Ki Tissa: Sin is Real

"Sin" makes us squirm.  The word itself makes people uncomfortable.  Perhaps that is why we hear - and say- the word so infrequently.  If someone uses the word "sin" in general conversation the reaction is either to label them a "fundamentalist Bible thumper" or smirk.
While sin may be forgiven (the good part) it is by definition wrong, it is evil (the hard part).  It is difficult to get comfortable with such dichotomies.
Most folks would rather dismiss evil as "misplaced " or "misguided" or plain bad judgment.  That is why we will often hear people like Hitler described as "sick."  When someone is sick there is a cure.  It is in a sense, forgivable because there is a remedy.  Sometimes it can be made better by drugs or psychotherapy.  Evil, on the other hand, implicitly holds that there are no mitigating circumstances or meaningful excuses.
We have developed a certain sophistication which allows us to avoid calling anything sinful.
I have heard that Eskimos have many different words for snow; as many as seventy, I have been told.  Makes sense.  If snow is such an integral part of their lives they have to recognize what different sorts of snow mean and how it can be used.
In English there are not many words for sin (transgression is one that Jews often use.  It sounds cleaner, somehow, doesn't it?)  The lack of synonyms for sin points to our discomfort with the word and idea.  In Hebrew there are several words for sin.  One means a conscious sin.  Another denotes an unwitting sin.  And yet another is a sin where we tried to do the right thing but it came out wrong.   There are more.
Way back in the beginning of time, there is a portrayal of sin, poised and ready to sink its teeth into the flesh of humanity (take a look at Genesis 4:7).  In Judaism there is no such thing as "original sin;" there is only the potential to cause evil.  In no other life form that we know is there that potential.  There is no morality in nature, only in people.  So we learn from his passage that sin does not exist until it is realized by a person.
The Parasha, Ki Tissa, correlates God's commands (mitzvot) with the possibility of rejecting them. "Oh, this people have sinned.  They have sinned a great sin." (32:32).  These are Moses' words as he asked for forgiveness for the evil committed by the Israelites.

Let's be clear: God establishes categories of good (mitzvot) and evil (sin).  Ignoring the mitzvot is wrong and leads to sin.  Humanity has always had a hard time admitting that, because the zeitgeist of every era pushes us to make excuses for sin with any number of sophisticated psychological devices.
In the Talmud, Rav Sheshet occasionally fasted for his sins.  After he completed his self-imposed fast he would pray, "Master of all words, when the Holy Temple existed and we sinned we used to bring a korban (sacrifice).  Its flesh and blood would be our forgiveness.  Now we have no Temple.  It lies in ashes.  We have no korban to bring to You.  So, may it be Your will that my flesh and blood which has resisted food be a korban before You."
What Rav Sheshet understood was that we become better people when we acknowledge and own the pain, suffering and evil we have introduced to the world.  Only then can we rise above it.

The finest people I have met in my life are the ones who take their actions seriously and feel personal pain when they have sinned.  These are the people I choose to be around for they continue to strive for goodness and wholeness.
I once asked a group of children in Hebrew School if it was legal to drive at 56 miles per hour.  They were unanimous in their response, "Yes."  I went on to tell them while they might not be ticketed for driving one mile an hour over the speed limit, the police still have the right to issue a ticket for breaking the law.  Children learn at an early age to excuse bad behavior through rationalization rather than taking personal responsibility.  I know where they got it from.
Inasmuch as we believe there is goodness we must also believe in its opposite.
Reb Menachem Mendel said, "To fear punishment is nothing.  What we must fear is sin."

Tzav: Forgiveness and Return

An anomaly: The fire on the mizb’ach, Tabernacle, was fed from heaven and earth at once. Commanded by Torah was to have three fires continually burning there. Each was fed by the dual sources. What is the point of tending an earthly fire when a heavenly fire is doing the same thing? Is that not redundant? Why not just have heavenly flames consume the sacrifice?

Compounding the problem, the kohane – the officiant at the miz’bach -- was also charged with the responsibility of stoking the flames. He had to add new wood to the pyre to keep it burning hot. This takes an already nonsensical issue and makes it even odder. Why was it necessary for the kohane to keep adding wood? They could spend more productive time elsewhere doing other things.

The ancient ones said that there are two moments in our lives that require God’s rapt attention. In fact, they go further by revealing that these two moments are more rigorous and taxing than the Splitting of the Sea. What are they? Connecting people to their livelihoods and to their spouses is a greater miracle than the part of the Sea!

Is it strange that in the process of obtaining a good job or finding a mate God rarely enters into the verbal picture? How many people thank HaShem that they found a good paying position? How often do we hear that a person praises God for finding their counterpart? The usual reaction to these life-changing situations is utter joy and self-congratulations. It is almost unheard to find a person praise God for such events.

For unanticipated events of life it is not unusual to hear the cry of “Oh my God!” On the other hand, for the blessings of life it is unusual to hear, “Thank God.” Human propensity is to take pride in our personal actions and heap the rest upon God.

The Torah recognizes that it is instinctual is to take credit for our accomplishments. Even if the Sea parts before our eyes we must have had something to do with it!

Is it really odd then that the kohane was charged with adding fuel to the burning fires of the mizb’ach? Is it strange that the kohane had the ongoing responsibility to stoke the flames despite the heavenly intervention?

While recognizing our human weakness Torah also seeks to gently point out to us the value of humility. The kohane brings fire to fire, a nearly useless exercise that teaches a profound lesson: All that we possess is a gift. The power that we exercise today is like fleeting vapor in the breadth of the universe.

Baruch HaShem for the newly sprouted buds on trees.
Baruch HaShem for the grass.
Baruch HaShem for our food.
Baruch HaShem for our light.
Baruch HaShem for companionship.
Baruch HaShem for our legacy.
Baruch HaShem for our job.
Baruch HaShem for our spouse.

As the siddur teaches us, “even our dominion over beasts is an illusion.”

*

So much of Vayikra, the previous parsha, and this week contain similar information. They are both full of the regulations of the sacrifices. At first blush it seems pretty repetitive. There is, however, one striking difference between the parshiot. Last week there was no mention of Aaron at all! How could this be? Is not Aaron integral to the whole sacrificial rites?

According to a midrash, Moshe was carefully combing through the holy Text when he noticed that his brother, Aaron, was not mentioned once in the entire portion. All that the parasga Vayikra stated was a mention of the “sons of Aaron.” Moshe turned to God and questioned Him.

“Can it be that You hate the well but not the water that flows from it?” Moshe was really asking the Lord how He could turn His Face from Aaron while embracing his sons.

Moshe rightly assumed that the absence of the name of Aaron from last week was intentional. After all, Aaron was involved in the creation of the Golden Calf. His participation - however reluctant - was still sinful. True, Aaron had repented. Yet only God knows the inner workings of the heart. Perhaps his teshuva was incomplete.

Moral? Rambam reveals the final stage of teshuva, a full repentance, is when a person changes their inner self. So complete is this teshuva the person has moved to a higher level of being so that the sin is now so repugnant it is unthinkable. Until this stage is reached repentance is incomplete. Was Aaron not yet there? Is that why his name was conspicuously absent?

Moshe suspected that his brother was not forgiven. “Can it be that You hate the well but not the water that flows from it?” he begged God to forgive.

“For your sake it is done,” the Holy One responded.

In the second pasuk of this parasha this week, HaShem says, “Command Aaron and his sons saying..." The forgiveness is complete.

Idea: A primary reason many of the mitzvot are reiterated this week is for the sake of Aaron. Last week the Israelite nation learned about the mizb’ach and their relationship to God. Now, the actors of the rites, Aaron and his progeny are told in great detail how to effect those sacrifices.

*

Imagine how it looked: The sin offering was given when a person did something wrong. The Jew then brought an animal to the mizb’ach as an act of contrition. They had seen in their heart they had done wrong. It was time to make amends.

In the same place at the altar another Jew would bring an olah, a simple gift to God. When their heart would open up and desire to bring an offering out of love they would come to the exact place by the mizb’ach as the one would had committed a sin.

As the two Jews would come to the same location at the mizb’ah to offer a gift or bring an expiation of their sin, no one could tell which one they brought to God. No one would know who was guilty and who was jubilant.

Moral? The respect we give to other people is paramount. We must avoid humiliating people at all cost.