Tzav.25: Wood for the Fire

Wood for the Fire: Tzav

Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

April 16, 2025

Leviticus, the third book of the Torah, seems to have a double focus: the first is on the duties of  the Levitical priests; the other is on the everyday behavior of the rest of the people. There is nothing “ordinary” about the duties of the priests: sacrifices to God involved a great deal of preparation and attention. That’s understandable. Additionally however, what’s remarkable in this book is the great emphasis that it places on the everyday behavior of the average individual, be it at home, on the street or at the workplace. 

A common theme runs through both narratives: attention to detail. Carelessness never pays off. When offering sacrifices, mistakes may result in disaster. Among ourselves, peace and accord depend on our behavior and how we go about living our lives.

But—and this is typical for the way the Torah works and teaches its lessons—there is a more sublime message that can be perceived in this week’s portion, Tzav (“Command,” Lev. 6:1—8:36). There really is no double focus: Our personal interactions and our relationship with God are actually not different or separate. Rather, they form a continuum. God’s work can be discerned wherever we look; so too with us. Our work, the work of our hands, leaves an imprint not only on our own lives, but also on the life of the world around us.

In the first part of Tzav, we learn more about the types of sacrifices and how they are to be offered (this continues the list of sacrifices begun in last week’s portion). The second part picks up with where we had previously left off in the storyline. Now that the work of the construction of the Tabernacle is finally completed, Aaron and his sons are to be ordained as priests, clothed in the special priestly garb and anointed with the sacred oil. Next, they must offer an “ordination sacrifice” on their own behalf, and finally they must sit at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting for seven days, forming a human bridge between God and the Congregation, between the holy and the ordinary.

Following the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple in 70 CE, the role of the priests has become limited and mostly symbolic. After the reading of the Torah on Shabbat and the holy days (most spectacularly on the holidays of pilgrimage known as Shalosh Regalim), the Kohanim offer a blessing known as the Priestly Benediction (Numbers 6:24-26). It is a symbolic gesture, yet one that still carries the same significance: to form a bridge between the sacred and the profane.

This teaching, the holy connection between God and humanity, is found in every aspect of Judaism. This week, as we celebrate Passover and with the Haggadah still fresh in our minds, we recall that it wasn’t only God who brought about the miracle of our Redemption. True, the Haggadah assiduously avoids mentioning Moses; yet the very absence of the man who stood up to Pharaoh and delivered God’s message only serves to underscore his vital role. And there were others: Pharaoh’s daughter, who in adopting Moses, clearly a Hebrew boy, defied her own father; the women who supported and buoyed their husbands’ flagging spirit and strength; the Hebrew midwives, who refused to participate in the killing of Jewish babies; and so many others who played a role in the slave rebellion. 

Perhaps the purpose of the omission of all these heroes was to emphasize the power of God’s hand (and the rabbis spare no detail in describing what that was like). But while the Haggadah itself is all about the first Passover, the one we reenact every year, it also offers a course of action for all the rest of us throughout our generations, past, present and future.

“In each and every generation, each one of us must see ourselves as though we ourselves had come out of Egypt.”

How do we do that? There were times when this teaching was more than a suggestion. During the Holocaust, finding flour to bake matzah turned the distant memory into a painful reality. No maror was needed to produce bitter tears. But today? Even though today we see tyrants once again rising and threatening to annihilate us; even though we see antisemitism, that ancient scourge, escalating menacingly like a dark and frightening tide; yet still, despite all that, almost of us find the wherewithal to conduct a joyous Seder, to eat matzah along with bitter herbs, sing  songs of wonderment and praise, and eat delicious meals made with careful attention to detail and tradition. But is that “Dayenu,” enough?

There were days when a bare minimum was sufficient to fulfill the Hagaddah’s teaching. “Pesach, matzah and maror,” ruled Rabban Gamliel, grandson of the great Hillel and a leading first-century rabbinic authority in his own right. 

Today, however, we need more. 

Our Torah portion provides us with a clue: In Lev. 6:5 (6:12 in English translations including the King James) we read: “The fire burning on the altar must not be allowed to go out. The priest must kindle wood upon it every morning.” The Rabbis’ interpretation of this verse is found in the Talmud (Eruvin 63a): “Although fire descends from Heaven, it is nonetheless a mitzvah to bring ordinary fire.”

With no Temple or High Priest, no altar or sacrifices, the message is now intended for us, the ordinary folks. It isn’t the priest, but rather WE who must bring provide wood for the fire “every morning.” It is now our responsibility, eternally linked with that of God. God provides the fire; we provide the wood. We have become the bridge between the sacred and the profane.

The thing about that joyful and memorable Seder song, Dayenu, is that it is ongoing. God’s miracles accrue: God has brought us out of Egypt, parted the Red Sea for us, given us the Torah, given us the Sabbath… and so much more. In the song, our response to each of these gifts comes in one word: Dayenu! “It would have been enough!” But the commandment to “see ourselves as though we ourselves had come out of Egypt,” calls for more. It’s up to us to keep the fire going. Today we do that through observing Commandments, by studying our texts and delving into our rich heritage, and by pursuing the ideals and values we took upon ourselves thousands of years ago.

It's a continuum, an ongoing story in which God calls and we respond, each in our own, unique way, each one of us a priest responsible for maintaining the fire of holiness in the life of the world.

© 2025 by Boaz Heilman