When the Fire is "Divine"

This article can be seen at the Jewish Star

Parshat Vayikra: Musings on Sacrificial Offerings

The first three parashot in Vayikra are always a challenge to read, and even more so to teach. How can we honestly appreciate a system we do not have, which seems so far removed from the society and culture we experience daily? Even yeshivas skip the tractates that deal most primarily with these topics because they are largely irrelevant to our current day-to-day existence.

Most of us are happy to believe that meat, like produce, grows in the supermarket, and is best when purchased on sale and barbecued right away. I am sure that with the exception of zoos (notably petting zoos) and the small pets some have in their homes, the closest most of us ever get to large animals is at the circus or when driving through the Catskills (insert relatively local farm-country road here).

And don’t even talk to me about how the meat really got to the supermarket refrigerator. And I don’t want to know which part of the animal is the source of “tongue,” which I so enjoy.

Nonetheless, once upon a time, sacrifices and offerings were part of our daily rituals, and blood and animal innards were transported around the area of the mizbe’ach (altar) for appropriate pourings, sprinklings, disposal and/or burning. And it is a return to these ways that we pray for whenever we ask G-d to rebuild Jerusalem and His holy house.

With this background and with an eye to a future date of sacrificial offerings, let us turn our attention to the middle of the description of the first offering, when we are told that, post cutting the animal and preparing it to be completely burned, “Aaron’s sons shall place fire on the altar, and arrange wood on the fire.” (1:7)

Which one is put on first? Fire or wood? Are they supposed to bring their own fire? Isn’t G-d supposed to provide the fire? What is this verse coming to teach us?

The Talmud (Eiruvin 63a) teaches us that Nadav and Avihu eventually made a simple calculation from which we learn that a student should not decide halakha when his teacher is available to be asked. They thought “Even though the fire comes down from the heavens, there is still a mitzvah for a kohen to bring fire from an outside source.” When they brought fire on their own initiative in Vayikra chapter 10, their choice proved fatal since they had not asked Moshe how to resolve the divine fire versus human fire contradiction (there are other suggestions, as well, as to why they died at that time).

Let us not misunderstand. The Talmud (Yoma 21b) makes it quite clear that there is fire from G-d and there is fire that humans contribute to the mizbe’ach. As such, their ruling was correct, albeit flawed in that they came to it of their own accord and without consulting with their teacher.

But where does the humanly contributed fire come from? The Talmud Yoma 45a says it was to be kindled on top of the mizbe’ach. It did not come from a different source — they would presumably rub wood together or use whatever other means in order to ignite the fire.

Rav Saadiah Gaon points out that while Nadav and Avihu were correct that they could make their own fire contribution, they erred in thinking that any fire could be used. They brought an “Aish zarah” — a strange fire — as opposed to one that belonged atop the mizbe’ach. In other words, they learned their lesson, but they did not pay attention to the fine details, the nuances in the words of the Torah.

Many of us do this all the time. When we care enough to know a halakha, we too often assume we know what we are doing because we’ve experienced similar situations before. In some cases we may be right. But in some cases, the facts may be different, or the nuances of the rulings may not apply from one case to the other, in which case we are only deceiving ourselves.

While I do not believe we should be turning to rabbis to help us make all the minute decisions of our lives, I do believe that halakhic decisions that are not timely (timely, as in matters of immediate life and death) would generally benefit from an open and real conversation with a rabbi (or otherwise learned person) that includes opening up primary texts and learning from the original sources.

To answer our question with a metaphor, had Aharon’s sons followed the prescription of lighting the “fire” first, they would have been able to use the “wood” to further fuel their curiosity, so they could arrive at appropriate conclusions with greater clarity.