Vayikra
Leviticus 1:1-5:26
“The world is one-part wilderness, one-part settled land, and one-part sea. Said the sea: ‘Master of the Universe! The Torah will be given in the wilderness, the Holy Temple will be built on settled land, but what about me?’ Said God: ‘The people of Israel will offer your salt upon the Altar.’” — Yalkut HaReuveni midrash collection
As the Book of Leviticus begins, we meet the elaborate rules and procedures that became essential in the ancient Temple in Jerusalem, and there find this mitzvah: “You shall salt your every meal offering with salt; you may not discontinue the salt of your God’s covenant upon your meal offering — on your every offering shall you offer salt.” (Leviticus 2:13)
That the Hebrew word “melach,” or “salt,” appears four times in one verse suggests the centrality of this practice. Salt was an essential ingredient in the recipe book for our Beit Hamikdash.
With the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, Judaism evolved to regard the dining table as a suitable alternative to the once-central Temple altar. The Leviticus commandment is thus the reason why many Jews still salt their challah before Hamotzi, the blessing over bread, as they welcome Shabbat, and why salt is so often present on any table where food is shared.
Why salt? By most reckonings, salt is undoubtedly positive. It adds flavor to foods, serves as a remarkably effective preservative, plays a major role in the kashering of meat and has numerous curative properties (think of gargling with salt water or soaking in a salt bath, for example). Its role in superstitions is well attested (after salt is spilled accidentally, some people toss a few grains over their shoulder to ward off evil). And describing anyone as “the salt of the Earth” is a compliment denoting goodness, loyalty and lack of pretense.
Salt is a ubiquitous symbol of hospitality and welcome. It is often given with wine and bread to friends moving into a new home, with the hope that they will receive many guests. One suggestion for why Lot’s wife became a pillar of salt when looking back on her ruined home (Genesis 19:26) is that she failed to show her guests proper hospitality, a primary theme of that tragic episode, by laying out sufficient food, drink and salt. An Arabic expression, “there is salt between us,” tethers a host and a guest in an unbreakable bond once they have shared a meal with salt.
A Middle Eastern tradition known as a Salt Covenant involved two parties meeting to establish a pact, with each bringing a bag of prized salt. (An Arabic word for “treaty” or “contract” is the same as “salt.”) The parties co-mingled their grains of salt in one vessel, declaring “may this bond last until these grains of salt can be separated and returned to their original owner.” Some modern weddings still feature a version of the Salt Covenant, where the marrying couple mixes colored salt in a transparent keepsake holder, symbolizing the unbreakable union they hope to create.
And so, when we read of the Brit Melach, or Salt Covenant, between God and the Jewish people (also in Numbers 18:19 and 2 Chronicles 13:5), it suggests something enduring and preserved for all time. The rabbis likewise likened the Torah to salt because the world could not do without salt, nor could it do without the Torah. (Soferim 15:8)
But salt is also bitter, often representing tears. It can be destructive and corrosive, ruining land and plants. Diets high in sodium are known to be quite unhealthy.
Ramban taught that the salt of the sacrificial offerings reminded us that, when performed correctly, the Temple service preserved Israel and its relationship with God. But when rituals were neglected, defeat and exile were the inevitable result.
For many modern readers, the visceral, overpowering notion of animal sacrifice and its importance in the ancient world is too much to bear. But for those willing to grapple with this strange and wondrous book, Leviticus offers a way we might draw closer to holiness, in the truest sense of the Hebrew word for sacrifice, “korban,” with intention and commitment.
We often speak of sacrifice negatively, as something precious we have to give up, yet that’s exactly how our tradition regards it. To give up something should involve taking something treasured and giving it up for a holy purpose.
The seminal but easily overlooked mitzvah of including salt with our sacrifices teaches that something seemingly ordinary can be mined for deep holiness. If we can add some “salt” to our daily lives, how much more meaningful might they become? As a devoted challah baker, I can also attest to the fact that omitting salt, which I did only once inadvertently, makes all the difference.
The kabbalists teach that when performing the salt with challah ritual, the bread should always be dipped into the salt, so that the sweetness of the bread dampens down any bitterness that the salt might represent. But it’s also a way to recognize that life contains both bitter and sweet; notably, the word for bread, “lechem,” and the word for salt, “melach,” contain the same Hebrew letters.
As we begin the Book of Leviticus, we are also in the opening days of the month of Nisan. We are entering a veritable season of bread. In the weeks to come, we’ll clean out all the crumbs of the past year and revert to flat, unleavened matzah, the bread of potential, on Passover. We’ll count the Omer for seven weeks to commemorate the barley harvest and ascend to Shavuot, the joyful wheat harvest, when fully risen loaves were offered — with salt, of course!
May our bread always be sweet, with just the right amount of salt, and may our offerings be brought, and received, with joy.