Rabbi Daniel Cotzin Burg
May 16, 2007

This past Thursday, Miriam and I were at morning minyan with our daughter. Ellie, in her typical fashion was commenting on the proceedings while munching on some cheerios. Miriam, in a somewhat futile attempt to get her to quiet down gently whispered, “shhhhh... the people are praying, they’re talking to God.” And then, after a moment, “Do you have anything to say to God?” Ellie pondered this for a few seconds and then blurted out, “Want some O’s?”

My daughter’s inability to whisper notwithstanding, I am encouraged that Ellie’s first instinct was to offer something to God, to “make an offering” so to speak. This very human impulse is one shared by our Jewish ancestors. The very notion of making a sacrifice, of dedicating something of one’s self or one’s property was the foundational principal undergirding the Temple rite, helping to concretize our covenantal relationship with the Almighty. Of course, these days, we live in a world without Beit Hamikdash, and though the Temple is gone, the covenant endures. But what exactly is the nature of that brit?

In an attempt to answer this question, I would like to focus on a particular pasuk, a particular and peculiar verse from this week’s parashah:

All the sacred gifts that the Israelites set aside for the Lord I give to you, to your sons, and to the daughters that are with you, as a due for all time...

ברית מלח עולם הוא לפני ה' לך ולזרעך אתך:

“An everlasting covenant of salt.” Our Jewish tradition is replete with odd representations of our relationship with God. Rainbows, blood, circumcision, even cutting animals in two as Abraham did in the Brit ben Hab’tarim each have their place as covenantal symbols. But then we are introduced to an even more curious notion, this “covenant of salt,” a substance which seems too mundane, too banal to represent the eternal relationship between God and the Jewish people. But it is my contention that salt is not only an apt, but perhaps the perfect, symbol for the kind of covenantal relationship that we were, and that we are, meant to create and maintain.

And so begins my ode to salt. 

Salt, as a food, holds a place of high regard in the minds of
our Sages. The Jerusalem Talmud proclaims (P. Hor 3:6, 48c): “The world can
exist without wine, but the world cannot exist without water. Salt is cheap and
pepper dear; the world can exist without pepper, but not without
salt.”

Had there been a rabbinic equivalent of the American Medical Association or a Talmudic Surgeon General (God forbid), salt would have been high on the list of preventative medicines. 

The tractate of Berachot (40a) instructs: “Eat salt after every food and drink water after every beverage, and you will come to no harm. One who has eaten any kind of food without taking salt after it or drunk any kind of beverage without taking water after it is liable to be troubled with bad odor in the mouth during the day and with croup during the night.” 

But more than simply a prophylactic, salt can be an effective treatment as well. Elsewhere in the Talmud we learn (B.K. 92b): “Bread with salt in the morning and a jug of water will banish all illnesses.” (I know... any of you with high blood pressure are shaking your head at me right now). But you may notice that in each of these texts salt and its merits are mentioned in connection with water. Stay tuned for more on this.

In modern times, we understand the value of salt. Salt plays a role in the delicate eco-system of seas and oceans, sustaining fish and wildlife populations across more than 70% of the Earth’s surface. It melts the ice from our front stoop and flavors our food. In the Western World, salt has become a convenient vehicle for ingesting iodine, a chemical element essential for good thyroid function. As Jews, we know that salt plays an important role in our cultural and ritual lives. It is a central ingredient in the Dead Sea products which help fuel Israel’s economy. Salt is used to extract excess blood from kosher meats and there is a custom of dipping our challah in salt on Friday nights before sitting down for our Shabbat meal.

It is to this last custom that I would like to turn, a custom which developed as a home-based ritual response to the absence of the sacrificial rite. In the simplest terms, salt was a necessary component of Temple practice and our home (including our dining room table) plays an important role as mikdash me’at, surrogate sanctuary. Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz, the 17th century Kabbalist writes, “The table substitutes for the altar, one who eats stands in for the priest, the food replaces the sacrifices.” In other words, we dip our challah in salt to remind us that the korbanot in the Temple were prepared with salt as well. With regard to our verse in parashat Korah, Rashi observes that salt is a tool that was given to Aaron and his descendants, a preservative which never spoils and helps to prevent other foods (namely sacrificial meats) from spoiling as well. Salt was antiquity’s refrigerator. Why do you think that so many Jewish foods are salted or pickled or corned? When meat is a luxury, one does not simply let the excess rot but preserves it for future meals.

A later Hassidic commentator, Rabbi Israel Joshua Tronk of Kutno adds to Rashi’s observation: “Just as salt causes an item which is pickled to decrease in size, yet at the same time ensures that it will not be spoiled for a lengthy period of time, the same is true when one brings different offerings. The person may lose something belonging to him, but giving these offerings helps ensure that he will keep that which is his.” It might seem counter-intuitive, but Tronk is arguing that we retain our possessions by diminishing our possessions. It’s like that old song: “....it’s just like a magic penny, hold it tight and you won’t have any. Lend it, spend it and you’ll have so many, they’ll roll all over the floor.” The sacrificial impulse: cheerios for the Lord.

This deeper meaning of brit melach, our covenant of salt, is hinted at in the texts which link the importance of salt with the significance of water. Once again we look to Rashi who explains (lev. 2:13) that this relationship dates back to the very creation of the world when the lower waters, the oceans, were promised to be offered on the altar in two forms: salt for the sacrifices and water for Simchat beit HaShoaevah, the water libation on Sh’mini Atzeret.

Ramban (Nachmanides) writing two centuries after Rashi observes that water has the capacity to be both life sustaining and destructive. Leave aside that he makes no distinction between salt water and fresh water, Nachmanides notices that salt is what remains when water is evaporated. Therefore, salt is contained within the nature of water. The irony, for him, is that this derivative of water has some characteristics of fire. Fire and water, fire within water. Taking a line from the Deuteronomic warning to avoid betraying our covenant with God, Ramban cites Moses’ speech (Deu 29:22):

כב גפרית ומלח שרפה כל־ארצה לא תזרע ולא תצמח ולא־יעלה בה
כל־עשב

“Sulfur and salt will have burnt all the land; beyond sowing
and sprouting and grass growing.”

Indeed, Sodom and Gemorah (including the cities’ vegetation) are destroyed by sulfurous fire or brimstone, and remember that Lot’s wife turns to, of all things, a pillar of salt. Salt is a fiery substance, to which any of us who has accidentally splashed salt water in his eye or swam in the Dead Sea with a cut can attest. What do we say? “It burns.”

Too much salt can destroy plant life, cause hypertension and, to humans at least, render water undrinkable -- I am reminded of Coleridge (The Rime of the Ancient Mariner): “water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.” Which is why the Talmud (Ber. 34a) lists salt along with leaven as two items which are good in small quantities but bad in excess. So too, Nachmanides argues that it is no accident that the covenant which according to our Sages sustains the very world, is one in which balance and moderation are key components.

This notion of moderation is very much in the mind of the Great Hassidic Master Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdeichev as he attempts to interpret why exactly this strange promise, the “everlasting covenant of salt” is mentioned soon after the rebellion of Korah and his followers. The Kedushas Levi understands that the desire to make offerings, to connect with God in real and tangible ways is a natural inclination. Whether sacrifices or cheerios or prayers, we all have an innate drive to want to give something back to the One who gave us life. Korah’s sin, says the Kedushas Levi, wasn’t his trying to usurp power or his questioning Moses’ orders. Korah, rather, fundamentally misunderstood the nature of the universe, the need for balance and moderation. The Berdeichever Rebbe explains that according to the Zohar, the primary text of Jewish mysticism, cohanim correspond to the divine attribute of chesed or kindness and levi’im correspond to the attribute of din or justice. Korah, a levy, wanted to be a cohen, a priest. In fact he wanted everyone to be priests, to tear down any distinction between God’s servants. But more, he desired only chesed, and the world cannot be sustained by kindness and mercy alone. These valuable traits must be balanced by our desire for righteousness and justice; chesed and din: polarities in eternal conversation with one another.

And just as chesed must be balanced by din, so too water must be balanced by salt, the fire contained within. Too much salt and the world cannot be sustained. Too much water... well we need only look to Indonesia or New Orleans to see how a source of life can too quickly become a source of destruction. Is it no wonder, then, that the Talmud repeatedly speaks of salt and water as inseparable counterparts, corollaries on whose relationship human health, medical science, even a sustainable environment depends.

Salt, perhaps the perfect symbol of our eternal relationship with God. Salt preserves, it maintains and it never spoils; as does the brit we hope, it lasts forever. Salt is the fire within water, the din of the levite to complement the chesed of the cohen, balance in the universe, moderation on our plates and on our planet. But most of all, salt reminds us that the natural desire to give to our Creator, to diminish ourselves in order to sustain ourselves is an instinct which transcends the Biblical narrative. Like little Ellie and her cheerios, we are all hoping to reach outward and upward.

Over the past two weeks, we have talked a lot about the 40th anniversary of the Six Day War, telling the remarkable story of that most significant victory. But it should not be lost on us that this month marks the another 40th anniversary as well. June of 1967 saw the release of Aretha Franklin’s groundbreaking single “Respect.” So in honor of the Queen of Soul, this Shabbat as we break bread with family and friends, as we dip our challah in salt, let’s restore this ordinary substance to its rightful glory and give a little more R.E.S.P.E.C.T. to S.A.L.T.