Timeless Torah

Let me guess...you went Pesach shopping today...You hurt your back shlepping those 50 pound bags of potatoes...You met so many other Jews spending so much money, you’re wondering how much impact this will have on the U.S. economy....And you’re thinking, “No wonder matzoh is called the ‘Poor Man’s Bread’. By the time you finish acquiring the wine, meat, fruits and vegetables, you’re a poor man!”
Without a doubt money fuels the economy. It also drives individuals. That explains why G-d forcefully commands that the oleh sacrfice be brought to the Temple. Unlike other offerings where the owners and/or the kohanim would receive a portion for their own personal consumption, the oleh was completely burnt on the altar. No edible portions were distributed. The Torah, therefore felt the need to bolster this mitzvah with a set of instructions that were compelling.
At first glance, this would seem unnecessary. The oleh was voluntarily. It was offered by a person wanting to draw close to Hashem. The kohanim who received the animal were, for the most part, spiritual inviduals. So while it is true that neither the owners or priests personally benefitted from this particular sacrifice, could it be that such people needed a strong exhortation simply because they wouldn’t get a few hamburgers?!

One obvious explanation: don’t underestimate the lure of money. How often does this happen? You’ve already decided to donate charity. Suddenly, an inner voice challenges, “Why are you spending your money on strangers?” So even though we truly believe that mitzvos are our only ticket to eternity and we can’t take our money `with us’, we still have a hard time translating those realizations into actions.
One Yom Kippur, the synagogue waited to begin the Kol Nidre. Their Rabbi, Levi Yitzchak of Berditchiv, however, was deeply immersed in thought. Eventually, he turned to his attendant and asked if Mottel from Zhitomer could be summoned. Scanning the crowd, the shamash found the simple Jew sitting off to the side. Soon, the Rav began to question Mottel. “Tell me, don’t you live on the land owned by Vladik (a gentile landowner)?”

“Yes,” answered the surprised Mottel.

“Does Vladik own a dog?” continued the Rav. Mottel nodded and wondered what this had to do with Yom Kippur .

“Do you know the amount of money that he spent on the dog?” persisted Rabbi Levi Yitzchok.

“I do,” replied Mottel. “He always brags that he spent four hundred rubles to acquire his rare pet.” The Rav was thrilled. “Four hundred rubles? That’s fantastic!” To the astonishment of all those assembled, the Rav, now supplied with this information, was ready to begin the Kol Nidre.
After services, the Berditchiver explained to his inquiring congregants. “This year, a specific incident troubled me. A melamed (teacher) in debt was planning to tutor children, save up and return home to pay his creditors. He was in town for almost a year. On the return journey his hard-earned money was stolen. and when the melamed realized what had happened, he broke down in tears. Vladik, who was staying at the same inn heard the heart-wrenching cries of the teacher. Upon hearing the sad story, he asked how much money had been stolen and handed over four hundred rubles, (the sum stolen) to the amazed and thankful teacher.

“This incident worried me. How could we hope that Hashem would view us favorably? Who amongst us had performed an act as generous as that of Vladik?

“Then I remembered the dog. I had heard that he had spent a large sum but I didn’t know how much. When Mottel told me that it had been four hundred rubles, I was at ease. That amount clearly didn’t mean all that much to Vladik. His helping the teacher was surely an act of kindness but not a great sacrifice. I knew we could now start Kol Nidre.”

We’re proud when we spend $100 on an esrog, $360 to tzedakah, or $850 on Tefillin. But how much was the computer? Perhaps the money spent on the mitzvah wasn’t really the sacrifice that we believed it was.

With this we understand the term, “Tzav - Command Aaron and his sons concerning the oleh.” Even without the harsh words and strong encouragement, individulas would bring voluntary olehs and kohanim would faithfully offer them on the altar. But how would they view their actions? How would they perceive themselves?

As righteous folks, perhaps, doing more than the law could expect?

So the Torah says Tzav. If you did not run when it was to your own benefit, then now you could be congratulated as doing something extraordinary. But if you felt compelled to jump through hoops for yourself, then now when there is no financial gain, I command that you do no less for Me.