The Divine and Compassionate Editor |
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Let’s short circuit the debate. God wrote the Torah. Not J. Not E. Not D. Not P. Not King Josiah or the priests who rediscovered Deuteronomy. Not multiple authors over a period of several centuries. Not Cecil B. DeMille.
God. Well, actually Moses, as directed by God.
I could proceed to discuss the flawed principles of Biblical criticism, starting with Wellhausen’s rigid rejection of divine or unitary authorship, but why bother? The Bible itself provides the ultimate proof.
This week we commence the reading of the Book of Leviticus (VaYikra). Q.E.D.
Not convinced? How, you ask, does the Book of Leviticus prove anything?
Because no sentient human being to whom we might have ascribed authorship would have included Leviticus in this Bible. No writer would have wrecked his narrative. No editor would have permitted its intrusion. No publisher would have countenanced such buzzkill smack dab in the middle of what was going to be the runaway best seller of all time.
Visualize the Bible as it might have been: You recount the creation of the world and the failed experiments that end in the flood and the tower of Babel. You detail the saga and covenants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the drama of fraternal conflict, the descent to Egypt and slavery. You create the imagery and majesty of the redemption from Egypt, the splitting of the sea, and the climactic, dramatic, and cinematic shock and awe at the benefaction of the Torah. Then the adventures in the desert. Finally, the series of majestic and poetic valedictions of Moses.
Oh, wait. Visualize the real thing. In the middle, for a full twenty percent of the Book, you insert rituals of animal slaughter, the details of blood sprinkling, diagnosis and treatment of various skin diseases, rules for identifying which animals, fish, and insects may be eaten, periods of confinement after childbirth, a catalog of impermissible sexual relations. And on. And on. And on.
Only God, as the author and editor of this work, could have permitted this violation of every canon of creative writing. In the history of literature, there is not a single human being who would have written Leviticus, or who, having written it, would not have edited it out before he went to final galleys, or parchment.
I trust that you are convinced. That was easy.
Why? What was He, as Supreme Editor, thinking?
Surely He knew what Max Perkins would have suggested if Thomas Wolfe had wanted to insert Leviticus into Look Homeward, Angel. When He decided that the Bible would not be written in chronological order, what made Him select the episodes that were out of sequence? Why interrupt the story of Joseph with an anomalous story about Judah’s frolic and detour with what he thought was a roadside harlot? Why are there a few hundred totally irrelevant verses between Moses’ ascent to Sinai at the end of Mishpatim and the delivery of the tablets to him in the middle of Ki Tisa, three tedious parshiot later? And–the question of the day–why didn’t He put Leviticus into some sort of addendum directed only at a priestly audience, since it appears to be a technical manual for them?
Good questions, no? As you might expect, I have an answer.
Because God loves us more than He is committed to the art and craft of storytelling.
Consider the impact if He had simply allowed the narrative to proceed in the editorially conventional manner.
Joseph’s jealous brothers sell him into slavery. What? His brothers? They sell him? They lie to their aged father, leading him to believe that his beloved son is dead?
Who does that? What kind of people are these? The audience can only react in revulsion, especially as they see Joseph languishing in prison for years. So, as an act of kindness to us, our image, and our reputation, God violates the coherence of His story and relates a titillating episode about Judah and Tamar. He is willing to diminish the effect of the narrative in order to divert the audience’s attention from our bad behavior. Because He is our God and he loves us. When the story of Joseph is resumed, we are no longer thinking of how he arrived in Egypt.
Do we need an additional illustration?
After the exodus, God gathers the freed nation at Sinai and bestows the Torah upon them. In an ecstasy of religious fervor, in the midst of an unprecedented celestial sound and light show, they proclaim that they will obey all of God’s commandments. Naaseh V’nishmah.
Then they worship a golden calf.
Again . . .what?? Moses goes up the mountain, God gives him the ten commandments, and Moses descends from the mountain to see the nation engaged in idolatry, a violation of the first two commandments. How does that make us look? What sort of disloyal, untrustworthy, contemptible people are these? God does not want that reaction. So He interrupts the narrative to talk about the minute procedures involved in erecting the Tabernacle. In excruciating detail, we learn of the architectural measurements, the design features, the utensils, the fragrant incense, the collection and donation of metals and materials.
By the time the reader gets to the idolatry and the blasphemous betrayal, he has forgotten about the ecstatic experience at Sinai and the people’s promise. Certainly the horror of the juxtaposition is diminished. In one sense, the long hiatus provides an objective correlative to the impatience exhibited by the nation. How long has he been gone? Will he ever return? In another sense, the interruption lessens the impact of the revulsion one might experience at the rapid betrayal of a nation of former slaves that owed so much to their redeemer.
Why does God tell the story in this manner, sacrificing dramatic effect and continuity? Because He loves us, even though we disappoint Him. And He tries to ameliorate the effect of our misbehavior. We all want our children to be judged favorably, even if they occasionally might merit opprobrium. God is willing to sacrifice the quality of his magnum opus out of affection for us and concern for our reputation.
Which brings us to the topic at hand, and if you have been paying attention you understand where we are going and why God inserted Leviticus into what would have been the Four Books of Moses, the Quadrateuch. The nation has been redeemed from slavery and received the Torah. Through the intervention of Moses, God has forgiven them their grievous sin. They are poised to enter the land promised to their forefathers.
The mutiny of Korach. The perfidy of ten of the spies. The faithlessness and insurrection of the people. The constant complaints about water and food. The misbehavior with Midianite women. The frequently expressed desire to return to Egypt. Decades of discontent from people whose every need was being divinely satisfied and who should have been displaying nothing but gratitude. If the book of Bamidbar had immediately followed Shmot, it would have been hard for the reader not to judge the nation of Israel harshly.
But after enduring the final two parshiot of Shmot and the entire book of Leviticus, the reader scarcely remembers how those folks found themselves in the desert in the first place. God puts an enormous space between the redemption and revelation, on the one hand, and the serial misbehavior and disappointments, on the other. Is that the preferred practice for a competent editor? No, but it is a beautiful kindness from a loving God.
As you read about the types of sacrifice, the volume of the libations, the lesions on skin and wall, the period after parturition, the list of birds and insects, all the forbidden relationships, just think: God is making me sit through this because He loves us.
[Note: Not to disturb the mood or anything, but yes, I am aware of the beautiful lessons of the various types of sacrifice and their intricacies, the injunction against slander, the subtle texture of the laws involving permissible and impermissible foods, the fact that the priest and not the physician deals with the skin conditions and the lessons to be learned therefrom, and our heightened level of sexual morality. My purpose is to glorify the deity and not denigrate the holy text. So give me a break and count this as the seventieth possible interpretation.]