"And He called to Moses and YHWH spoke to him"
Vayikra 1:1
I don’t recall when it was, or where I was, when I first heard the word "vocation." Not "vocation" as in vocational, the kind of course students at my high school took if they planned on becoming secretaries or auto mechanics after graduation. But "vocation" as in a calling, a summons from on high or from within, that you had to honor – that you knew, in fact, would determine the shape of the whole of your life. And the meaning of your life. For to have a vocation was to have a purpose, a mission, a ministry – to be the agent of a power beyond oneself. Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me, wrote D.H. Lawrence of his drive to write poetry. The word of the Lord came to me, writes Jeremiah: Before I created you in the womb, I selected you; Before you were born, I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet concerning the nations (Jere. 1:4).
Pace Jeremiah, however, to have a "vocation" seemed so...Christian. Christians spoke of being "called" to a life-task, a "ministry," they knew, deeply, with passionate conviction, they must fulfill; Jews entered professions because they could earn a good living. Jonah, despite the whale or even the magically disappearing gourd tree, seemed realer than Jeremiah – between Hearkening to the Voice and taking a cruise, he’d take the cruise. Even Moses the shepherd, who initially responds to the call from the burning bush with the riveting Hineni (Exod.3:4), is soon hemming and hawing when he learns what God has in mind. Let me remain a simple shepherd, counting my sheep, staying spiritually asleep, "Please, O Lord, make someone else Your agent" (Exod. 4:13).
But God harasses Jonah till he succumbs, and gets fed up with Moses’ squirming. You will go, says the Lord, offering as aids to his reluctant designee a rod for the signs, a brother for a mouth, and no more time for naysaying: "Even now," says God, Aaron "is setting out to meet you"(Exod. 4:14).
And so, at last, rod in hand, brother at his side, Moses does go, setting in motion the Strong Hand and Outstretched Arm of Divine intervention, liberating our people. From then on, God will often have a word with Moses, but only rarely will the Lord call to him again. "And the Lord said to Moses" – using the verb vayomer – is a frequent refrain: about raining down manna, striking the rock to release drinking water to the thirsty masses, blotting out the enemy Amalekites. The verb vayomer, in other words, relates to the practical details of wilderness survival. But being called is a different matter entirely.
For the verb vayikrah, "and He called," seems to be reserved for those moments in which the Kadosh Baruch Hu is reaching out, yearning for connection. Thus when all Israel is encamped around Sinai, and Moses climbs up "the mountain, to God," the Holy One calls to him from the mountain (Exodus 19:3) – and with what message? To announce, in the language of love and longing, the aching desire for an abiding relationship with the people Israel. I have proved myself to you, God seems to be saying, I took care of you, I flew you out of slavery on the wings of eagles so that you would come close to me, be partners with me, love me:
"Thus shall you say to the house of Jacob and declare to the children of Israel: ‘You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to Me. So now, if you will hearken to My voice, and keep My covenant, you shall be My special treasure among all the peoples. All the earth is mine, but you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation." (Exodus 19:36). And God "calls" to Moses again on the seventh day on the cloud-covered mountain, from amidst the cloud, when "the Glory of YHWH took up dwelling on Mount Sinai" (Exod. 24:16), and Moses comes "into the midst of the cloud" for 40 days and 40 nights. "To "hearken" to the Call is thus to honor the covenant, to enter into an intimate relationship with God.
And so we come to the significance of that utterly unique line in the Torah, the opening line of Leviticus: Vayikrah el-Moshe vayidaber YHWH eilav mai ohel moed, lai’mor, Now he called to Moses – and spoke to him out of the appointed tent, saying..." The text calls, names, speaks – in Rashi’s words, the calling is an act of affection; the naming, emphasizing the intimacy of the encounter – it is you to whom I am speaking – and the tone itself, like that of the ministering angels, who call to one another to celebrate the the holiness of God: Kadosh Kadosh Kadosh!
But why does this extraordinary line, at once both transcendent and intimate, introduce the details of the korbanot, the sacrifices? Why not, in what would be certainly more palatable to moderns, use this opportunity to declare the laws that emphasize compassion, generosity, ethics, or even Shabbat rest (i.e., "You shall be holy because I, your God, am holy")? Because, as foreign to our own sensibility as it may seem, for ancient Israel it was precisely the korbanot that enabled, in the words of the Ramban, Israel to mitkarev – come closer -- – to God. In that vein, for example, Martin Buber and Franz Rosenzweig translated the word korban itself as the German equivalent of "Nearbringing" – to bring the korban was to seek closeness to God. It was the way ancient Israel responded in their own hearts to the intimate calling of God to them.
In an age like our own, in which "Nearbringing" seems so much more fraught, it may seem difficult, if not impossible, to hear that Calling of God, that longing for love, that desire of Divinity for covenant, for intimacy. It might help us in this regard to remember the teaching of the chasidic master, the Sefat Emet: to bring an offering to the Lord today is to bring our own selves to God.