This week, we're diving into Vayikra Rabbah 27, a fascinating exploration of these very questions, sparked by a seemingly simple verse from Leviticus: "A bull, or a sheep, or a goat, when it is born, shall be seven days under its mother and from the eighth day on, it shall be accepted as a fire offering to the Lord" (Leviticus 22:27).
What does this have to do with the balance of the cosmos? Well, the Rabbis of the Midrash saw in this verse a profound analogy. "A bull, or a sheep, or a goat" they pondered, connects to the verse, "Your righteousness is like mighty mountains" (Psalms 36:7). Mountains, you see, produce herbs, just as righteous people produce good deeds.
Think about it. Mountains are stable, life-giving. The righteous, similarly, benefit both themselves and others. Vayikra Rabbah cleverly compares this to a golden bell with a pearl clapper. The clapper, representing the reward of the righteous in the World to Come, is hidden, but its sound, the impact of their good deeds, is felt by all. As Isaiah 3:10 tells us, "Tell the righteous that it is good, as they will eat the fruit of their actions."
But what about the flip side? "Your judgments are vast depths" (Psalms 36:7), the Midrash continues, referring to the wicked. Just as the depths cannot be sown and produce nothing, the wicked lack good deeds and bring distress upon themselves and others. It echoes the sentiment of Isaiah 3:11: "Woe to the wicked, that he is evil," for himself and for others.
Now, here's where it gets really interesting. The Midrash suggests transposing the verse: "Your righteousness over your judgments is like mighty mountains over vast depths." It's a powerful image, isn't it? The mountains, representing charity (tzedaka), suppress the depths, preventing them from flooding the world. In the same way, charity suppresses punishment, preventing it from overwhelming us. Charity, in this sense, isn't just giving money; it’s about acts of loving-kindness and righteousness that hold back the tide of negativity.
Rabbi Yishmael offers another perspective: The righteous, who follow the Torah given from the mighty mountains (Mount Sinai, of course), receive charity from God like the mighty mountains. But the wicked, who disregard the Torah, face God's exacting justice in the vast depths.
Then we have Rabbi Akiva, who suggests a more nuanced view: God is exacting with both the righteous and the wicked. He collects payment from the righteous in this world for their few misdeeds, ensuring their full reward in the World to Come. Conversely, He bestows peace upon the wicked for their few good deeds, only to exact retribution from them later. It's a complex system of accounting, ensuring ultimate justice.
Rabbi Meir takes a different tack, likening the righteous to their abode, "In good grazing land I will herd them, and on the mountains of the height of Israel will be their pasture" (Ezekiel 34:14). The wicked, however, are likened to theirs: "On the day that he descended to the netherworld I caused mourning; I covered the depths for him" (Ezekiel 31:15).
Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi beautifully illustrates this concept with an analogy: a cover for an earthenware vat is best made of earthenware, not silver or gold. Why? Because it's of the same kind. Similarly, Gehenna, the fiery realm of punishment, is darkness, the depths are darkness, and the wicked are darkness. "Let darkness come and cover darkness," the Midrash states, quoting Ecclesiastes 6:4: "For he came in futility, and departs in darkness, and his name is covered in darkness."
The Midrash then shifts gears, connecting righteousness to Noah and the ark. The righteousness performed on behalf of Noah in the ark is "like the mighty mountains," as the ark rested on the mountains of Ararat (Genesis 8:4). The judgments inflicted upon his generation were "the vast depths," as "all the wellsprings of the vast depths were breached" (Genesis 7:11). But God remembered Noah, and not just him, but "every beast" with him (Genesis 8:1).
The text then shares two anecdotes: one about Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi's visit to Rome, and the other about Alexander of Macedonia. Rabbi Yehoshua, seeing the opulence and poverty of Rome, reflects on the verse, "Your righteousness is like mighty mountains," and "Your judgments are vast depths." Alexander, encountering wise women and fair judgment in foreign lands, realizes the value of counsel and justice.
The Midrash concludes with a poignant plea: "Master of the universe, we are like man, save us like an animal, because we are drawn after You like an animal." We, despite our flaws, yearn to be drawn to the Garden of Eden, to be "sated by the rich fare of Your House" (Psalms 36:9). Rabbi Elazar ben Rabbi Menaḥem points out that it doesn't say "Your Eden," but "Your Edens," teaching that each righteous person has their own Eden.
Finally, Rabbi Yitzḥak equates the law of man and the law of animal: circumcision on the eighth day for humans (Leviticus 12:3) and acceptance as an offering on the eighth day for animals. It's a final, subtle reminder of the interconnectedness of all things, the intricate balance between righteousness and judgment, and the hope for redemption that lies within us all.
So, what do you take away from this? Is the world ultimately fair? Does righteousness always triumph? Perhaps the key is not to seek perfect balance, but to strive for acts of charity, of tzedakah, that help to tip the scales, just a little, towards the mountains and away from the depths.