Every year as the cycle of Torah readings inevitably brings us to Leviticus and to its ghastly account of the often bizarre details of the sacrificial cult, I wonder to myself, "What should this mean to me? And what must it mean them?"-meaning you!

Genesis is easy reading. Its compelling and unforgettable characters, its timeless stories which penetrate to the heartstrings of immutable human nature, make Genesis an ever-fascinating read.

Then comes Exodus with its emotional drama and Hollywood action: the plagues, the dividing sea, the revelation at Mt. Sinai, the degradation of the golden calf. And then we slow down a bit with the details of the building of the portable Tabernacle and the outfitting of the priests.

But then it happens! We come to Leviticus, the graveyard of the noblest, most sincere resolutions to read through the Bible cover to cover. What is all this stuff anyway? we can't help wondering. Five entire chapters devoted to the detail of the slaughter of animals.

Then there is the Levitical dermatology. Try this:

If a man's hair has fallen from his head, he is bald, but he is clean. And if a man's hair has fallen from his forehead and temples, he has baldness of the forehead and temples, but he is clean. But if there is on the bald head a reddish white diseased spot, it is leprosy breaking. . . [and] the priest must pronounce him unclean.

Page after page, chapter after chapter-27 in all-it mostly goes on like this, but with striking exceptions such as the incomparably inspiring holiness Code of Chapter 19. Most readers never get that far along, of course!

I am intent on pursuing the meaning and relevance of this third book of our Torah. There is, I just sense it, a powerful lesson here in the Book of Leviticus-new meaning from old form. But what is it? Let's summon some patience and search for a new-found perspective. The Torah never lets you down!

Perhaps if we take a few moments to look again at the four principle kinds of sacrifices discussed in Leviticus, we'll find more than we've come to expect.
 

Picture someone who is at the bottom rung of Life's ladder, this someone who feels that it's all a waste, finished, and worthless. Suddenly this person is hit with the realization that there is new hope for a happy life.

Such a person, now imbued with a sense of life, can have purpose and wholeness, dignity and beauty, offers a Korban Olaha, complete Burnt Offering, signifying the entrance and turning point into an entirely new chapter of life.

Perhaps the Torah is trying to tell us that to change one's life, it is necessary to find something worthy and salvific-saving-to which one can completely dedicate himself or herself: collecting for the cancer fund, volunteerism, Meals on Wheels, nursing home visits, taking care of someone's child, tutoring underprivileged schoolchildren, Lazarus House, serving in a soup kitchen.
 
 

The second category of Levitical sacrifice is a Mincha, the meal offering, something simple, easily available, as common as flour and oil. If the person is so poor that he cannot afford to bring either a bull, a goat, or a turtle dove, the Torah allows him to bring an offering of meal, oil mixed with frankincense.

With this we can see that everybody can serve God on his own level. The lesson: no matter how down on one's luck one is, there is always someone less fortunate who would do anything to be in your position. Furthermore, since so many of us tend to take basics, the flour and oil of life, for granted, as if they are our just due, isn't it important to thank God for these basic ingredients as well?
 
 

The third category of offering was the Chatat, the sin offering. When a person brings this particular sacrifice, he is to place his hands on the head of the animal and recite the confessional prayer. In effect, this offering says that every person is given life and the correct way to live it, and even though this particular sin may have been by accident, it still must be forgiven. Every sin is serious and a person cannot ignore the implications and consequences of his actions. All of us need to have some physical means by which to atone for our wrongdoings.

Now, when you get home or later this week, you might want to take a closer look at Leviticus.
  

Here is where we note the Chatat offerings to be made by people of varying categories of prominence, leadership, and status in society. There's something to this. Look closely!

A clear and sobering message is brought home to us by our Torah, a message especially apt for this time when Bill Clinton's fling with Monica is "out there" as an advertised HBO special, when powerful cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church are proven conspirators in silencing the truth of sexual improprieties, and horrendous histories of child abuse when Congressmen guilty of clandestine affairs with staff people and constituents summon the chutzpah to ask the electorate, "Why not re-elect me?" And also when high-ranking members of the current White House refuse to answer questions on the what and when of the Enron scandal.

Commentator Nechama Leibowitz calls this portion of our Torah a "sliding scale of sin offerings," this list of prescribed offering for sins which is increasingly greater and more severe as the persona of the perpetrator becomes one of higher authority and responsibility.

For the priest who has sinned, the Torah requires the largest and most costly sin offering: a bull of the herd without blemish.

For the prince or tribal leader, the offering was a male goat without blemish.

For "the whole community of Israel," i.e., a member of the Sanhedrim, or high court, a bull of the herd without requirements that it be unblemished.

Finally, the common person was responsible for the smallest and least expensive offering, a female goat.

But here's the message:  everyone is equal before the law. Each is required to bring a sin offering for the inadvertent sins they committed. But the higher one's social position, the more grievous such sins! Our Torah underscores that the sins of our leaders have a more deleterious impact on the social fabric of the entire community.

The moral and societal cost involved when those in positions of leadership fall short is greater and more destructive.

In words which take on startling relevance to our current day, our Torah in Leviticus couldn't be any more direct:
When a person with limited power or influence errs, the ramifications are significantly less than when the miscreant or offender is a person in the public eye. And this is most especially the case for religious leaders, and thus the most costly Chatat sacrifice is that of the priest.

Our text also recognizes that the political leader, while not occupying the realm of spiritual authority, nonetheless has the most extensive influence on the greatest number of people, both for good and for ill.
 

The final category is the exact opposite of a sin offering. A thanksgiving or peace offering takes place when there is an overflowing of feeling and happiness, a sense that something beneficial has taken place, that you want to acknowledge. There have been mercies in our lives, small and great occasions of grace when, despite the opportunity for bad results, we have been spared and everything somehow worked out just right.

Your child was just admitted to Harvard.
The dream job you always wanted is yours.
The laboratory results are benign.
The car driven by the drunk driver just missed yours.
The faltering marriage has now been pulled together.
The misunderstanding between you and your parents/children has now healed.
Your child just became engaged to a terrific person.
The termites are covered under your homeowner's insurance.
The cop just warned you instead of giving you a $125 ticket.

You get the idea. And if you don't, here are some really fabulous words by an Irish poet to further illustrate the sentiments which might teach one to offer a real thanksgiving sacrifice. Forgive the lack of gender sensitivity-but the poem was written almost a century ago. As politically incorrect as it is, its words apply to us all. Here's the poem, titled, "Sometimes":

 
Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man; decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

So what do we come to conclude? These sacrifices are not simply a tapestry of animal blood and guts, the fetishes of primitive cult seeking to drown itself in the mystery of blood and the ecstasy of the fire.

We begin to understand that there is an opportunity here in our re-reading of the Book of Leviticus to see beyond the details to a broad overview of the circumstances of a human life-one's trials and one's frailties, and occasionally, thank God, one's wins and successes.