That’s the image Rabbi Pinḥas, quoting Rabbi Levi, uses to explain a powerful idea in Vayikra Rabbah. He tells the story of a king’s son who’d developed a taste for… well, let’s just say less-than-royal cuisine. He was eating neveila – meat from animals that weren’t ritually slaughtered – and tereifa – animals with internal defects that made them unfit for consumption. Basically, stuff that wasn't kosher.

The king, understandably, wasn't thrilled. He declares, "This one will frequent my table, and on his own he will be restricted!" The idea? By keeping the prince close, by making him eat at the royal table, the king could curb his unhealthy cravings.

So, what does this have to do with us? Well, Rabbi Pinḥas uses this parable to explain why God commanded the Israelites to offer sacrifices in the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary in the wilderness. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, the Israelites, fresh out of Egypt, had a bit of an idol-worshipping problem. They were, as the text puts it, "enthusiastically" following idols.

Specifically, they were offering sacrifices to se’irim (שעירים). Now, se’irim literally means "hairy ones" or "goats." But in this context, it refers to something far more sinister: demons. As we find in Deuteronomy 32:17, "They would slaughter to demons." Isaiah 13:21 adds, "And satyrs [se’irim] will dance there." So, while se’irim can mean goats, it's clear we're talking about demonic entities.

They were also sacrificing outside of the designated place, violating the prohibition of private altars in the wilderness. And as a result, punishments would befall them.

God, seeing this, decided on a similar strategy to the king. He said, "At all times, let them sacrifice their offerings before me in the Tent of Meeting, and they will separate themselves from idol worship and will be saved.” By bringing their offerings to the Mishkan, they would be drawn away from the dangerous allure of idol worship.

It's a fascinating idea: channeling a problematic impulse, re-directing it towards something holy. God wasn't trying to simply forbid sacrifice; He was trying to transform it, to elevate it from a practice associated with paganism into an act of devotion.

So, what can we learn from this? Maybe it’s about recognizing our own "junk food" tendencies, those things that pull us away from what's truly nourishing. And instead of simply trying to suppress them, perhaps we can find ways to redirect them, to channel that energy into something meaningful, something holy. Can we bring our impulses to “the table” and, in doing so, find a path towards greater holiness?