Sacrificial Lambs
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ANIMALS have been on my mind lately. First, there
has been so much in the news about the moral
dilemmas of cloning. Then there are the frightening
reports of how mad cow and foot-and-mouth
diseases are taking on plague-like proportions in
Europe, complete with gruesome photos of
carcasses being burned in huge piles. Maybe that,
and the anticipation of Torah reading of Leviticus
over the next two months, starting this Sabbath,
with its detailed descriptions of how animals were
to be sacrificed in the Temple, got me thinking about what meaning
animals have, dead or alive, in our lives.
I am not what you would call an animal lover. I never had a pet — my
mother wouldn’t hear of it. Actually, when I was about 7, a neighbor
offered us a cute newborn puppy and my brother and I pleaded with
our parents to let us take it in. My mother said she would compromise
— we could have two goldfish instead.
It wasn’t what my brother and I were hoping for, and on the first night
with our new fish, in my well-meaning zeal to be generous, I poured
the whole box of flaky fish food into the bowl. That’s a no-no. The next
morning I learned that goldfish eat as much as you feed them, and
these two poor critters had burst. What a shame — and mess. Since
then my relationship with animals has been confined to either eating
them — primarily chickens, turkeys and parts of cows — or fearing
them (just about any type I couldn’t eat).
I never gave much thought to the moral issues of eating meat. At
some point when I was a young adult, I read an essay suggesting that
the highest form of observing the kosher laws was vegetarianism, since such behavior
showed respect for and concern with the sanctity of the Creator's creatures.
It made sense, but at our Sabbath table we sang zmiros, or songs,
that celebrated the tradition of eating “meat and fish, and all
delicacies” on the Sabbath. And the Torah makes it clear that although
animals must be treated humanely and cannot be inflicted with
unnecessary pain, they — at least those that qualify as kosher — can
be eaten and otherwise utilized by man for enjoyment and
sustenance.
Much of Leviticus deals with karbanos, or animal sacrifices (from the
Hebrew word karav, or draw near) meant to atone for certain sins, or
to express gratitude, or as a means of prayer.
The first sacrifices mentioned in the Torah take place in the story of
Cain, Adam and Eve’s son, a farmer who offers up to G-d the fruit of
the soil. His brother Abel, a shepherd, offers up the choicest of his
flock. G-d is pleased with Abel’s offering because it is given with a full
heart. Cain’s subsequent jealousy leads to history’s first murder, and
the lesson, through G-d’s punishment of Cain, that we are obligated
to respect and care for each other.
Other biblical heroes in Genesis, beginning with Noah after surviving
the Flood, have occasions to show their gratitude to G-d by offering
animal sacrifices.
Perhaps the best known sacrifice is that of the paschal lamb on
Passover, which we will commemorate and re-enact next week at the
seder, recalling G-d’s command for every member of the Children of
Israel to participate in a meal that unifies the Jewish people, even until
today. Why a lamb? Apparently because the Egyptians worshipped
sheep, and G-d’s command was intended to teach that there is no
other deity but G-d.
In the Holy Temple, animal sacrifices were the primary means for the
Jewish people to worship G-d. After the Second Temple was
destroyed, prayer was introduced to replace the sacrifices, and Jewish
scholars debate whether, in the end of days when the Messiah comes,
we will return to animal sacrifices in the rebuilt Third Temple. Some,
most notably Maimonides, the 12th-century codifier, believed that
animal sacrifices denote a primitive stage of religious expression and
development permitted by G-d as a compromise to the Jews since
other religions employed human sacrifices. In this view, animal
sacrifices were meant to wean the people away from other forms of
idolatry.
But others, including Nachmanides, a 13th-century scholar, assert that
the rituals of the biblical sacrifices have deep moral and spiritual
meaning and are the ultimate form of prayer.
Even those of us, products of modern Western culture, who may grow
queasy over the detailed descriptions of animal sacrifices as primitive
and unnecessarily violent, come away from the reading of Leviticus
with a sense of awe. As Leon Wieseltier writes in his essay on
Leviticus in “Congregation: Contemporary Writers Read the Jewish
Bible,” the Jew today longs for the reality and immediacy of the Divine
fire that consumes the priests’ sacrifice. (“And there came a fire out
from before the L-rd and consumed upon the altar the burnt offering
and the fat: which all the people saw, they shouted, and fell on their
faces,” the last verse of Chapter 9.) That matter-of-fact description
epitomizes the encounter between man and G-d; it is G-d’s tangible
acknowledgment of man’s fulfillment of the commandments and rituals.
I don’t claim to understand the deeper meanings of such sacrifices or
to predict whether they will ever be part of our tradition again. But I
can appreciate Judaism’s respect for all forms of life. The Torah’s
prohibition against overburdening the ox or taking a baby bird from the
nest, out of empathy for the mother, are but two examples of
extraordinary sensitivity. And while I admire those who eschew eating
meat for ethical reasons, it seems to me that Judaism’s allowance of
such consumption, within the confines of the kosher laws, is our religion’s way
of teaching us the practical and ethical balance between mistreating
and glorifying animals. Man is the superior species, yes, but he is
charged with the obligations of morality.
It’s an important lesson, particularly now when we are on the
threshold of new scientific advancements that may alter creation itself.
Judaism reminds us that whatever heights we strive for must be
grounded in protecting all living creatures against pain, hunger or
Jewish World Review March 29, 2001 / 5 Nissan 5761
By Gary Rosenblatt
Gary Rosenblatt is a Editor and Publisher of
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