Priests, Sacrifices, and Lepers: How the Book of Leviticus Speaks to Us Today

As we begin reading the Book of Leviticus, thoughts often arise: This is very complex. How is this related to our lives? These are the desires of Hashem, the commandments, and the studying of Torah, yet it still feels distant to many of us.

The truth is, Leviticus is incredibly close to us. It addresses our lives, here and now.

We face so many challenges in our lives, both on a personal and national level. That is why it's so important to remember what the Torah teaches us: We weren't created to suffer. Humans were brought into a world devoid of conflict, where abundance reigned, and they could multiply without pain or hardship, diseases or the threat of death. They were also capable of recognizing their Creator, who revealed Himself regularly. This isn't just the "story of creation" but the aspiration embedded within us. It represents the image of complete and peaceful life designed for us.

The life we know today, a constant struggle against scarcity and nature's forces, the challenges of reproduction, childbirth, and raising children amidst dangers and illnesses - these are the consequences of a curse rooted in mankind's sin. It's the hiding of Hashem's face from humanity.

Our Creator once again revealed Himself at Mount Sinai, providing His people with tranquility and abundance akin to Eden, albeit temporarily. The constant and enduring revelation is what Leviticus describes. It begins with Hashem's call to Moses from the Tent of Meeting, as the connection and renewal stemming from the giving of the Torah commenced with Moses reaching a level of dialogue with Hashem, face to face, as in the Garden of Eden. The cherubim guarding Eden open their wings to allow Moses to speak with the Divine, transitioning a single revelation into a continuous one.

From that moment in Leviticus 1:1, where Hashem calls to Moses from the Tent of Meeting, an enduring revelation begins, a proximity where following His decrees enables a return to Eden, the Garden of Hashem, where physical abundance is just an external marker, with spiritual connection to Hashem its deeper essence. Moses communicates to Israel (speaking of "when any of you bring an offering") how to leave behind the sin that brought the curse, by serving Hashem and obeying His statutes. This worship cannot merely stem from self-will, like the offerings of other nations to their gods. For Israel's offering to be as pleasing as Abel's, not rejected like Cain's, their hearts and minds must be prepared to offer worthy sacrifices, continually drawing nearer to Hashem.

Moses first prepares the priests to approach the cherubim's location, a realm beyond measure, untouched by nature's reach, so they can continually sustain the revelation of divine presence across all generations until complete redemption is achieved through devoted closeness to Hashem. Yet, even now, as not everyone among Adam's descendants was chosen, nor among Noah’s and Abraham's descendants, similarly within Aaron's descendants, only a part can be close to holiness and remain alive. However, unlike earlier ones distanced by sin, Aaron's sons erred in excessive proximity. Adam tasted the fruit similar to wine, Noah faltered with the vine, and Aaron's sons entered intoxicated, ignoring proximity laws.

Here, Hashem teaches us that to truly and properly draw near to Him, and to rectify all curses afflicting nature and mankind, we must learn the work of creation, to resemble the Creator. Just as creation relied on differentiation—between light and darkness, waters above and below, each day distinct from another—so must humanity discern between the impure and pure, between what taints the soul and what sanctifies. Animals passed before Adam for him to differentiate and understand their nature, and Noah distinguished between the impure and pure. However, they did not pass this sense of sacred preservation to their descendants, essential for divine revelation.

Impure are those akin to the cursed serpent, slithering on their belly, consuming and devouring as it does. Opposite them are the creatures of cloven hooves, grazers preparing their food through re-chewing, living in harmony without preying on one another, as in Eden. Hence, the serpent, crocodile, and leviathan have no place in Hashem's future garden.

Impure is what originates from a domain disconnected from sacred life, stemming from the curse over woman, the toil and conception leading into the realm of death, caused by the serpent. Even the leper, wandering like Cain, marked, must wait—if you do well, you will be uplifted. The escape from the impurity of corpses comes through creation's separation, as the Creator divided sea from land, calling gathered waters "seas." Exiting from action's land into the purifying mikvah's waters cleanses. So we can live with the curse, without succumbing. Through this differentiation, we edge closer to rectifying the curse.

The constant bond between man and woman, without restriction or shame, brought about the primordial transgression born from them. The correction lies in marital separation—determining whom one may marry—and also discerning times in conjugal life, where every natural change, reminiscent of the curse, requires renewed separation and purification.

Holiness grips humanity, created on the sixth day. Purity or impurity can only affect those created on this day. Spiritual impurity affects those born from the fifth day, while the third day's creation cannot breed impurity. Though distant from humans, there is an eternal spark connected to Hashem, and the land-based commandments clarify its role.

The changing seasons are the result of Adam's curse, and when he gathers and stores, the toiling curse halts, allowing him to rest, like his Creator, at creation’s end, akin to man in early Eden. During the holidays, humans partake of Eden's fruits, where wood and fruit share flavors, remembering Hashem’s blessing, even recalling the edenic mist rising from the earth, leading towards an eternal Shabbat.

All these holiness laws will transform the land into Eden, a dwelling for divine presence, laying the groundwork for global rectification. But their transgression invites expulsion, just like mankind's exile from Eden, with intensified curses returning. Thus, the Sinai covenant reflects the Eden covenant.

The assertion "For the land is Mine" is the essence of holiness Torah. In an exquisite garden with all needs addressed, one acknowledges there's an Owner to whom the garden belongs, and that nothing truly belongs to man in this garden where he is an invited guest; certainly, he cannot seize slaves, nor worry over provisions. Someone cares for all his needs. When humanity recognizes this, living in such knowledge, tending and preserving the earth, the land will truly transform into Hashem's garden.

And since this is evident to the soul of every Jewish person, mirroring our reality, no revelation is greater than this.

Adam received two commandments: a positive one—"be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it," and a prohibitive one—not to consume the visually desirable fruit, simply because it's forbidden. To this day, these directives fuel contention and division globally: Should we refrain from what our heart desires just because it’s commanded? Do we have a duty to establish families, multiply, and conquer the earth, or, inversely, to worship the earth and limit ourselves?

These two questions are interconnected: Earthly beings perceive divinity in nature and its forces; thus, they mix with nature, worship, and fear it. Spiritual beings view divinity beyond nature, believing the path to approach it involves neither entanglement with nor fear of nature, rather to master it and fill the earth with knowledge. Consequently, the correlation between nature worship and desecration of sanctity persists, as in Nimrod's and Pharaoh's times. Only Leviticus stands between them and us, offering shelter.