Our Wholehearted Offering (Zevach Shlamim)

Once a year we all dress up for Purim as a character or a person we are not. Whether you choose to dress up as one of the Purim characters––Vashti, Haman, King Ahaseureus, Mordecai, or Esther––or a costume of any sorts, we find ourselves occupying an alter-ego on Purim. Why drink so much on Purim, according to the rabbis, to act like not yourself. (1)

We might think that this process of wearing a mask happens only once a year. But, perhaps it happens more often than we think. People have a tendency to present an image to the world that is not really who they are. Many of us wear masks everyday offering others only a look at who we think we’re supposed to be, and hide our true selves. We conceal our imperfect, jagged, and broken parts of us; our scars, our baggage, our neuroses, and our metaphoric (and perhaps literal) love handles that we refuse to let just hang out. The thing is, Purim shouldn’t be every day of the year, just one day. Every other day we should be showing our authentic selves as we are, not ourselves draped in a manufactured exterior.

To borrow a term from author Brené Brown, we should be living wholeheartedly. (2) Wholeheartedness is about waking up in the morning and realizing that “I am enough.” It’s about understanding that vulnerability and authenticity lead us on a path toward our most holy, spiritual, and fulfilled selves. It’s living life without a mask, and being totally comfortable with what people see. That’s wholehearted living in a nutshell.

Of course, easier said than done. There are so many roadblocks impeding us from showing our wholehearted selves. For starters shame, the desire to fit in, and the fear of not being enough. E. E. Cummings wrote, “To be nobody-but-yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody but yourself—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight—and never stop fighting.” Living wholeheartedly requires struggle, but the price we pay for masking ourselves to the world is high. We don’t just lose ourselves when hide our faces, we also become prone to anxiety, resentment, addictions, and emotional disorders. The fight for being authentic is daunting, but it’s absolutely worth fighting for. 

I’ve been thinking about wholeheartedness lately in relation to a type of sacrificial offering mentioned in our Torah portion this week, Vayikra (Leviticus 1:5-5:26). There are a number of offerings mentioned: The olah offering, for example, is the burnt offering; there is the chatat offering, the sin offering; but then there is what’s called the zevach shlamim.

אִם־זֶ֥בַח שְׁלָמִ֖ים קָרְבָּנ֑וֹ אִ֤ם מִן־הַבָּקָר֙ ה֣וּא מַקְרִ֔יב אִם־זָכָר֙ אִם־נְקֵבָ֔ה תָּמִ֥ים יַקְרִיבֶ֖נּוּ לִפְנֵ֥י יְהוָֽה 

If you are to sacrifice a zevach shlamim; be it from cattle, be it male or female, it must be whole before God (Leviticus 3:1)

 You’ll notice translations of the Torah tends to have an asterisk with a note saying the meaning of zevach shlamim is uncertain. Some people translate it is a “peace offering,” connected to the word “shalom.” One common translation is a “well-being offering.” And still, yet another translation renders zevach shlamim as “whole offering,” recognizing the word “shalem” means “whole." In the Talmud, Rabbi Shimon teaches the following as to how we are to understand this offering:

 שלמים כשהוא שלם מביא

The offering is called “shlamim” to teach that only when a person is whole [shalem] can he bring his offering (Zevachim 99b) 

To this end,  the zevach shlamim offering is about bringing our wholehearted selves before God. 

The very beginning of Leviticus reminds us of this instruction: אָדָ֗ם כִּֽי־יַקְרִ֥יב מִכֶּ֛ם (Leviticus 1:2). The Hebrew syntax here is weird, to say the least, giving the following possible reading of the Hebrew: “When a person makes an offering of themselves.” Rabbi Schneur Zalman takes note of the nuanced grammar and remarks: “The essence of sacrifice is that we offer ourselves. We bring to God our faculties, our energies, our thoughts and emotions. The physical form of sacrifice – an animal offered on the altar – is only an external manifestation of an inner act. The real sacrifice is mikem, “of you.” We give God something of ourselves.” (3)

Ever wonder why Abel’s offering is accepted by God back in Genesis, and Cain’s is not? Well one midrash debates what kind of offering Abel makes before God. It wasn’t about the content of the offering. That is, it didn’t matter that Cain brings fruits and Abel brings fat from the firstlings of his flock. Rather, God takes note of the kind of offering. One of the rabbis argues that Abel brought a zevach shlamim offering, that is, his wholehearted offering.(4) We find justification for this in the text:

וְהֶ֨בֶל הֵבִ֥יא גַם־ה֛וּא מִבְּכֹר֥וֹת צֹאנ֖וֹ וּמֵֽחֶלְבֵהֶ֑ן

Abel brought gam hu, from the firstlings of his offering and their fat (Genesis 2:4).

What is this phrase “gam hu" doing here? It’s seemingly superfluous, but as the rabbis teach, no words in the Torah are there that don’t have meaning. Gam hu means, “also himself!”

Abel brought forth his wholehearted self, and that is perhaps, what God considered most important in an offering to God. This is seemingly why the rabbis say Abel brings forth a zevach shlamim, because it is his wholehearted presentation of who Abel really is, no masks, no pretending, just his authentic self. Nowhere do we learn that Abel’s offering is perfect, because that’s not what God wants of us. God wants us to embrace our vulnerabilities and our imperfections, that is to live wholeheartedly. 

No one says wholehearted living is easy. Our biggest challenge is to let go of who we think others want us to be, and simply be who we are. It’s to make sure that we are putting forth our zevach shlamim, our wholehearted offerings to the world. It’s to live Purim only one day of the year, and on the other 364, to show others our beautifully authentic and imperfect selves. 

1. Meggilah 7b

2. Brown, Brené. 2010. The gifts of imperfection: let go of who you think you're supposed to be and embrace who you are.

3.  R. Schneur Zalman of Liadi, Likkutei Torah, Brooklyn, N.Y., 1984, Vayikra 2aff.

4.  Bereshit Rabbah 22:5

Traveling Away For the Sake of Torah (Ketubot 61b-62a)

The discussion in the section of Talmud that I read this week (Ketubot 61b-62a) centers on a rather sexually explicit subject. In preparing to study this page of text with my father–– who is my

chevrutah

partner––I felt catapulted back into the days of yore whenhe attempted to impart upon me his words of wisdom concerning the birds and the bees. Thankfully our analysis and debate concerning the text was a little less awkward. 

In my last post, I discussed the responsibilities that a wife has to her husband. They included: nursing, making the bed, working wool, grinding (flour and corn), baking bread, washing clothing, and cooking. This week, the rabbis begin by describing the responsibilities that a husband has to his wife. The Mishnah starts by laying out his sexual obligations. It is important to note that it seems rather clear that we are talking specifically about sexual pleasure, and not about sexual reproduction.  There is, of course, some disagreement as to how often a man is obligated to be intimate with his wife. The House of Hillel (the dominant strand of rabbinic learning) says that in general, a man has the obligation to fulfill his sexual duty weekly. The House of Shamai (the weaker strand of rabbinic learning) argues that he need only satisfy her every other week. Depending on one’s profession, however, there are exceptions to the rule:

- טיילין (those who are unemployed)- every day, or more likely suggesting every time his wife desires him

- פועלים (workers)- twicea week

- חמרים (donkey drivers)- once a week

- גמלים (camel drivers)- once a month

- ספנים (sailors)- once every six months

Students of Torah, the Mishnah proclaims, can leave for up to a month without the permission of their wives. During that time, we can assume that a student of Torah would have no sexual obligations to his wife. The frequency of sexual relations listed in the Mishnah appears to suggest more than carnality. The type of jobs that enable a husband to extend his sexual absence from his wife are also the careers that implicitly cause him to be physically displaced. Intimacy is about being present  emotionally as much as, if not more than,  it involves intercourse. 

It just so happens that this summer I have traveled down to Philadelphia for seven weeks in order to work at Congregation Rodeph Shalom. I left my bride-to-be for the sake of professional development in the field of Torah! As a rabbinical student (I think I would fall under the category of student of Torah ), I am permitted to make such a trip of professional development with Stephanie's permission.  

The discussion in the Gemara concerning such a leave from a wife seems all too relevant in my case (even though I am not yet married). The choice to leave for seven weeks in the summer leading up to our wedding was not an easy one. Even Jewish law would suggest that such a trip violated my duties to my future spouse if I failed to obtain her permission. Of course, I would not dream of making such a deicison without Stephanie's blessing. Yet even the Gemara recommends that certain steps be taken when one has his wife's permission, so as to ensure that the relationship remains healthy. 

The rabbis pose the question: "ואורחא דמילתא כמה, how long is it proper to leave if he has her permission?" Rav, one of the most famous rabbinical authorities, states that with his wife's permission, he should spend one month home in between every month that he is away. Rav Yochanan goes one step further in suggesting that he should spend two months home in between every month that he is away. The Gemara notes that the latter opinion should be taken as the norm, whereas the opinion of Rav only in cases of necessity. According to this cycle, Torah should never take a student away from his wife for more time than he is at home.

After all, intamcy between a man and his wife is more than just sex, and cannot be accomplished through periodic visists home.

The rabbis elevate the importance of healthy relationship even over the study of Torah. 

Shortly after Stephanie and I started dating, I moved to Cincinnati while she remained in New York. We maintained a long-distance relationship for about a year before I moved back. This was no doubt a trying time in our relationship, especially because it was so young at that point. Had the 600 mile buffer between us extended past that academic year, I'm not so sure that our relationship would have lasted.  This time, we are taking the advice of the rabbis and trying to maintain the distance by periodically visting each other on the weekends. In my life, my resonsibilitiy to upholding our relationship takes precidence over my professional career as a future rabbi (Torah student).

Questions for Thought and Commenting Upon:

How have you preserved the intimacy in your relationship in times of physical seperation?

How frequently do you think a couple needs to see each other in order to maintain their relationship?

Does a man have more responsibility to his wife's sexual needs than she does to his?