We offer things up, whether it's time, effort, or, as in the ancient Israelite tradition, animal offerings. But to whom are we offering? And why? The book of Numbers, in chapter 28 verse 2, gives us a clue, saying, "Command the children of Israel, and say to them: My offering, My food, for My fires, for a pleasing aroma to Me, you shall observe to present to Me at its appointed time." So, God calls the offerings “My food.” But… does God actually need our sacrifices?
That’s the question at the heart of a fascinating passage in Bamidbar Rabbah 21, a Midrash, a collection of rabbinic teachings and interpretations on the book of Numbers. It dives deep into this very paradox.
The text asks, point blank, “'My offering, My food, for My fires' – the Holy One blessed be He said to Moses: 'Say to Israel: It is not that I need your offerings; the entire world belongs to Me. The animal that you are sacrificing, I created it.'" It’s a pretty powerful statement, right? God, the creator of everything, certainly doesn't need a burnt offering. As Psalm 50:12 puts it, "Were I hungry, I would not tell you, [for the world and all it contains is Mine]." The Midrash emphasizes that there is no "eating and drinking" before God. God doesn't have corporeal needs.
So, what's the point?
Rabbi Simon brings in another angle. He says, think about God’s mercy. The Torah tells us of God’s thirteen attributes of mercy. As it is stated, “The Lord passed before him and called: The Lord…” (Exodus 34:6). So, Rabbi Simon asks, "Is there a merciful one who entrusts his sustenance in the hands of a cruel one?" In other words, if God truly needed our sacrifices, wouldn’t that make God dependent on beings far less merciful and powerful? The very idea seems absurd. Again, "were I hungry, I would not tell you."
Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon offers another perspective, focusing on accessibility. The Holy One says, "I have given you ten kosher animals; three are in your possession, and seven are not in your possession. But I did not impose upon you to circulate in the mountains to bring an offering from those that are not in your possession. I said to you only from those that are raised on your trough." God isn't demanding the impossible or the impractical. The focus is on what we can offer, what is readily available to us. Again, "were I hungry, I would not tell you."
Rabbi Yitzchak takes it a step further: "My offering, My food' – is there eating and drinking before Him?" If God doesn’t eat, why are sacrifices called “My food?" He suggests we learn from the ministering angels, who are described as “His servants are a flaming fire” (Psalms 104:4). Where do they get their sustenance? Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Yitzchak, says they are sustained by the radiance of the Divine Presence, as Proverbs 16:15 states, “Life is in the light of the king’s countenance.” The offering, then, isn’t about filling a divine belly, but about drawing closer to the Divine Presence.
Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish drives the point home with the example of Moses. The Torah says that Moses stayed with God on Mount Sinai for forty days and forty nights, eating no bread and drinking no water (Exodus 34:28). If there were truly eating and drinking before God, wouldn't Moses have partaken? But he didn’t. Therefore, "were I hungry, I would not tell you."
So, if God doesn't need our offerings, what are they for? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah hints that sacrifice is about connection, about drawing closer to the Divine, about recognizing God's abundance and our dependence on it. It's about offering what we can, not because God demands it, but because it allows us to express our gratitude and devotion. It's not about filling a divine need, but about fulfilling our own need to connect with something greater than ourselves.
Ultimately, the question of sacrifice isn’t about what God takes, but about what we give and what we receive in return. What do you think?