Shemini - Narnia and the Vilna Gaon: On Choosing Literature for our Children

My eleven year old daughter has recently been reading the classic Narnia series by C. S. Lewis. I asked her if she had finished the first book, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and, after confirming that she had, I went on to inform her that C. S. Lewis was a Christian theologian, and that the Narnia series is heavily based on Christianity. In particular, I told her that Aslan, the "Lion" of the title, is actually intended to represent Jesus, that his death on the Stone Table is intended to represent the crucifixion of Jesus, and that his return to life is intended to represent the resurrection of Jesus.

Unsurprisingly, my daughter was not pleased to learn these things. In fact, she was somewhat distraught, saying that she didn't want to read a Christian book. While I certainly understood why this bothered her, I told her that the Christian elements were there whether she knew it or nor, and that she was better off knowing they were there than not. In fact, as the conversation developed, I pointed out that all non-Jewish fiction includes problematic elements of non-Jewish thinking, even when they are not explicitly religious. (This is also true for a great deal of "Jewish" fiction, including many of the books published by Orthodox publishers.) On the contrary, the most problematic literature is precisely that literature where the problematic elements are subtle and inconspicuous. When you read a book with an obvious agenda, you instinctively raise your guard and you challenge the assumptions and assertions in the text that endorse that agenda. But when the agenda is not obvious to the casual reader (as in the Narnia series), and even more so when the book truly has no agenda (because the author takes these premises for granted), then our guard is lowered and we are much more likely to accept the ideological, moral, cultural, and religious premises of the author without even realizing that we are being influenced.

This idea is alluded to in a teaching of the Vilna Gaon (פנינים משלחן הגר"א) in connection to the signs of a kosher animal. In Leviticus 11, the Torah tells us that a kosher animal must have two signs, it must have split hooves and it must chew its cud. The Torah then identifies four species that have only one sign, and which are therefore not kosher:

But, of the animals that chew their cud or that have split hooves, you shall not eat the following: the camel, because it chews its cud but does not have split hoves, is unclean to you. And the hyrax, because it chews its cud but does not have split hoves, is unclean to you. And the hare, because it chews its cud but does not have split hoves, is unclean to you. And the pig, because it has split hooves, and is cloven-footed, but does not chew its cud, is unclean to you. (Leviticus 11:4-7)

Midrashically, these four species are identified with the four "exiles" of the Jewish people: Babylonia, Persia, Greece, and Rome. (ויקרא רבה יג:ה) The exile of Rome, which continues until today, is associated with the pig, which has the superficial sign of kashrus (split hooves) but lacks the inner sign (chewing the cud).

The Talmud (Yoma 9b) states:

מקדש ראשון מפני מה חרב? מפני ג' דברים שהיו בו ע"ז וגלוי עריות ושפיכות דמים וכו' אבל מקדש שני שהיו עוסקין בתורה ובמצות וגמילות חסדים מפני מה חרב? מפני שהיתה בו שנאת חנם, ללמדך ששקולה שנאת חנם כנגד שלש עבירות ע"ז גלוי עריות ושפיכות דמים וכו'

ר' יוחנן ור"א דאמרי תרווייהו ראשונים שנתגלה עונם נתגלה קצם, אחרונים שלא נתגלה עונם לא נתגלה קצם. אמר רבי יוחנן טובה צפורנן של ראשונים מכריסו של אחרונים.

Why was the first Temple destroyed? Because of three sins that were in its time: Idolatry, sexual immorality, and bloodshed. ... But, in the time of the second Temple, when they were busy with Torah, mitzvos, and acts of benevolence, why was it destroyed? Because of the sin of unjustified hatred that existed at that time. This teaches that the sin of unjustified hatred is equal in severity to the three sins of idolatry, sexual immorality, and bloodshed.

Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Eliezer both said, "For the earlier people (i.e. the exiles of the first Temple), whose sins were revealed, the end (of their exile) was revealed. (The prophet told them that they would return after 70 years.) For the later people (i.e. the exiles of the second Temple), whose sins were not revealed, the end (of their exile) was not revealed." Rabbi Yochanan said, "The fingernail of the earlier ones was greater than the belly of the later ones."

The Vilna Gaon sees in this final statement of Rabbi Yochanan, about the "fingernail" and "belly" of the two generations, an allusion to the two signs of a kosher animal. The early generations are compared to the animals lacking the external sign of kashrus, the split hooves, in that their sins were open and acknowledged, whereas the later generations are compared to the pig, which has the superficial sign of kashrus, but does not chew of its cud, an internal process that is largely hidden from view. Thus, the generation of the first Temple, whose sins were revealed and acknowledged, was punished less severely than the generation of the second Temple, which maintained the superficial appearance of righteousness, but was internally sinful.

The essential point of the Vilna Gaon was summed up by Rav Dovid Tevele of Lissa (in a famous Shabbos HaGadol drasha in 1782, in which he condemned the proposed educational reforms of Naphtali Herz Wessely):

שהרשע המגלה רשעתו ירחיקו העם ממנו ולא ילמדו ממעשיו אבל הרשע אשר הרשעה טמונה בקרבו הוא לאבן נגף ולצור מכשול אשר יתלכדו העם אחריו והביטו אחר דבריו אשר במרמה ידבר.

The people know to distance themselves from an openly wicked person, and they do not learn from his actions, but a wicked person whose wickedness is hidden within is "a stone of stumbling and a rock of offence" who ensnares the people to follow him and to pay heed to his deceitful words.

Often, the biggest dangers are the least obvious, precisely because they are not obvious, and they therefore fail to elicit the normal protective responses against a threat. This is true in every area of life, including, perhaps especially, in the education of our children. While we certainly need to carefully screen the literature and entertainment that we expose our children to, we have to bear in mind the the biggest threats to be found in these areas are not necessarily the obvious ones. While we obviously shouldn't expose our children to outright immorality, the real challenge is often in the apparently "innocent" and "harmless" materials that we often expose our children to without hesitation.

For many parents, including myself, the natural gut reaction to this is to insist that our children only be exposed to purely "kosher" materials. Unfortunately, while this might be the ideal, I do not believe this is a realistic option for our children. Whether we acknowledge it or not, all of our homes, even the most insular, are permeated with the influences of the non-Jewish world. In the world in which we live today, there is no truly effective way to completely shut out the values, mores, and ideas of the non-Jewish world surrounding us. (As I mentioned earlier, more often than not, even ostensibly Orthodox Jewish literature carries such baggage within it.) As such, a simple policy of restricting our children's exposure is not only futile, but ultimately dangerous, as it fails to effectively train our children to recognize these influences and deal with them. So, while a certain degree of screening is certainly necessary, our general approach has to be to teach our children how to read (and watch) critically, from a proper Torah perspective.

Of course, this requires, first and foremost, a very strong Torah education. As the Sages teach us in Pirkei Avos, "הוי שקוד ללמוד תורה, ודע מה שתשיב לאפיקורוס" - "Be diligent in studying Torah, and know what to answer the non-believer." The first priority must always be Torah study. Nevertheless, in our generation, I believe it is also necessary for our children to have some exposure to non-Jewish literature, carefully guided, so that the children learn to read and think critically about such material. I readily acknowledge that this is not necessarily an easy thing to do, and that it requires a great deal of effort on the part of parents and teachers. However, I believe that this is the only truly responsible and effective approach in our time and place.

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Behar-Bechukosai - The Strange Lesson of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi

In Parshas Behar we read (Leviticus 25:17):

ולא תונו איש את עמיתו ויראת מאלקיך כי אני ה' אלקיכם:

“And you shall not hurt the feelings of one another, but you shall fear your God, for I am HaShem your God.” 

This is the prohibition of onaas devarim - hurting the feelings of another Jew. Torah law prohibits us from causing suffering to our fellow Jews, even just hurting their feelings through insensitive speech.

The midrash (Yalkut Shimoni here, Vayikra Raba 33:1) tells us of an interesting object lesson that the great sage, Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, used to bring this lesson home to his students:

רבי עשה סעודה לתלמידיו, הביא לפניהם לשונות רכין ולשונות קשין. התחילו בוררין את הרכין ומניחין את הקשין. א"ל, בני, כך יהא לשונכם רך אלו עם אלו!

Rabbi [Yehuda HaNasi] made a feast for his students, in which he brought before them [cooked dishes of] soft tongues and hard tongues. The students began to choose the soft tongues and setting aside the hard tongues. He said to them, "My sons! So should your tongues be soft with each other!"

It's a cute lesson. In fact, it almost seems too cute. The students of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi were not children. They were all respected scholars in their own right, who were perfectly capable of understanding such a simple concept without using such a dramatic presentation. Why did Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi choose to make his point in such a manner?

The Chofetz Chaim

Perhaps we can understand this by reference to a public letter written by the Chofetz Chaim, R' Yisrael Meir Kagan (d.1933) in which he bemoans the existence of public strife between rabbis and Torah scholars. In the course of the letter he talks about the common tendency, especially with regard to religious disputes, for each side to justify their own behavior and to place the entire blame for the dispute on the other side. However, the Chofetz Chaim writes, this a basic error, for even if, in principle, they are indeed correct in their position, it is virtually impossible for a person to engage in such strife without falling into the trap of improper behavior and, even worse, bringing about a grave chillul Hashem (desecration of the honor of God)

In this context, the Chofetz Chaim discusses the tragic deaths of the 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva, for whom we continue to mourn until this day, and he writes:

ואיתא בגמ׳ שעונם היה על שלא נהגו כבוד זה לזה. ועתה נתבונן נא, דהלא רק אונאת דברים הוא׳ והוא רק לאו בעלמא ואין חייב על זה מיתה בידי שמים, ולמה מתו? אלא שעי״ז נסבב הילול ה׳ גדול בעולם שתלמידי חכמים רבים זה עם זה ומבזים התורה ומצותיה לעין כל.

ועל זה אני אומר, מורי ורבותי, למה לא נירא מארזי הלבנון, קדושי עליון, שבודאי היה לכל אחד תירוץ בפני עצמו שאין בו אשם, ועיקר האשם על חבירו ולא עליו, ואפילו הכי אנו רואין שתורתן וקדושתן לא הגינו עליהן ושלטה מדת הדין בכולן.

The Talmud states that their sin was that they did not show proper respect for each other. Now, let us consider this. Their sin was only onaas devarim, which is an ordinary prohibition that does not bear the penalty of death by Heavenly decree. So why did they die [for this sin]? Because, when Torah scholars fight with each other it brings about a great chilul Hashem in the world, bringing public disgrace upon the Torah and its mitzvos.

And on this I say, my teachers and rabbis, how can we not be afraid [to engage in strife] when these (i.e. the students of Rabbi Akiva) Cedars of Lebanon, exalted holy men, each of whom certainly could provide a good explanation to justify their actions, and to place the blame entirely on their fellow and not on themselves, and even so, their Torah and their holiness did not protect them, and the attribute of justice was dominant over all of them.

The Chofetz Chaim is pointing out that as severe as the sin of onaas devarim is, there is an even greater obligation upon Torah scholars to avoid such behavior with each other, for such behavior causes the honor of God and His Torah to be diminished in the eyes of the world.

This was the reason for the unusual object lesson of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi. Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi was the student of the later students of Rabbi Akiva. In fact, the Talmud (Kiddushin 72b) states that he was born on the day of Rabbi Akiva's death. For the generation after Rabbi Akiva, this lesson was far from a an obvious and simple lesson. They had seen, with their own eyes, how the entire world of Torah had been laid desolate  through the deaths of these great scholars. They fully understood how easy it could be to fall into the trap of strife and discord with their fellow rabbis.

They, in turn, conveyed this message to their students; one of the most prominent of whom was Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi. Thus, for Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, this lesson was literally a matter of life and death, both for his students and for the survival of the Jewish people, for the Jewish people can only survive with the Torah. When it comes to these most basic lessons, we use every technique available to us to continually reinforce and internalize them, so that they become part of our very nature and being.

This story of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi teaches us two profoundly important lessons. On the simplest level, it teaches us of the importance of speaking gently to our fellows, especially for Torah scholars. However, it also teaches us that, when it comes to learning the most basic lessons of Torah and mussar (character development), there is no such thing as a "silly" lesson. Any technique that will help us reinforce these lessons, in ourselves and in our children and students, is valid and legitimate, even if it involves making strange analogies from food.

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Tazria-Metzora - The Message of Tzaraas

The main subject in the parshios of Tazria-Metzora is tzaraas, in its various forms. (Tzaraas is often mistranslated as leprosy, however, in reality, it bears no resemblance to any known skin disease, and was a purely supernatural affliction.) The Sages (Talmud, Arachin 15b) teach us that the most common reason for tzaraas is the sin of lashon hara - harmful speech. (There are several different prohibitions that fall under the general category of lashon hara.)

The basic message of the affliction of tzaraas is to teach us the severity of the sin of lashon hara, for, as Maimonides writes in his conclusion to the laws of tzaraas (Hil. Tumas Tzaraas 16:10), the sin of lashon hara will eventually lead to mocking the sages, the prophets, the Torah, and ultimately even to denying the existence of God. God therefore provided us with this unique physical manifestation of punishment for this sin to emphasize the great importance of this matter.

The Zohar (Vayikra 46b) tells us that the ultimate cause of tzaraas is that, through sin, man causes himself to be separated from his spiritual Source. In kabbalistic terminology, his neshama - Divine "breath" or "soul" - leaves him. When the Jewish people are on a sufficiently high level (Ramban, Leviticus 13:47), this departure can manifest itself physically in the form of tzaraas. (This may explain why tzaraas manifests as white spots, indicating the departure of the soul, which is symbolically associated with blood (Leviticus 17:11).) This is especially true for sins involving speech, for, as the Zohar and many other sources teach us, the power of speech is deeply connected to the neshama - "soul" - and, thus, all else being equal, sins involving speech are particularly harmful.

The Chofetz Chaim

Based on this, tzaraas is an indication that one has lost his connection with God, that his sin has caused him to lose a basic aspect of his status as a human being. The Talmud (Pesachim 118) states that anyone who speaks lashon hara "it is fitting to cast him to the dogs." The Chofetz Chaim (R' Yisrael Meir Kagan, d.1933) explains ('ספר שמירת הלשון, שער הזכירה, פרק ח) that this teaches us that the sin of lashon hara causes a person to lose his status as a proper human being, making him even lower than a dog. For, as the Maharal explains, at the time of the exodus from Egypt, the dogs held their tongues from barking at the Jewish people (Exodus 11:7), but this person, whom God has graced with intelligence and understanding, cannot control his tongue.

In his discussion of tzaraas (Mitzva 169), the Sefer HaChinuch (14th century) writes that the basic message of tzaraas was to convey the message that God watches over all of man's deeds and that nothing happens without His will. Thus, even though tzaraas appeared to be a physical ailment, the afflicted person was to recognize that it was not a natural occurrence, but a punishment for his sins. Tzaraas was therefore to be "treated" exclusively by the kohanim; the same priests who are responsible for bringing atonement to the Jewish people through their performance of the Temple service. This was to reinforce in the sinner's mind the reality that God is fully aware of our actions and that nothing happens without His will.

While this is certainly an important lesson for us to learn, one might ask why this lesson would be of particular significance with regard to the sin of lashon hara, which, as we said earlier, is the most common reason why a person was afflicted with tzaraas. Perhaps the answer is that, like many sins between man and his fellow, the sin of lashon hara is actually rooted in a dysfunctional relationship with God. As the Chofetz Chaim writes ('ספר שמירת הלשון, שער התבונה, פרק ט), one of the main reasons we are tempted to speak lashon hara is because we feel that someone has harmed us, and we are tempted to strike back at him through lashon hara. However, the Chofetz Chaim continues, when we have proper bitachon (trust in God) we recognize that no other person can truly harm us. (This is also the explanation provided by the Sefer HaChinuch for the prohibition against revenge (Mitzva 241).)

In addition, it is common for baalei lashon hara (those who regularly engage in speaking lashon hara) to imagine that they are actually serving an important social function, for, by publicizing the misdeeds of others, they believe they are actually helping the community and fighting evil and injustice. In fact, within limitations, this argument is correct! The laws of lashon hara do provide for a number of exceptions when there is a beneficial purpose in conveying the information. However, while such exceptions certainly exist (and they should certainly be utilized when appropriate), they do not provide a blanket heter (dispensation) to publicize every misdeed, and certainly not every accusation or rumor of a misdeed, just so that people should be aware of the "issue" or "problem". The Chofetz Chaim (םפר חפץ חיים, הל' לשון הרע, י:יד) very emphatically stresses that it is all too easy to fall into the sin of lashon hara if one relies on these exceptions without careful attention to all the rules that apply. (This topic is briefly summarized here.)

It is certainly possible that diligent attention to the laws of lashon hara may occasionally result in someone "getting away" with doing bad things, and even harming others. The same could be said of many legal principles, such as evidentiary requirements, or concepts such as the obligation to judge others favorably. Every ethical or legal system has to find a balance between respecting the rights and dignity of those who are accused of misdeeds, and the rights and dignity of possible victims or of the community as a whole. The Torah provides us with such a balance, given to us by God, and we are obligated to respect those boundaries even when we imagine that it would be better, in a given case, to go beyond them.

It is here that bitachon plays a role. If we believe that, ultimately, God runs the world, then we recognize that, in the final analysis, it is God who punishes the wicked, and protects the innocent. While we certainly have an obligation to do whatever we can to fight against evil and injustice, our ability to do so is restricted by the ethical principles taught in the Torah. To go beyond those ethical principles is a basic violation of the principle of bitachon.

Thus, we can see how the lesson of bitachon - trust in God - which is rooted in our recognition that God runs the world and is aware of everything that takes place in the world - is particularly important for one who speaks lashon hara. Indeed, this brings us back to our earlier point, that the sin of lashon hara causes a separation between the sinner and God. As we have discussed previously, an important concept in Jewish  thought is that our thoughts create our spiritual reality. Thus, the sinner's failure to recognize God's presence in this world and His involvement in our lives, which lead him to the sin of lashon hara, is itself the root cause of his separation from God.

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Tzav - The Torah and Derech Eretz

Parshas Tzav begins with a discussion of the laws involving the removal of the ash from the altar. There were two aspects to this service (as understood by Rashi). The Torah (Leviticus 6:3) first describes the daily terumas hadeshen, in which a portion of the ashes was removed and deposited near the altar (specifically, on the east side of the ramp leading to the altar).

The next verse describes the intermittent removal of all the accumulated ash from the altar. Unlike the terumas hadeshen, which only involved the removal of a small amount of ash, this was a rather messy job. The verse (6:4) states:

He (the kohein) shall remove his garments, and he shall don other garments, and he shall remove the ashes to outside the camp, to a pure place.

Rashi (based on the Talmud) comments on the opening of this verse:

ופשט את בגדיו: אין זו חובה אלא דרך ארץ, שלא ילכלך בהוצאת הדשן בגדים שהוא משמש בהן תמיד, בגדים שבשל בהן קדרה לרבו אל ימזוג בהן כוס לרבו, לכך ולבש בגדים אחרים, פחותין מהן:

He shall remove his garments: This is not an obligation but derech eretz (literally "the way of the land", i.e. proper behavior), so that he should not make the garments that he regularly uses for the [Temple] service dirty during the removal of the ashes. The garments in which one cooks a pot for his master are not [proper] for serving him a cup [of wine]. Therefore, "he shall don other garments" inferior to [his regular priestly garments].

While there is a great deal of discussion as to exactly what Rashi means when he says that this is not an "obligation" (עיין ברמב"ן ובגור אריה), it is clear that Rashi is basically saying that even though, from the technical perspective of the laws of the Temple service, there is no need to change garments for this service, the Torah instructs us to do so anyways because of derech eretz.

Derech eretz, in its simplest sense, is simply civilized behavior – politeness, cleanliness, responsibility, trustworthiness, and all of the other essential modes of behavior that enable us to interact with our fellow human beings in an effective and pleasant manner. In a broader sense, derech eretz is a general term for all of the middos tovos – positive character traits – that are expected from a Jew. Middos such as humility and modesty, respect and gratitude, kindness and compassion, patience and tolerance, love for one’s fellow and love for God. The ספר מעלות המדות (Rabbeinu Yechiel, 13th century) summarizes this idea:

דרך ארץ הוא שיהא האדם מחשב בלבו הדרכים שיש לו לנהוג ולילך בהן כדי שיתרצה בהן בפני המקום ובפני הבריות.

Derech eretz consists of a person considering the ways he acts and behaves in order that he should find favor before Hashem and his fellow men.

R' Moshe Feinstein

R' Moshe Feinstein (d.1986) writes that we see from this teaching of Rashi that the rules of derech eretz are not simply recommended ways of behavior, but are fully binding laws which we are obligated to obey like all Torah laws. One who fails to properly follow the requirements of derech eretz in his service of God, such as the requirement to be dressed respectfully during prayer, demonstrates a basic spiritual failing.

The Talmudic tractate Avos, which deals with the principles of derech eretz, opens with the declaration, "Moses received the Torah at Sinai." The Bartenura commentary (R' Ovadia m'Bartenura, late 15th century) writes that this is done to tell us that the lessons of proper character and middos that are taught in Avos also originated with Moses at Sinai.

Indeed, one can argue that, at the most basic level, everything in the Torah is based upon the foundation of derech eretz. This is the underlying message in the famous story of Hillel who, when asked to provide an extremely short summation of the entire Torah, replied, "What is hateful to you, do not do to others. This is the entire Torah, everything else is commentary. Go and learn." (Talmud, Shabbos 31a) Properly understood, everything in the Torah, including the commandments between God and man, is based on derech eretz.

One of the most basic aspects of derech eretz is hakaras hatov (gratitude), i.e. the ability to acknowledge the good that another has done for you and the moral obligation that this creates. The Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzva 33) writes that it is this concept that underlies the mitzva to honor and obey one's parents, and from this we learn how great is our obligation to honor and obey our Creator.

As we have written previously, gratitude is the most basic theme of the festival of Pesach. As we say at the conclusion of the Magid section of the haggada, "לפיכך אנחנו חיבים להודות וכו" - "Therefore, we are obligated to give thanks....” In the final analysis, the entire seder night is an exercise in hakaras hatov. Of the four sons of the hagada, the wicked son is the one who excludes himself from the community, as if the activities of the seder night have nothing to do with him. The hagada states that this attitude is kefira b'ikar - basic heresy - for he denies his moral obligation to his Benefactor. The evil of the wicked son is rooted in a failure in derech eretz.

This helps us understand the the famous saying of Chazal, דרך ארץ קדמה לתורה – “Derech Eretz must precede Torah.” Derech eretz is integral not only to our relationships with our fellow men, but also, and perhaps even more so, to our relationship with God.

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Vayikra - A Pleasing Aroma Before God

In Parshas Vayikra we begin to read of the korbanos (sacrificial service). As we have discussed previously, the korbanos are an expression of one of the most basic concepts of Judaism, that there is no activity, no matter how mundane or physical, that cannot be lifted up to the service of God. Even as mundane an activity as slaughtering, butchering, cooking, and eating an animal can truly bring us closer to God, as implied by the term korban, if done with the proper intention, in compliance with God's commands.

Indeed, the spiritual power of the korbanos is not, ultimately, rooted in the actions themselves, but in the fact that they are done in obedience to God's will. As the prophet Samuel said to King Saul (I Samuel 15:22), "Does God want burnt-offerings and sacrifices as much as obeying the voice of God? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams."

This is actually true for all the mitzvos. While there is no question that the mitzvos serve a variety of functions, including teaching us important spiritual lessons, the basic function of the mitzvos is to bring us closer to God, and this can only be achieved through fulfilling God's commands. 

One of the classic difficulties in religious philosophy is understanding how it is possible for a human being - a finite, limited, physical being - to achieve a true connection and unity with a God Who is infinite and incomprehensible. Judaism teaches that it is the mitzvos - the commandments - that enable us to achieve this otherwise impossible union. When God commands us to perform a given act, no matter how physical that act may superficially appear, He has invested that act with His Will. Thus, when we perform that physical act, we achieve a connection with the Will of God.

We say in the Shema, “Hashem Echad”—“God is one.” This basic principle of Judaism, the absolute unity of God, tells us that God is absolutely indivisible; He and His Will are one. When, through the performance of a mitzva, we achieve a connection with the Will of God, we are connecting to God Himself. This is only possible because God has connected the given act with His Will. This is the essence of the mitzva concept. An act that is not commanded by God, as positive as it may be, is ultimately a finite act that cannot, in of itself, achieve devekus—true union with God. Thus, many commentaries connect the word mitzvah with the Aramaic term “tzavsa” – “binding” – because the mitzvah binds us to God, precisely by virtue of the fact that it is a mitzva.

When one brings a korban in accordance with Torah law, one is implicitly declaring his acceptance of the authority of the Torah and his commitment to obey all of God's commandments, even those which, like the korbanos, are essentially non-rational. It is this commitment which gives the korbanos their power to atone for sin and to bring us closer to God. Indeed, the commentaries tell us that the reason the Torah calls a korban a “satisfying aroma to Hashem” (Leviticus 1:9) is that just as our sense of smell can detect a scent from a distance, similarly when a person brings a korban, it hints to the good deeds and the spiritual improvements that the person will do in the future. It gives a “pleasing aroma” of his future mitzvos. This is the "satisfying aroma" that God “smells” when a person brings a korban. (Rav Eliezer Ashkenazi, cited by Rav Elie Munk in The Call of the Torah and חדושי הרי"ם, cited in מעינה של תורה)

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