Parashat Tzav/Pesach
April 7, 2025
Geri Bloch, Former High School English Teacher
These days, the word sacrifice seems to have a diminished definition. I hear parents complaining about time that is sacrificed, and for what? Students complain that their studies/sports/music lessons mean they must sacrifice something in order to do something else. I think of my grandfather, my zaide, who left his wife and children to come to America and set up a life for them. It took him six years working in a candy factory to support himself and to send money to his family so they could eventually make it across the ocean. I never asked my bubbie or my zaide what they sacrificed. My grandfather’s death when I was ten and my grandmother’s death when I was fifteen meant that I never really learned what their lives had been like when they were young or how they faced The Great Depression shortly after my grandmother and the children arrived. Neither my father nor his siblings ever used the term sacrifice, and I never asked them.
And so we come to Parashat Tzav with its instructions for the different sacrifices necessary to ordain the kohanim. This parashah begins with God speaking to Moshe: “Command Aaron and his sons thus. . . ” There is the ritual of the burnt offering, the ritual of the grain offering, and then “the offering to the Lord on the occasion of [Aaron’s] anointment.” The grain offering “shall be presented to the Lord by Aaron’s sons in front of the altar. What is left of it shall be eaten by Aaron and his sons; it shall be eaten as unleavened cakes. . . It shall not be baked with leaven; I have given it as their portion from My gifts; it is most holy. . .” The parashah goes on with a discussion of the rituals of the burnt offerings, the grain offering, the offering of ordination, and the sacrifice of well-being. The ordination of the high priest took seven days, with Moshe acting as the communicant from God.
This command from God came with rules about how the high priest must behave. For example, in the morning, the kohen must dress in “regular” clothing and remove the ashes of the sacrifice from the previous night. According to the Etz Hayim, “this ensures that the kohen never forgets his link to the ordinary people who spend their days in mundane pursuits (Simhah Bunem).” Clearly, the path to the ordination of the kohen was filled with God’s rules to maintain the holiness and the significance of the kohen’s position. Perhaps the command to eat unleavened cakes was a reminder to remain pure, to refrain from adding anything to the cakes that might make them “decadent” in some way. When building a nation, the rules, regulations, and rituals become important.
The unleavened cakes relate to the necessity of eating unleavened bread on Pesach. The Israelites left Egypt so hurriedly that they did not have time for their bread to rise; they baked unleavened bread. Their fleeing slavery, their freedom, rested on their ability to do without a “tasty” piece of bread. Were the Israelites pure of heart in their moment of flight? Maybe, yes; maybe, no. However, they packed their clothing, their tents, their animals, and their unleavened bread and readied themselves to leave Egypt. They will constantly be reminded of God’s words: “I the Lord am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage: you shall have no other gods besides Me” (Exod. 20:2).
Over the forty years that the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, they did not always appreciate what God had done for them; they certainly did not always appreciate Moshe’s leadership. Even Nadav and Abihu, Aaron’s sons, were punished for some mysterious misbehavior. This week we will read the end of Israelite slavery and the beginning of the Jewish nation. We will sing Dayenu and Chad Gadya. We will make Hillel sandwiches, drink wine, and complain about the lack of taste in matzah. In a more serious mood, we will also remember those whose lives were sacrificed on the altar of hatred and terrorism. We will remember those who remain hostages in dark tunnels. We will hold the conflicting emotions of celebratory joy and deep sadness for those who cannot celebrate this year. And we will say, “לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בִּירוּשָלָיִם, L’Shana HaBa’ah B’Yerushalayim, Next Year in Jerusalem.”
This command from God came with rules about how the high priest must behave. For example, in the morning, the kohen must dress in “regular” clothing and remove the ashes of the sacrifice from the previous night. According to the Etz Hayim, “this ensures that the kohen never forgets his link to the ordinary people who spend their days in mundane pursuits (Simhah Bunem).” Clearly, the path to the ordination of the kohen was filled with God’s rules to maintain the holiness and the significance of the kohen’s position. Perhaps the command to eat unleavened cakes was a reminder to remain pure, to refrain from adding anything to the cakes that might make them “decadent” in some way. When building a nation, the rules, regulations, and rituals become important.
The unleavened cakes relate to the necessity of eating unleavened bread on Pesach. The Israelites left Egypt so hurriedly that they did not have time for their bread to rise; they baked unleavened bread. Their fleeing slavery, their freedom, rested on their ability to do without a “tasty” piece of bread. Were the Israelites pure of heart in their moment of flight? Maybe, yes; maybe, no. However, they packed their clothing, their tents, their animals, and their unleavened bread and readied themselves to leave Egypt. They will constantly be reminded of God’s words: “I the Lord am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage: you shall have no other gods besides Me” (Exod. 20:2).
Over the forty years that the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, they did not always appreciate what God had done for them; they certainly did not always appreciate Moshe’s leadership. Even Nadav and Abihu, Aaron’s sons, were punished for some mysterious misbehavior. This week we will read the end of Israelite slavery and the beginning of the Jewish nation. We will sing Dayenu and Chad Gadya. We will make Hillel sandwiches, drink wine, and complain about the lack of taste in matzah. In a more serious mood, we will also remember those whose lives were sacrificed on the altar of hatred and terrorism. We will remember those who remain hostages in dark tunnels. We will hold the conflicting emotions of celebratory joy and deep sadness for those who cannot celebrate this year. And we will say, “לְשָׁנָה הַבָּאָה בִּירוּשָלָיִם, L’Shana HaBa’ah B’Yerushalayim, Next Year in Jerusalem.”
Have a “Zissen Pesach” and a Shabbat Shalom!