Tzav
Shabbat Hagadol
Leviticus 6:1-8:36
Malachi 3:4-24
The tale is told of a pious man who yearned to learn how to live with great suffering. He sought the counsel of his rebbe, who instructed him to spend time with Reb Yossel, a poor old man who lived in a hovel on the edge of town. The man knew that Reb Yossel had suffered enormous hardship in his life. Born into poverty, he had lost his wife and three children in a plague, he had lost one leg in a terrible accident, and he endured chronic illness. Surely this was a person who knew something about how to withstand suffering.
The man went to see Reb Yossel, ready to engage in conversation. But when he arrived, he saw Reb Yossel struggling with his physical limitations, hurrying to clean every corner of his small home in the time remaining before Pesach. The man instinctively reached out to help, and the two worked companionably late into the night, then fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, the man told Reb Yossel the reason for his visit. Reb Yossel cried out in surprise. “I cannot imagine why the rebbe thought that I would know something about suffering! My life has been so blessed. Every day I awaken to a beautiful world again. Help always comes when I need it the most. I thank God for all that I have. No, my friend, the rebbe flattered me: I have no special knowledge of how to live with pain.”
This week’s parashah enumerates the procedures for the various sacrifices — the olah or daily offering, the minchah or grain offering, the asham and chatat, offerings seeking expiation from guilt and sin. But then the text turns to a description of the zevach hashelamim, the sacrifice of well-being (from the same root as the word shalom, but, curiously, in the plural). (Leviticus 7:11-15)
Tradition has it that this thanksgiving gift was offered when one had been spared from disaster, classically, when one had survived a perilous journey, recovered from a serious illness, been released from prison or been spared potential harm. These same categories were carried forward in Jewish law after the destruction of the Temple, and are now the examples of occasions for reciting the Birkat Hagomel, the blessing spoken during the Torah service by a person who has survived serious danger or illness.
The instructions for the “thank-you” sacrifice include a fascinating detail: “The flesh of the thanksgiving sacrifice of well-being shall be eaten on the day that it is offered; none of it shall be set aside until morning.” (Lev. 7: 15) Rebbe Yitzhak Meir Alter of Ger says that the miracle being celebrated is today’s miracle, and must be savored today, for tomorrow is sure to bring its own miracle.
Really? Surely, waking each morning to a new day is miraculous in an everyday sort of way. But the extraordinary sort of miracle for which one recites Birkat Hagomel — a feared biopsy having come back negative, a terrible accident from which loved ones were mysteriously spared, a safe return home from a war zone — is a rare event, is it not?
But, we must wonder, what would it be like if we carried the Gerer Rebbe’s perspective around with us throughout the day? What if we expected each day to bring its own miracle? Might we see the events of the day differently? Might we interact with others in a different way, never knowing who might be the bearer of today’s miracle?
The Midrash teaches, “In time to come, there will be no sacrifices except for the offering of thanksgiving, and there will be no prayers except for prayers of thanksgiving.” (Leviticus Rabbah 9:7, quoted in Etz Hayim, p. 618) The Midrash imagines a day when all of our offerings will be gifts of thanksgiving. Is that because in the world-to-come that the Midrash describes, there will be no pain or suffering? Or is it a vision of a time when more of us will be like Reb Yossel, knowing so deeply that gifts are hidden everywhere, that this perspective will become our primary experience of life, so that prayers of thanksgiving will always be on our lips?
A life like this is available to us all, regardless of external circumstances. We can live this way today, if we but turn our hearts toward thanksgiving.
Amy Eilberg, a Conservative rabbi, is a spiritual counselor in private practice.