Taking Up the Ashes- Tzav/Shabbat Hagadol 5785

The book of Leviticus, more than the other books of the Torah, is hard to grasp in some ways. Today, when Jewish practice revolves largely around prayer, our sacred calendar, and Jewish ethics, animal sacrifice is no longer practiced and is a remnant of an earlier time when Jewish practice looked remarkably different than it does today. And yet, I’ll say that over time I’ve come to appreciate Leviticus more and more. There’s more to it than meets the eye.

If you were to come to my office and look around, if you’re perceptive, you’ll find the opening verses of our parsha pinned to the bulletin board next to my desk. I’ll explain why momentarily, but first, an explanation. These are the verses describing the terumat hadeshen– the taking up of the ashes from the altar each morning, which are the remnants of the previous day’s sacrifices. 

There were two sacrifices offered each day in the Beit HaMikdash by the priests- a lamb on the altar in the early morning, and another in the late afternoon towards dusk. Our own daily prayer practice is modeled, in part, on this sacrificial schedule: we pray the daily shacharit service in the morning, and then the mincha service in the afternoon. The word mincha, which is used throughout Leviticus, means “gift”, “tribute”, or “offering”, which hearkens back to the sacrifice that it represents.

Where’s the ma’ariv service, you ask? Another explanation for the origin of our prayer services lies with the patriarchs, with Jacob being the one who institutes ma’ariv. However, the second sacrifice in the Temple was left to burn on the altar through dusk and into the night. 

Taking up the ashes from the previous day may seem like a mundane activity- something to be done before the “main event” of the sacrifice itself, along with the priests washing their hands and the incense offered afterwards. However, I want to claim that there’s something intensely personal about it that we can apply to our own lives. The opening verses of our parsha read, in English:

“G-d spoke to Moses, saying:

Command Aaron and his sons thus: This is the ritual of the burnt offering: The burnt offering itself shall remain where it is burned upon the altar all night until morning, while the fire on the altar is kept going on it.

The priest shall dress in linen clothing, with linen breeches next to his body; and he shall take up the ashes to which the fire has reduced the burnt offering on the altar and place them beside the altar.

He shall then take off his vestments and put on other vestments, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a pure place.

The fire on the altar shall be kept burning, not to go out: every morning the priest shall feed wood to it, lay out the burnt offering on it, and turn into smoke the fat parts of the offerings of well-being.

A perpetual fire shall be kept burning on the altar, not to go out.

The ashes are, literally, the residue of the day before. Each morning, a priest would gather them up and move them to a place outside the camp- “אל מקום טהור״”, “to a pure place”, as the Torah teaches. They still existed, but were moved aside so that more wood and more offerings could be laid on the altar.

The metaphorical residue and remains of yesterday, if not dealt with properly, can quickly become a burden and a hindrance. To me, the taking up of the ashes from the altar symbolizes that whatever happened yesterday- whether it be positive or negative- needs to yield to the possibilities of today. The choreography of the priestly service- of doing the same thing every day, day in and day out- is an exercise in routine. I place this text next to my desk, where I can see it, as a reminder that what’s past is past, but doesn’t completely go away. I can take the energy of the day before and channel it into a productive day today, or- equally important- brush off a day that was less than ideal and start fresh.

In addition, I take comfort in the fact that there was perpetual fire on the altar; it was never allowed to go out. Even when the sacrifices were totally consumed, the connection between the people and G-d was never visibly absent. 

Especially nowadays, as I’ve remarked in the past, our lives and what’s happening in the world can seem disorganized, improvised, scary, and disorienting. The taking of the ashes and the sacrificial service, because it doesn’t change except for Shabbat and festivals, is a beacon of stability. Sometimes, those things which are familiar and perhaps even a little mundane are the things that we can attach ourselves to for stability. It’s this stability and comfort that the service provides that allows us to weather the storms of life. For me, my daily commitment to prayer, which is based on the temple service, is this ballast. Despite whatever challenges and mishegoss the day may bring, I can count on at least a few minutes of familiarity in the morning when I put on my tallit and tefillin and daven the familiar words of our liturgy.

At the same time, the repetitive actions of the temple service are a challenge to probe it for new insights. How do you do something 1,000 times and more and still find it interesting, if not exciting? What new, exciting, interesting tidbit will we pick up this time? How is the parsha different from a year ago? And dare I say, as we said last night- how is this night different from all other nights? 

Discerning the answers to those questions, be they major answers or minor ones, is how I and we continue to find excitement in that which is familiar. Each day we do certain things that we do every day- yet I still find great comfort in that first cup of coffee, in my morning davening, and in the rhythms of our sacred calendar.

This Pesach, which is the holiday perhaps more than any other that encapsulates what it means to be Jewish, I hope that we can all lean into our old routines and find comfort in them, while simultaneously searching for meaning and coming away with new insights that they provide.