By Rabbi Shlomo Riskin
In the time when the Torah was given, all religions were intimately connected with sexuality, temple prostitutes and orgiastic rites. One of the great moral revolutions that Judaism brought to the world is the notion that holiness requires modesty in the realm of sexual matters and, by extension, all areas of life.
The Torah forbids the use of steps in ascending the altar, instead mandating the more gradually ascending ramp, in order that the priest’s nakedness not be revealed. This underscores the lesson that worship of God and sexual immorality are incompatible.
The significance of the ramp leading up to the altar can also be understood in another way. One of my mentors, Rabbi Moshe Besdin, z”l, explained to me that with a ramp you can either go up or go down, progress or regress. However, with steps, you can rest. The Torah may well be teaching us that, when ascending God’s altar, you cannot stop to rest; you dare not fall into the trap of self-satisfaction and complacency. Judaism asks for constant examination, self-criticism and growth.
The Tzemach Tzedek, one of the great Chabad rebbes, once asked his students: “Who stands higher on the ladder, the individual on the third rung or the individual on the 10th rung?” “The individual on the 10th rung,” they all responded. “Not necessarily,” he qualified. “If the individual on the 10th rung is going down or standing still, and the individual on the third rung is going up, the individual on the third rung stands higher than the individual on the 10th rung!”
I would like to add an additional interpretation to this verse. The Torah uses the word ma’alot, usually translated as steps, but which can also be translated as “good character qualities.” So now the verse reads, “Do not climb up to My altar with your good character qualities; so that your nakedness will not be revealed on it.”
According to this reading, God warns us that if we ascend to the altar of God flashing our good qualities, proud of our achievements and self-satisfied about all that we know, then the danger is that our nakedness — our weaknesses, our vulnerabilities, our flaws — will be revealed. The altar cannot be a center for self-aggrandizement, a stage of religious worship from which we let others know how great we are; if we fall into this trap, God tells us that ultimately our nakedness — not our greatness — will be revealed.
The altar of God must be approached with a sense of humility, with full awareness of our inadequacies; it dare not become a center of self-satisfaction, religious one-upmanship and arrogance.
The following Chasidic tale illustrates this point. In a town in prewar Europe, there lived two Jews: One, named Reb Haim, a great scholar, and the other, also called Haim, an indigent porter who could barely read the Hebrew letters. The scholar married well: The richest man in town came looking for the most brilliant mind in the yeshiva as his son-in-law, and gladly supported him generously.
The two Haims, such very different people, crossed paths frequently. Haim the porter would pray early in the morning so that he could start working as soon as possible in order to earn his meager living. Rushing out after the service, he would invariably run into the great Reb Haim arriving early for another minyan, since he stayed up until the early hours of the morning learning Torah. In this way they “met” nearly every day.
Reb Haim the scholar would always dismissively sneer at Haim the porter, ignoring the deprivations faced by the other Haim. Haim the porter, in contrast, would look upon the scholar with yearning, feeling sad and unworthy that he couldn’t spend his life studying the holy Torah.
Many years later, both Haims died on the same day and went to face judgment in the Heavenly Court. Haim the scholar was judged first. All of his good deeds, years of long study and righteous acts were placed on one side of the scale, and on the other side his daily sneer of self-satisfaction. The sneer outweighed all the good deeds. Haim the porter then submitted for judgment. On one side of the scale were placed his sins and on the other side of the scale his daily sigh of yearning. When the scales finally settled, the sigh outweighed the sins and the sneer outweighed the merits.
Ultimately, in our worship of God, humility triumphs over all.
Rabbi Shlomo Riskin is the chief rabbi of Efrat.