Week after week, we read about the sacrifices to be “turned to smoke” on the altar—a parade of bulls, rams, goats, lambs, and doves is sacrificed and burnt. What happens with the char that’s left behind?
This week, we learn that “the priest shall dress in linen raiment, with linen breeches next to his body; and he shall take up the ashes to which the fire has reduced the burnt offering on the altar and place them beside the altar. He shall then take off his vestments and put on other vestments, and carry the ashes outside the camp to a pure place. The fire on the altar shall be kept burning” (Leviticus 6:3-5). We are so quick to cast off the used up, burnt out and picked over. Ours is a culture of productivity, of value. Why is a bucket of ashes worthy of special treatment?
Sometimes there is beauty—even holiness—in what’s left behind. I can remember visiting the Watts Towers as a boy, and being astounded by the ethereal forms made of broken tile and cement. And I know that when my college roommate died, my grief taught me to understand the human condition better. The pain, the loss, the anguish—these undoubtedly made me a more caring person. As the Kotzker Rebbe said, “There is nothing so human as a broken heart.”Life hurts. Life leaves scars. Although our scars may seem like damage, they are in fact evidence of strength, resilience, repair, and survival. Consider the scars on your body or soul, the ashes in your life. What’s beautiful about them? In what ways are they holy?
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