In this week's exploration, we turn to Shemot Rabbah 31, a beautiful midrash (rabbinic interpretation) on a seemingly simple verse in Exodus, to unpack this very idea.

The verse in question is Exodus 22:29: "So you shall do to your bull and to your flock; seven days it shall be with its mother, on the eighth day you shall give it to Me." Sounds straightforward, right? But the rabbis, never content with the surface level, delve deeper. What does it really mean to "give it to Me"?

Shemot Rabbah cleverly connects this verse with another, Leviticus 22:27: “From the eighth day on [it may be accepted as an offering made by fire to the Lord].” The link? The eighth day. Just as in Leviticus the eighth day marks when an animal becomes acceptable as an offering, the midrash argues that Exodus isn't mandating an offering on the eighth day. Instead, it's saying that from the eighth day forward, the animal is fit to be given.

But here's the kicker: The midrash interprets "you shall give it to Me" almost as "you shall give it; it is Mine.” In other words, it's not really your gift to begin with! It's already God’s! It's a powerful idea echoed in I Chronicles 29:14: “For everything comes from You, and from Your hand we have given to You.” Think about that for a moment. We're just returning what was already given to us.

So, why bother offering anything at all? What's the point of this cosmic re-gifting? The answer, according to Shemot Rabbah, lies in holiness. "If you do so," the text continues, "you shall be holy people to Me" (Exodus 22:30).

But what is holiness? The midrash illustrates this with a powerful analogy. It compares Israel to the terumah, the first portion of the harvest that's set aside for the priests. The Zohar tells us that terumah comes from the Hebrew root "to lift up," signifying something elevated and sacred. Just as the priest takes the terumah from the pile of grain, God took our ancestors as His terumah, His chosen portion, as it says in Jeremiah 2:3: “Israel is sacred to the Lord, the first of His crop.”

Because we are this terumah, this elevated portion, we have certain responsibilities. This brings us to the second part of Exodus 22:30: "You shall not eat flesh of a mauled animal in the field; you shall cast it to the dog.” Why this seemingly random prohibition?

God says, "Because you are terumah, you do not have permission to eat a mauled animal." But why the dog? The Holy One, blessed be He, says, "You owe it to the dogs!" This refers back to the Exodus from Egypt. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, when God struck down the Egyptian firstborn, the dogs didn't bark at the Israelites, as Exodus 11:7 states: "But for all the children of Israel, a dog will not whet its tongue." They showed restraint, a kind of silent respect.

Thus, the mauled animal, unfit for human consumption by those striving for holiness, is given to the dogs as a reward for their loyalty and restraint. It’s a fascinating glimpse into the interconnectedness of all creation. Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews further elaborates on this idea of the dog's special status.

The midrash concludes with a final, crucial point: "Dogs, when one barks all of them gather and bark for nothing, but you shall not do so, because you are sacred people, as it is stated: 'You shall be holy people to Me.'" It's a call to elevate ourselves beyond the base instincts, to exercise restraint and responsibility, to recognize our sacred role in the world.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that everything we have is ultimately a gift. And that true holiness lies not just in ritual observance, but in recognizing our interconnectedness with all beings and acting with responsibility, restraint, and gratitude. It's about acknowledging that we are, in a sense, God's terumah, and striving to live up to that sacred calling.