The Make-Up Sacrifice and the 3D Printer
Ilana Kurshan
Adventures in Mishnah with My Kids
Matan and I are learning tractate Hagigah, which is about the sacrifices brought on the pilgrimage festivals of Pesach, Shavuot, and Sukkot. The Torah teaches that all Jewish males must appear before God on these festivals, and they may not come empty-handed (Exodus 23:15-17). The rabbis understood these biblical verses as an injunction to make pilgrimage to the Temple bearing sacrifices, including Olat Re’iya, a burnt offering of “seeing” in fulfillment of the commandment to appear before God, and Shalmei Hagigah, the festive offering which is partially burnt on the altar and partially eaten by the family that brings that sacrifice. Both of these offerings had to be brought on the first day of the festival. Tonight we are learning what happens if, for some reason, someone did not bring the sacrifices on the first day. Does that person have any possibility to make them up?
Earlier that day I had asked Matan if he’d received his math test back from the teacher. “She can’t give us back our tests yet,” he told me, “Binyamin was on vacation last week and he never took the test. Until he takes it, we can’t get it back.” I understood. The teacher did not want to have to create a new version of the test, so she was waiting for all the students to take the original test before returning it. “OK, so remember how you told me that Binyamin gets to take a make-up test?” I ask Matan now, invoking what he’d told me earlier. “He missed the test, but he gets a second chance. That’s like the make-up sacrifice in the Temple.”
And indeed, the Mishnah teaches that the person who is unable to bring a sacrifice on the first day of the holiday is allowed to make it up for seven days. “Only for seven days?” Matan asks. Well, almost. Unless it’s Sukkot, in which case you can also make up the sacrifice on Shmini Atzeret, the eighth day that is added on to the seven-day holiday. Generally speaking, when it comes to making up sacrifices, the Mishnah bases itself on a biblical verse: “You shall observe it as a festival to the Lord for seven days” (Leviticus 23:41). The festival lasts seven days, so the festival offering may be brought for seven days. But once the full week-long holiday is over—plus Shmini Atzeret, if it’s Sukkot—there is no possibility to make it up anymore. “It’s like a make-up test that you’re only allowed to take for one week after the test you missed,” I explain. “You can make it up, but not forever.”
The Mishnah cites a verse from Ecclesiastes (1:15) to explain the situation of the individual who fails to bring a sacrifice for the full seven days of the festival: “The crooked cannot be made straight, and that which is missing cannot be counted.” At some point it’s really too late. If you miss your chance to offer your sacrifice for the entire holiday, there’s no possibility for reparation. But Matan can’t accept that.
“That’s not true; you can replace things that are missing,” he insists. “It’s not like there’s no hope.” He tells me that he was once at his friend's house when his friend’s little sister was doing a puzzle. One piece was missing, and his friend’s sister was very upset. “We told her not to worry,” Matan said to me. “We have a 3D printer in our robotics club, so we could just print a new piece for her. With a 3D printer, you can really fix anything. Even if something gets crooked, you can just print it out straight again.”
But I’m more skeptical. “Do you really think everything can be fixed?” I ask Matan. “Do you think there’s nothing so bad that it’s beyond repair?” I point to the next Mishnah, which is about what exactly is so irreparable and irrevocable. Rabbi Shimon ben Manessiah explains that the verse in Ecclesiastes refers to someone who has a child by a forbidden union. That child will be a bastard, restricted in terms of whom he or she may marry. There is no way to help such a person, says the Mishnah – what’s done cannot be undone; the crooked cannot be made straight. In contrast, the Mishnah adds, theft is reversible, because a person can return the stolen item and mend his or her ways. If you take something from someone else, you can always give it back, or at least pay its value. But once you bring a person into the world, there is no going back.
The Mishnah concludes with a statement by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who has his own view on what constitutes irreparable damage. “Something is only considered crooked if it was straight in the first place,” he insists. He gives the example of a person who once learned Torah and then stopped. That person was straight when dedicated to Torah learning, but then he or she left the path of Torah and became crooked. “But can’t that person return to studying Torah and become straight again?” Matan wants to know. I sigh, because I envy his innocence. Was there a time, when I too thought that everything could be mended, that every wrong could be righted, that nothing was truly beyond repair?
I wonder how to provide a response that is not too sobering and unsettling, and then I have an idea. A while back, Matan and I took a break from learning Mishnah at night for a few days – the little kids were going to bed too late, and by the time Matan was ready to learn, I was too tired. When we tried to go back on track, it was really hard, and we were never able to catch up on what we had missed. That is a loss that can never be made up, and those are days that can never be accounted for.
I think back to the math test that Matan’s teacher has still not returned. “Maybe it’s like homework,” I tell him. “If you miss a full week of math homework, it’s going to be impossible to make it all up. I mean, you get about two pages every night. Can you imagine making up all those pages in your workbook all at once?”
“I guess a 3D printer wouldn’t help for that,” Matan tells me. “I’d need a homework machine.” In Matan’s world of 3D printers and homework machines, maybe all is not lost. Maybe the crooked can be made straight after all.
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