Tag Archives: Vayikra

Why Did the Levites Become Priests?

This week we start reading the third book of the Torah, Vayikra. The book is more commonly known as Leviticus—after the tribe of Levi—since most of it is concerned with priestly, or Levitical, law. The big question is: at which point did the Levites (including the Kohanim, who are from the same tribe of Levi) become priests, and why?

Temple Priests Bringing the Two Goats on Yom Kippur

The Torah does not explicitly answer this question. The traditional explanation (see, for example, Rashi on Numbers 3:12) is that the Levites were the only tribe not to participate in the Golden Calf incident, and thus merited to become priests. Before that point, the firstborn son of each family was meant to serve in the priesthood (and presumably anyone else who so wished), as God had originally stated that the entire nation will be “a kingdom of priests” (Exodus 19:6).* After the Golden Calf, everything changed and it was strictly the Levites who became worthy of the priesthood.

Yet, other traditions maintain that the Levites were already priests long before the Golden Calf debacle. It is commonly held that the Levites were not enslaved in Egypt (or, at least, not to the same degree) because they were recognized as priests, and priests were protected under Egyptian law (see Genesis 47:26). This notion is supported by Exodus 5:4 where Pharaoh tells the Levite leaders Moses and Aaron: “Why do you, Moses and Aaron, cause the people to break loose from their work? Go to your own burdens.” Pharaoh essentially tells the brothers to mind their own business and let the others do their work.

Rashi cites the Midrash here in explaining that Aaron and Moses were able to freely appear before Pharaoh whenever they wished because Levites like them were not enslaved. In Gur Aryeh, a commentary on Rashi’s commentary, the Maharal (Rabbi Yehuda Loew of Prague, d. 1609) goes so far as to suggest that Pharaoh—perhaps the Pharaoh who actually enslaved Israel; not the Pharaoh of the Exodus—knew that Israel were God’s people, so he left the Levites to serve Hashem in an attempt to avert his own doom! This explanation may actually be a pretty good one, since polytheistic religions like that of the ancient Egyptians typically accepted the existence of other gods beyond their own pantheon. The Roman Empire famously absorbed the deities of the various peoples they conquered to the point where they had hundreds of gods in their pantheon. Doing so would appease the gods, and more importantly, help to subdue their conquered believers. For Egypt, allowing a portion of Israel to remain in God’s service would be a valuable political tool, hence the freedom granted to the priestly Levites.

There is a further issue in that the Levites are already commanded in priestly duties in the parasha of Tetzave, which comes before the parasha of Ki Tisa where the Golden Calf incident is recounted. This is generally dealt with through the principle of ain mukdam u’meuchar b’Torah, “there is no before and after in the Torah”, meaning that many events in the Torah are not presented in their chronological order. Still, there may be a way to solve the conundrum without resorting to this conclusion.

So, when and why did Levites become priests?

Surprising Answers from Jubilees

As discussed in the past, the Book of Jubilees is an ancient Hebrew text that covers Jewish history from Creation until the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. The book is divided into 50 chapters, with each chapter describing one 49-year yovel, “jubilee”, period. While Jubilees was not included in the mainstream Tanakh, it was traditionally found in the Tanakh of Ethiopian Jews. It is also evident that Jubilees was used by the Hasmonean dynasty, and clearly influenced a number of midrashic texts, as well as the Zohar.

The Book of Jubilees offers three different reasons for the tribe of Levi’s priesthood. First (explained in 30:18), the Levites merited to become priests because their forefather Levi had defended his sister Dinah’s honour after her rape by Shechem (Genesis 34). Although Shimon was the leader of that mission, he later lost his merit when he suggested killing Joseph. This explanation is problematic because the wording in Genesis suggests Jacob was not at all happy with his sons Shimon and Levi for their impulsive, violent attack. Because of that, Jacob actually did not give these two sons a blessing as he did his other sons (Genesis 49:5-6).

In Chapter 31, Jubilees suggests a better answer. Here, we read how Jacob went to visit his parents after returning from a twenty-year sojourn with his uncle Laban in Charan. Jacob does not take his entire family, but is accompanied only by Judah and Levi (the reason why is not stated). Isaac then gives Jacob a blessing, and in this blessing Judah is conferred royalty and Levi given the priesthood. Thus, Judah’s descendants ultimately became kings while Levi’s became priests. That also explains why these two tribes alone would survive through history (the other ten—“The Lost Tribes of Israel”—having been extinguished over the centuries). Today, we have only Yehudim (ie. Judahites) among whom are Kohanim and Levi’im (ie. Levites).

A Tithed Son

The Book of Jubilees offers one more intriguing explanation for the ascent of the Levites to the priesthood. In Chapter 32, Jacob fulfils his previous oath to God (as in Genesis 28:22) to tithe everything God blesses him with. Since Jacob promised to tithe everything God gives him, that includes his children. So, Jacob lines up his twelve sons according to age and starts counting from the youngest, Benjamin. The tenth son, of course, is Levi, and therefore he is designated for God—to the priesthood. Following this, Levi sees a dream at Beit-El (in the same place his father had the vision of the Heavenly Ladder) in which God confirms Jacob’s deed and officially appoints Levi the family priest.

Finally, Jacob offers a host of sacrifices to God, and it is Levi who facilitates them. Levi accordingly becomes the first official Israelite priest. This may explain why later in history the Levite tribe in Egypt was already considered priestly and spared much of the slavery, and it also explains why the leadership of Israel in Egypt was composed primarily of Levites (Amram, Moses, Aaron). It gives a reason, too, for why it was the tribe of Levi in particular that did not participate in the Golden Calf, for they would have spent their time in Egypt in service of Hashem, making it highly unlikely that they would be drawn to idolatry like the common folk. Perhaps what happened after the Golden Calf is that God officially made the entire tribe priestly, and formally removed the responsibility from the firstborn.

Having said all that, there are those who maintain that having such priests was only necessary because of the Golden Calf, and sacrifices were only instituted to repair that grave sin, or to give the people an outlet to perform sacrificial offerings like they were used to (as the Rambam explains in Moreh Nevuchim, III, 32). If not for the Golden Calf, there would have been no need for a sacrificial altar or priestly offerings. The entire nation would have been a mamlekhet kohanim—a kingdom of priests—as God intended; and serving God, like today, would have been through prayer, study, and mitzvot.

Courtesy: Temple Institute

*It appears that occasionally non-Levites did become priests. In II Samuel 8:18 we read that some of King David’s sons somehow became kohanim. Rashi dealt with this perplexing statement by saying they were not literal kohanim but simply “chief officers”. Samuel himself is described as being from the tribe of Ephraim, yet is given over to Temple service by his mother Chanah and seemingly becomes a priest. The later Book of Chronicles deals with this by stating that Samuel really was descended from a Levite (see I Chronicles 6).

The Names and Divisions of Angels

This week we commence the third book of the Torah, Vayikra (known in English as “Leviticus”). The Zohar begins its commentary on this section by reminding us that the ancient generations—even the lowest and most wicked among them—knew the secrets of the Hebrew alphabet and their permutations. Unfortunately, they sometimes used this knowledge to control angelic forces towards evil ends.

Mystical texts describe how angels are formed from God’s speech, and the different combinations of letters of their names give them their powers. The Arizal explains that this is the meaning of Psalms 33:6, “By the word of Hashem the Heavens were made, and by the breath of His mouth all their legions.” He further explains that this is the meaning behind the perplexing words in Exodus 20:14, where the Israelites apparently “saw” God’s voice at Mt. Sinai (וכל העם ראים את הקולת). The Arizal tells us what they saw were the angels emanating from God’s voice.

Elsewhere, the Arizal writes that starting in the generation of Enosh (the grandson of Adam), people began manipulating the divine names of angels to suit their own selfish, unholy desires. This is the meaning of Genesis 4:26, “And to Seth was also born a son, and he named him Enosh. It was then that God’s Name began to be profaned.” Rashi famously comments here that in Enosh’s generation idolatry emerged. The Arizal explains that it began with the manipulation of God’s ministering angels through their names.

‘Turris Babel’ by Athanasius Kircher

In fact, this is how the Tower of Babel was built. Moreover, the aim of its power-hungry builders was to move beyond angels and learn how to manipulate God Himself! The Torah introduces the passage by saying the Tower generation were “one people with one language” (Genesis 11:1). The Ba’al HaTurim points out that the term “one language” (שפה אחת) has the same gematria as “holy tongue” (לשון הקדש), since the people were experts in the mystical wisdom of Hebrew, the language with which God created the universe, and through which God’s angels emanate. Not surprisingly, the punishment of the Tower builders was to have their language confounded. Their knowledge of Hebrew was taken away, replaced with countless new tongues and dialects.

The Meaning of Vayikra

The Zohar’s commentary on this week’s parasha continues by explaining the meaning of the word Vayikra. This word symbolizes God’s primary legion of angels, the one that descended upon the Tent of Meeting together with the Clouds of Glory that rested upon it (Exodus 40:35). The Zohar says the Cloud was actually meant to conceal these angels.

The commanding “general” of this legion is the angel Michael (מיכאל). Below him, his chief officer is called Tzadkiel (צדקיאל). Tzadkiel stands over three “colonels”, each with a “lieutenant” angel, surrounding by twelve ministering angels (three on each of the four sides). The names of the three pairs are Kdumiel (קדומיאל) and Ariel (אריאל), Yofiel (יופיאל) and Chakhamiel (חכמיאל), and Raziel (רזיאל) and Rumiel (רומיאל). The source of their angelic glow is the letter Vav, which emanates from the inner Holy of Holies. Guarding the Holy is Kdumiel’s division, shining with the letter Yud. Before him is Yofiel’s division, shining with the letter Kuf; then Raziel’s with the letter Reish, and finally Tzadkiel with the letter Aleph. This order of letters spells Vayikra (ויקרא).

The Zohar goes on to explain the divisions of the second camp of angels that parallel this first camp. While the first is under the command of Michael, the second is under the command of his counterpart Gabriel (גבריאל). His subordinates are Chizkiel (חזקיאל), and under him are Gazriel (גזריאל) with his twelve angels, then Rahatiel (רהטיאל) and Kadshiel (קדשיאל) with their twelve, Kaftziel (קפציאל) and Aza’el* (עזאל) with their twelve, as well as the twelve around Shmiel (שמעיאל) and Ragshiel (רגשיאל), who move between the camps of Michael and Gabriel.

Altogether, these camps are symbolized by the letters of vayikra. The parasha begins with the words Vayikra el Moshe, “And He called unto Moses”. The Zohar suggests that when God called out to him, Moses saw a vision of all these angels in their divisions. Moses was entrusted with the wisdom of their names and powers—information that had been kept secret since the Great Dispersion and confounding of languages that followed the Tower episode.

Commander-in-Chief

The root of vayikra means to “call out” or to “name”, as the angels are brought into existence through God “calling” them forth and naming them with their task. It is not a coincidence that the term vayikra appears in Genesis 4:26, cited above, where we are told the names of angels began to be manipulated.

In total, the term vayikra appears 90 times in the Torah. Meanwhile, the gematria of the word “angel” (מלאך) is 91. The Kabbalists teach that when the value of a word is one more than another, this progression of numbers suggests that the former emanates from the latter. Indeed, we see how angels (91) emanate from God’s call, vayikra (90).

Of course, God is the Commander-in-Chief of all His legions (“Hashem Tzevaot”). He is most commonly referred to as the King, and this is how the angels address Him. The value of “king” (מלך) is also 90. This should remind us that while we read of angelic generals, colonels, and lieutenants, we must never forget Who is really in charge.

*Multiple Jewish texts identify Aza’el with a fallen angel (see our previous post here). The Talmud, among other sources, says that Aza’el never repented and remained chained in this physical world, hence the ritual of sending a goat to “Azazel”. If that is the case, how could he be one of the important angels listed above?

A careful reading of the Zohar shows that the angel Gazriel stands alone without a partner. All the other angels are paired. (Michael-Tzadkiel, Kdumiel-Ariel, Yofiel-Chakhamiel, Raziel-Rumiel, Gabriel-Chizkiel, Rahatiel-Kadshiel, Shmiel-Ragshiel.) Kaftziel is paired with Aza’el. Perhaps Aza’el was initially placed within this legion, but after his fall, Gazriel took his place.

This actually results in a much more balanced symmetry to the camps, as follows:

Purim: The First Jewish Holiday

The festive holiday of Purim is the last in the Jewish calendar year. Most have heard the basic story: the Jewish people are dispersed across the vast Persian Empire, where an evil minister (Haman) has devised a plot to exterminate them all on one fateful day. Mordechai and the secretly-Jewish Queen Esther save the day. The whole narrative is recorded in Megillat Esther, a short text at the end of the Tanakh. While every Jew (and most gentiles) have heard of Passover, the High Holidays, and Chanukah, Purim remains among the lesser-known Jewish holidays. And yet, in several places across our holy texts, Purim is recognized as being essentially the greatest of holidays, and the only one to remain following the coming of Mashiach. For example, the Midrash of Yalkut Shimoni (in Passage 944) states:

…כל המועדים עתידין ליבטל וימי הפורים אינן בטלים לעולם

“All the holidays are destined to be nullified, but the days of Purim will never be nullified for eternity…”

An 18th-Century Megillah

An 18th-Century Megillah

Purim is not only the last holiday on the Jewish calendar year, but the last to remain in the future. What are we to make of such statements? What makes Purim so special that it stands alone among holidays that will be commemorated by Jews for eternity?

To properly answer this question requires first answering a more fundamental question: When did Judaism begin?

The First Jew

What is the starting point of Judaism? When can we say for sure that the Jewish people had their beginning? Who was the first Jew?

Some erroneously believe that Adam and Eve were the first Jews. This is, of course, grossly incorrect, as the Torah views Adam and Eve simply as the first civilized humans. More commonly, people point to Abraham as the first Jew. Though he is certainly the first of the forefathers, and the point at which the tradition – in some shape or form – begins, it is very hard to describe him as “Jewish”. After all, the Torah in its full form wouldn’t be revealed until centuries later. So, it must be Moses and the Israelites, who received the Torah at Sinai following the Exodus. Surely, they were the first Jews! Indeed, most people would pick that moment as the official start of the Jewish people.

Yet, the truth is that those Israelites were practicing a very different religion. There were no synagogues in those days, no amidah prayer and no tehillim, no volumes of Talmud to study, and the events of Nevi’im and Ketuvim, Chanukah, Purim, and Tisha b’Av (among others) wouldn’t happen until far in the future. This was a religion whose rituals mostly centred on sacrificial offerings.

Today, we have no korbanot, no pilgrimage festivals, no Temple or Mishkan, no death penalties, no polygamy, no prophecy, no slavery, no tithes, no priests, no Canaanites, Amorites, Moabites, or Amalekites. Although we read parashat Zachor to remember the evil Amalekites and remind ourselves to destroy them, we have no idea who the “Amalekites” actually are in our times!

The Judaism of today – focused on Torah study, prayer, and halakhah – is completely different than the ancient Israelites’ religion of sacrifices, agricultural laws, and priestly laws. And, of course, those Israelites certainly weren’t known as “Jews”.

Having said that, we are undoubtedly bound by a chain of tradition, and there is a clear evolution from ancient Israelite to modern Jew. At which point did everything change?

The Birth of the Jewish People

Some 2500 years ago, the Kingdom of Judah was destroyed, together with its Holy Temple. While the previous destruction of the Kingdom of Israel resulted in most of its populace being scattered across the Assyrian Empire, the Kingdom of Judah did not suffer the same fate. Instead, the people of Judah (among them many Benjaminites and Levites, as well as refugees from the other Israelite tribes which fled to Judah when the Kingdom of Israel was destroyed) were taken captive to Babylon.

The Temple, with all of its sacrifices and offerings, was gone, and so were the priestly rituals. The people were no longer farmers on their own lands; the many agricultural laws of the Torah no longer applied. Pilgrimages festivals in Jerusalem were no longer possible either. To survive, the religion had to undergo a major transformation.

In Babylon, offering sacrifices was not possible, so the people began to offer prayers instead. Making pilgrimages was not possible, so people gave the festivals new meanings, and celebrated them with feasts at home. In Babylon, observing the Torah’s laws directly was not possible, but studying the laws was, so this is what the people did, preserving the law in their hearts and minds. Not surprisingly, those who best knew the law were most respected. The priest gave way to the rabbi. And perhaps most importantly, across the Babylonian domain, as the various Israelite tribes blended together and assimilated, ancestral history became blurry, and everyone simply became known as a “Yehudi”, from the name of the most populous of the tribes, and the last surviving kingdom, Judah.

Thus, it is really at this point, in Babylon, between the First and Second Temples, where Judaism as we know it is born. And this is precisely the time of Purim.

The First Rabbi

Purim takes place during the time of the Babylonian Captivity, after the destruction of the First Temple, and shortly before the construction of the Second Temple. It is in Megillat Esther that we are first introduced to the “Jews”:

There was a Yehudi man in Susa the capital city, and his name was Mordechai, the son of Yair, the son of Shim’i, the son of Kish, a Benjaminite. (Esther 2:5)

'The Triumph of Mordechai' by Pieter Lastman (1624)

‘The Triumph of Mordechai’ by Pieter Lastman (1624)

Mordechai is from the tribe of Benjamin, yet he is described as a Yehudi. As we continue reading, we see no more mention of any specific tribes of Israel. Rather, the text always refers to the people, wherever they were across the 127 territories of the empire, as Yehudim. They had now officially become, not Israelites or Hebrews, but Jews.

Their leader is Mordechai: not a priest, not a Levite, not a king, and not a prophet (at least, not according to the plain text, though later traditions suggest that he really was a prophet). Back in the land of Israel, the leadership used to be held firmly by the Kohanim in the Temple, and by the royal family in the palace. In Babylon, none of that mattered. Mordechai was simply a wise man, a respected communal leader and advisor. One may even argue that Mordechai is history’s first “rabbi” in the proper sense of the term.

Purim as Independence Day

By the time the Jews were permitted to return to Israel, and finally rebuild the Temple, they had become accustomed to their new religious ways. Soon, the Great Assembly compiled the Tanakh, and laid down the first texts of prayer and blessing. The Second Temple was not nearly what the First Temple had been; it was devoid of the Ark of the Covenant and the Urim and Tumim. The age of prophecy had ended, too, as did the monarchy. Though there was a return to Torah law, the law was superseded by imperial law, now that Israel was a vassal of the Persian Empire, and then the Greek, and finally the Roman.

A split among the Jewish people was slowly developing: There were those who wanted to return to the ways of ancient Israel, centred on the Temple, together with its priestly and agricultural laws. And then there were those who wanted to maintain the ways that had developed in Babylon. Ultimately, they would form two groups: the Tzdukim, or Sadducees, and the Perushim, or Pharisees. Their names reveal much:

Though it is thought that “Tzduki” comes from the name of their founder, Tzadok, it nonetheless shares a root with tzedek, as this group thought they were the correct ones, following the proper ancient way. Meanwhile, “Perushi” literally means “separatist”, as these were the “reformers” trying to change the ancient system. Not surprisingly, the Tzdukim were primarily composed of the priestly classes, who wanted to restore their central role among the people, while the Perushim were composed primarily of the scholarly class. Perhaps to distance themselves from the Perushim, the Tzdukim rejected any concept of an “Oral Tradition”, and stuck firmly to what is written in the Torah. The Perushim, meanwhile, maintained that there is an ancient tradition dating back to Moses. (Click here to read about the validity – and necessity – of the Oral Tradition.) 

As the priests, the Tzdukim controlled the Temple, and relegated the Perushim to the sidelines. Ironically, this sealed their doom, for when the Second Temple was destroyed, the Tzdukim and their faulty ideology collapsed with it. Not dependent on a Temple, the Perushim survived. Rabbinic Judaism and the Oral Torah thrived along with them. And here we are today.

This entire chain of events was set in motion with the story of Purim, which describes the rise of the Jewish people, and their salvation from the brink of destruction. Had it gone another way, Haman would have finished off what Sennacherib and Nebuchadnezzar started; the Israelites would have perished, and Judaism as we know it would have never emerged. And so, Purim is a sort of “Independence Day” for the Jewish people. The Midrash describes Purim as the last of Jewish holidays because, ironically, it is really the first of Jewish holidays!

We can now better understand, beyond the chronological reasons, why the short Megillat Esther was included in the last sections of the Tanakh. What began at the birth of humanity with Adam and Eve, then progressed through Abraham and the start of monotheistic faith, and was propelled onwards by Moses and the prophets that followed, culminated with the final formation of the Jewish nation. The Tanakh thus presents us with a clear, sequential evolution from start to finish. Abraham was called Ivri, a Hebrew, and Jacob became Israel, with his twelve sons founding twelve tribes that ultimately came out Egypt. Those tribes settled in the Holy Land, but were later scattered across the successive Assyrian-Babylonian-Persian Empires. And it was in the Persian Empire that we truly became Jews. The Tanakh essentially ends on that note, its central narrative having been completed.

The End is Wedged in the Beginning

Sefer Yetzirah famously states the principle that “the end is wedged in the beginning, and the beginning is wedged in the end.” Based on this, we can see a far more profound reason for why Purim alone will be celebrated in Messianic times. As the story of the Jewish people’s official beginning, Megillat Esther also encodes within it the secret of the end.

The Megillah describes a world where Jews are scattered from East to West, fractured apart, assimilating. God is nowhere to be seen. In fact, Megillat Esther is unique in that it makes no explicit mention of God anywhere in the text, as if everything is simply up to chance, hence the name Purim, literally “lotteries”.

Indeed, the world we see today is a mirror of that described in Esther: Jews are once again scattered all over the world, fractured and assimilated, living in a seemingly Godless universe. Once again, we are confronted with intense hatred, and many seek our extermination. The rest of the world is blind to this, appeasing those very people who openly state their aims of annihilating the Jews. It goes without saying that, once again, Persia is at the centre of this threat. With everything that’s going on in the world, there seems to be little hope.

But Purim comes along and reminds us that God is with us, as hard as it might be to see. Salvation will surely come, and from the unlikeliest of places. In the final moments, everything will flip upside down. Just as Haman was hanged on the very gallows he prepared for Mordechai, those who seek to eliminate the Jews will succumb to their own evil devices. And the Jewish people will once again have, to quote the Megillah (8:16), “light, joy, happiness, and honour.”

Nisan: Transcending Nature

This week we start the third book of the Torah, Vayikra. The English name of the book is Leviticus, referring to the fact that much of the book is concerned with priestly laws. In addition to the week’s parasha, we also read an extra section called Parashat HaChodesh, meant to prepare us for the upcoming holiday of Passover.

Parashat HaChodesh recalls God’s command to the Jewish people to set the month of Nisan as the first month of the year. Although we count the years from the start of Tishrei – which is the 7th month – the months themselves are counted from Nisan. The Mishnah (Rosh HaShanah 1:1) tells us that there are actually four new years: “the first of Nisan is the new year for kings and festivals; the first of Elul is the new year for animal tithes… the first of Tishrei is the new year for years, for sabbaticals, jubilees, for planting and for vegetables; the first of Shevat is the new year for trees according to the house of Shammai; according to the house of Hillel, however, it is the fifteenth of Shevat.”

Nisan represents the new year when it comes to the sequence of holidays, and to the counting of the reigning of kings. The Gemara explains here that even if a king took the throne at the end of the month of Adar, and the month of Nisan begins just a week later, he is already considered to have started his second year of kingship! The big question is, why is Nisan singled out as the month to start all months, and what does kingship have to do with any of it?

The Straight Serpent and the Twisted Serpent

The prophet Ezekiel describes Pharaoh as “the great serpent” (Ezekiel 29:3). Meanwhile, the prophet Isaiah mentions two serpents: nachash bariach, the “straight serpent”, and nachash ‘akalaton, the “twisted serpent”. The Kabbalistic Sages state that the straight serpent represents Moses, while the twisted serpent represents Pharaoh. The twisted serpent is depicted as one with its tail in its mouth, forming the shape of a circle (a mystical symbol often known as the ouroboros in Greek).

Ouroboros

Ouroboros

The circle is a shape that represents cycles, and is symbolic of nature. In nature, just about everything is cyclical: the movements of the stars and planets in their orbits, the months and years, the seasons, the water cycle, the circle of life, and so on. The circle thus represents the physical world and its strict, repeating laws of nature.

The straight line – Moses’ nachash bariach – represents the very opposite. It is a symbol of a direct connection to the upper worlds. It is about breaking free from the strict, cyclical laws of nature, and transcending into a higher realm. Indeed, this is one of the meanings of the name “Israel” (ישראל) which can be split into yashar el (ישר-אל), literally “straight to God”.

The Egyptians, with Pharaoh central among them, believed in nature and its various forces. They worshipped the sun and the moon, the earth and the sky, the Nile river (and its cyclical, seasonal flooding), a host of animals, and countless other natural entities. This was their entire reality.

The Jews, on the other hand, with Moses central among them, believed in Hashem, the one infinite God, the creator of all natural forces. They knew there is a God above all the laws of nature, one who could perform supernatural miracles when necessary. This was the very essence of the Ten Plagues, which were meant to convince all doubters that the laws of nature can be totally broken. They are all under the supervision of One God.

This was also the symbolism behind the first encounter between Moses and Pharaoh. Moses’ straight staff turned into a serpent. The staffs of Pharaoh’s magicians turned into serpents, too, but “twisted” ones. In supernatural fashion, Moses’ serpent swallowed the others whole. The straight serpent devoured the twisted serpents.

The Central Lesson of Pesach

One of the key lessons of Pesach is to teach us that we are not bound by the laws of nature. God created us in His divine image, and told us from the very beginning that we are above nature (Genesis 1:27-28). Today, many would want to have us believe that we are nothing but biological machines, here because of strict, mechanistic, evolutionary laws – laws that we cannot break free from – subject to our genes, our neural wiring, and conditioning. The reality is in fact the very opposite: our bodies are only vessels for our souls, and we are in control of our bodies, not the other way around.

The Sages state that a person who is above the natural whims of their body is a true king. The Hebrew word for “king”, melekh, is spelled מ-ל-ך, where מ stands for מוח (brain, or mind), ל stands for לב (heart), and כ stands for כבד (liver). God created the body with the brain anatomically above the heart, and the heart above the liver. The lesson is that our minds should be “above” our hearts (representing emotions and desires), and above our livers (representing honour and pride). A king is one whose mind is in control of their body. The opposite case, where one’s desires are above their mind, and the ego above all, would carry the opposite sequence of letters: כ-ל-ם, which spells klum, meaning “nothing”. And finally, a person who does not necessarily have much pride, but nonetheless succumbs to the petty emotions and desires of their body, has the sequence ל-מ-ך, which spells lemekh, meaning “servant”. They are likened to one who is enslaved by their body.

The message of Passover is to free ourselves from slavery. To become real kings. The month of Nisan is the best opportunity to do this, a month whose very root is nes (נס), “miracles”. It is the month of transcending nature, the first of the months; the new year of festivals, and the new year of kings.