy you something that will last. How about some nice tools, maybe a new screwdriver set. Or a lawn mower. After all, it’s our anniversary! Tools will last forever. We’ll get great use out of a lawn mower. That makes much more sense.”

His wife, though, isn’t impressed. “Listen, if you love me, you’ll buy me flowers. If it doesn’t make sense to you, so be it. But if you care about me, this is what I want.”

Similarly, when G‑d asks for sacrifices, the Jew might start rationalizing, “What do You need it for? You want us to take meat and burn it on the altar? Meat doesn’t grow on trees; it costs money! What do you get from it? Surely G‑d doesn’t enjoy the smell of meat.”

And G‑d says, “Just do it. Do it only because I like it; it brings me a great feeling of nachas – pride and joy in My children.” When G‑d speaks of sacrifices creating “a pleasing aroma,”4 Rashi explains that the word for “pleasing” (“nichoach”) is related to the word “nachas,” and that G‑d is saying, “It’s a delight for me that I commanded and My will was carried out. I ask you to do something, and you do it.”

In essence, sacrifices embody fulfilling G‑d's will out of love and devotion.5

Inner Animal, Sacrificed

No discussion about the symbolism of sacrifices in the teachings of Chassidism can be deemed comprehensive without including perhaps the most popular teaching of all: What we must truly sacrifice is a part ourselves.

The second verse of our portion states, “When a man from you brings a sacrifice to the L‑rd; from animals, from cattle or from the flock you shall bring your sacrifice.”6 At first glance, the syntax seems incorrect. One might expect it to say, “When a man from among you,” rather than “When a man from you.”

However, the precise wording, as explained by the Alter Rebbe, founder of Chabad, is intentional. We are required to sacrifice our own animal—the animal within us. What does the animal soul desire? It wants to eat and drink; it wants to acquire; it wants power; it wants recognition.

Each person knows what their inner animal desires, for not all animal souls are created equal. The Torah informs us that the sacrifice could come from “cattle or from the flock.” Different folks have different kinds of animal souls. Some animal souls are akin to sheep: they are gentle, docile, seeking simple pleasures. Others are akin to bulls—they want nothing to get in their way; they want to control their environment.

We each must take our animal soul, bind it on the altar, and offer it to G‑d.

Further, we find that the most important rituals of animal sacrifice are the sprinkling of the blood and the burning of the fat on the altar. While other steps, such as the actual slaughter, may be performed by a non-priest, for the sacrifice to be considered valid the sprinkling of the blood and burning of the fat must be done by the priest.

In our personal service of G‑d, the blood represents our passions and the fat represents our pleasures—both of which should align with the Divine. Whenever we find ourselves deviating from this mission, we must return to the Altar and offer more sacrifices, ensuring that our passions and pleasures are directed toward a G‑dly purpose.7

The Small Aleph

“Vayikra” translates to “And He called.” G‑d called to Moses.

What does G‑d “calling” to Moses signify? Calling is a term of endearment. It is an expression used by the angels, as noted in the verse from Isaiah, incorporated into the famous Kedusha prayer, “And one [angel] called to the other and said, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the L‑rd of Hosts …’”8

So, G‑d “calls” to Moses as an expression of love. Each time G‑d spoke to Moses or gave him a command, it was preceded by a calling, indicating endearment.

In contrast, when G‑d communicates with the prophets of the other nations, the Torah uses the term “vayikar” which denotes happenstance, accident, and impurity. When G‑d revealed Himself to Balaam, the verse states, “G‑d chanced upon Balaam.”9 Our sages taught that Balaam could have been as great as Moses, but he fell short of his potential. He made some terrible choices. Consequently, G‑d’s communication with him lacked love or personal connection—there was no calling—instead, it simply occurred, almost accidentally.10

“Calling” signifies being part of the plan, partnering with G‑d. “Meeting” implies coincidence; it had to happen, so it did.

The difference between the Hebrew words vayikra and vayikar lies in the letter “alef” at the end of vayikra. In a Torah scroll, some letters are written larger or smaller, in a tradition that goes back to Sinai. The Aleph in vayikra is small.

Rabbi Jacob Ben Asher—the late 13th- and early 14th-century biblical commentator known as the Baal Haturim—explains: Moses, in humility, wanted to write vayikar, indicating G‑d appeared to him only as a chance occurrence. “No,” said G‑d, “the world needs to know I called you with endearment,” instructing him to write the Aleph. Moses insisted, so G‑d agreed: the Aleph must be there, but it can be small.

We’ve discussed the idea that there is a little bit of Moses in each of us. As it relates to this teaching, our inner Moses reminds us that we all have a mission, a part in G‑d’s plan. And it isn’t vayikar—it’s vayikra.

This makes all the difference in the world. This is what Judaism lives and dies by. Life isn’t a series of happenstances; everything is part of the plan. Unfortunately, it’s not always pretty, but there are no random occurrences. We don’t believe in coincidences. Everything happens for a reason.

G‑d has expectations of us. We must utilize every situation, maximizing our connection to G‑d, Torah, mitzvahs, kindness, and goodness.

Never feel like a piece of wood aimlessly floating. We are precisely where we are meant to be, and G‑d, with His little Aleph, endearingly calls out to each of us with an individually tailored Divine plan.

G‑d watches over us and cares for us. We may not always understand what’s happening, but we’re always connected to G‑d, and by virtue of that, nothing in our lives just happens.

A Humble Offering

One of the fundamental rules governing the Mincha sacrifice—an offering of fine flour, olive oil, and frankincense—is that no honey may be included. Rashi clarifies that any fruit extract can be referred to as honey.11

Why the prohibition of “honey”?

Once again we turn to the Baal Haturim,12 who explains that honey acts as a leavening agent when mixed with flour. The Evil Inclination, which may also seem sweet, is reminiscent of leavening.

What does leavening do? It causes dough to rise. It says, “Me, me, me!” Leavening represents arrogance, while matzah—dough without leavening—signifies humility.

The lesson here is you can’t approach the Altar with arrogance. Arrogance is the antithesis of the Altar, and the Altar is the antithesis of arrogance.

The Evil Inclination is a master salesman, and sensing our aversion to arrogance, it attempts to persuade us: “It’s sweet; it’s delicious, it’s fantastic, don’t worry about it. You’ll enjoy it. Just do it.”

Therefore, both leaven and honey are excluded from the Mincha sacrifice, reflecting the deliberate avoidance of arrogance and “sweet-talk” from our personal sacrifice.

Crazy, But Not Dangerous

When my father, Rabbi Sholom B. Gordon, of blessed memory, turned 18, he reported to the U.S. Army. This was during the Second World War, and there was a draft underway. He showed up with a kippah on his head and sporting a full beard, quite an uncommon practice for teens back then. Trying to figure him out, one of the recruiters asked, “Young man, do you go out with girls?”

“Of course not!” he replied.

“Do you go to the movies?” asked the recruiter.

“Of course not!” he replied.

When the man began scribbling notes on his form, my father asked, “Can you please tell me what you are writing?”

“I’m writing my opinion of you,” he replied, “which is somewhat complicated. But here’s my assessment of you in short: crazy, but not dangerous!”

The idea of sacrificing ourselves for a G‑dly purpose is not the norm. “If it feels good, do it,” is much more popular. But we know that there’s a higher purpose and a Divine plan, so we humbly sacrifice our animal souls and direct our passions and pleasures to G‑d, serving him in ways we may not understand, ways that are irrational or suprarational, simply because it gives Him joy.

And if it seems crazy, so be it.

May we merit the arrival of our righteous Moshiach, who will usher in the era of the Ultimate Redemption, and the rebuilding of our Holy Temple—when we will once again offer sacrifices on the altar—may it happen speedily in our days. Amen!