Signing Off - For Now

I wanted to thank all of you for a wonderful experience.  My good friend Sho, both a student and a mentor, had asked - perhaps instructed -- me to write a farewell note on my blog. And so I do it now.

Reflecting every week on the most sacred and unique of all texts  of was a truly labor of love. Indeed, it provides one with an unparalleled sense of freedom and intellectual happiness to roam free through the lines of the Torah, to raise new questions about it, and to try and settle old ones.

The ideas I promoted - mostly about the the Torah being mainly a book of faith (Emunah) -- are not mine to claim. I was merely serving as a mouthpiece to Professor Yesha'ay'hu Leibowitz who, in turn, claimed to have been a mere mouthpiece of the Rambam, more than 800 years before his time. Still, these same ideas are as fresh today here in American as they were in the 12th Centry in Egyptian Alexandria.

Again, I wanted to thank you all for partaking in this wonderful journey. If I have prompted even one of you to begin -- or return to -- reading the portions of the week, I've done my share.

Ve'idach Zeel Gmore (and the rest - go and study yourself).

Shana Tovah to Everyone,

Doron

Parashat Be'ha'a'lot'cha

This week’s portion, Be’ha’a’lot’cha – literally, “when you raise” (here in the unusual use of “when you raise the candles against the Menorah”) – provides us with a rare opportunity to discuss a fascinating topic: What was it really like to travel in the desert for forty years?

Welcome to this week’s portion. Everything you want to know is in here - from “when they went” to “what they ate” and much more. Accordingly, instead of using my regular method of two comments on the portion, I resort to the more interesting format of an imaginary Q&A between a reader and the story teller. For readers who are interested in a less-religious commentary, I also offer one at the end of each answer.

Life in the Desert: Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Did they actually travel every day?

A: No, the traveling was not performed on a daily basis. The organizing principle, of course was the following: “According to God the People of Israel would go, and according to God they shall make camp.” (Numbers 9:18; and again, 9:23). Accordingly, they first parked, for nearly a full year, near Mt. Sinai. (Num. 10:11). After that, they followed the divine cloud: whenever it rested over Ohel Mo’ed, the holy tent in which the Mishkan resides, they rested; and whenever it lifted, they traveled. At times, the cloud rested for days, even “many days,” while at other times it rested for shorter periods (Id., 9:17-20). In other times, the travel was done daily as the “cloud [rested] from evening until the morning, and was lifted during the day, and then they traveled.” (Id., 9:21). In some cases, however, the Israelites traveled at night as well. In other cases, they walked for three days straight.

Non Religious Explanation: Life in the desert is tough.  Different terrain, changing weather, and continuing issues with this enormously large traveling group (over 600,000 grown up men) require flexibility in moving arrangements. A good pattern is to move every day, and to rest during the night, but that pattern has to yield to the various needs and objective requirements. Hence the frequent variations. 

Q: Was there a special order of traveling?

A: Yes. First in the group was the tribe of Judah, with their military commander (Nachshon – a name and title that, until today, signals (in Hebrew) “he who dares to stand in front” – usually in the military context, such the he or she is ready to run first to battle, even in the face of enemy fire). Then two other tribes (Yissaschar and Zvuloun), with their commanders. Then the Mishkan  - always in front, but never exposed. Then the tribes of Re’uven, Shimon, and Gad. Then, separately from the Mishkan, the Kahaties – those in charge of actually erecting and dismantling the Mishkan each time the People made camp.  Then the other tribes. And then, at the very end – as sweep – the tribe of Dan and its commander. (Num. 10:11-28)

NRE: Clearly, considerations of safety and utility played an important role in devising the correct order of travel. Thus, back then (much like today), the strongest part of the army was always in the lead; this has been a winning strategy for the Israelis since those days and until today. The strategic placement of the Mishkan – at the top of the group, but not the very top, as well as the separation between the Mishkan and its workers, all guarantee a smooth operation and quick set-up and breakdown. Another great example of Moshe’s superior organizational skills at work.

Q: What did they eat?

A: Despite the widely-spread myth about the plentiful “Manna from Heaven” and how well it was received, the Israelites never hesitated to complain about the narrow selection and its uniformed taste (nothing new here, either).  This week, their complaint is especially detailed (and visual, I may add): “[And the People] cried and said:  Who would provide us with meat? We all well remember the sea-food that we have eaten in Egypt for free, and the squash, the water melons, the leek, the onions, and the garlic; and now our soles are dried – there is nothing but the Manna in front of our eyes.” (Numbers 11:5-6).  In response, occasionally, Moshe would provide some other culinary choices, such as meat. But that, in turn, would create some issues of its own – widespread food poisoning, for example, or other issues. (See Numbers 11:33-34). 

NRE: Constant (purified) water and food supplies are by far the hardest part of the entire exodus operation. The great thing about the Manna was its freshness – every day the people would only get enough for the next day (except for Shabbat, when they collected for the entire weekend in advance). Those who dared to collect more were severely punished – sometimes by God, sometimes by a severe food poisoning. Every deviation from this strict diet had its consequences, but Moshe had to balance between his limited resources and the People’s complaints – so he provided them meat (and other options) every now and again, only to prove them, once again, that the Manna is really the only thing to come straight from Heaven.

Q: Was Moshe the only person in charge?

A: We know, from many portions ago (Yitro, Exodus 18:18), that Moshe could not handle his judicial power obligations all on his own. Thus, his father-in-law provided him with an advice to devise a well-structured legal system based on himself as the entire Supreme Court and other adequate people (see the post there) as judges below him. But today, we learn that his executive powers, too, were hard to handle over a group of such size, and for that long a duration. After pleading with God (See Num. 11:12 for a wonderful text: “Did I conceive this entire People?”), Moshe receives assistance in the form of 70 elderly wise men who help him in carrying his executive mission. Later, this number would form the basis for the famous Sanhedrin, a joint legislative-executive body of the small Jewish community in Israel. (Note that despite his hardships in the Article II and III issues – executive and judiciary branches – Moshe leaves to God (and himself, by delegation) the sole authority of legislation.)

NRE: Clearly, the model of a single leader as the only legislator, executive, and judge is unattainable; but it is interesting to note that the request for help comes from Moshe himself – not from the people (who don’t seem to mind) or from God (who is apparently content with channeling all three branches to one person). Empirically speaking, it seems, the separation of powers is not only a wise poly-sci choice (just ask Motesquieu and then the Founding Fathers, who read him closely), but also a necessary fact of life.

Q: What about the Occasional Catastrophe?

A: This week’s portion alone tells us the story of three emergencies/mini-catastrophes: First, a fire consumes part of the camp (Num. 11:1-3); second, as we noted earlier, a food poisoning leaves several casualties behind (Num. 11:33-34); and finally, a mysterious skin condition afflicts Miriam, Moshe’s sister, perhaps in response to a bizarre derogatory comment she made in relation to her sister-in-law, Moshe’s black-skinned wife. (Num. 12:1, 10)  All these – and naturally, many others – are issues Moshe had to contend with on a daily basis, with the help of God, of course.

NRE: I believe these incidents, deliberately reported and included in the text forever, are only the tip of the iceberg in terms of what Moshe had to deal with on a daily basis. With no medical facilities (or much knowledge, for that matter), no sanitation, harsh conditions, and a huge group of people who were never used to long-term camping, those occasional catastrophes were probably part and parcel of the 40-year desert expedition. The fact that Moshe successfully brought all of them to the Promised Land is a true testament to his fantastic leadership skills – not only from the religious perspective, but also – and perhaps primarily – from the pragmatic, day-to-day leadership perspective. Not for naught does this portion concludes with the following compliment:  “And the person Moshe is very humble – more than any other person on earth.” Indeed, we had a very humble leader then. I wish we had some more like him today as well.

Shabbat Shalom.

       

Doron

Parashat Nasso

This week’s portion, Nasso – literally, an order to count (as in “go and count the people of Israel”) – is the longest of all portions of the week. Then again, it is also a great example of the rule that quantity does not necessarily yield quality. But enough about me.

The portion’s main issue – other than the continuing last week’s discussion of the census and its importance (see last week’s post) – is infidelity.  More accurately, a married woman’s alleged infidelity and its consequences. In looking at this issue I will venture, almost for the first time in this blog, to the very muddy waters (more in a second on this choice of words) of the Torah’s view of women. While aware of how dangerous this terrain may be, I would still like to offer my two cents. I begin with what – thankfully – has by now become a standard criticism of the text.  I then move to suggest a surprising twist, a possible justification for the seemingly humiliating ancient practice described in the text. I conclude with some general thoughts of the text and its relation to women.

I. The Water of Bitterness

To summarize – while strongly recommending that you read the entire passage (Numbers 5:11-31) – this week’s portion deals with adultery; more specifically, with a proposed solution to a situation where a woman has committed adultery, or, more accurately is alleged to have committed adultery (since no witnesses are available). The proposed solution, in a nutshell, is a test; it is the test of the “water of bitterness:” Here, the alleged adulterous woman has to drink some extremely bitter water. Should she (physically) respond well to it – she’s safe; if she’s ill (as most people would be), then she’s guilty of being unfaithful to her husband.

At first glance, the entire ceremony of the “the water of bitterness and curse” may be viewed as a typical (and unfavorable) biblical treatment of women. To begin with, the text does not even mention, let alone discusses, a situation in which the husband – not the wife – is suspected of cheating while the wife is “fraught with jealousy” (as the husband is described). Not here. Instead, all we have is a situation where the wife is suspected of being disloyal to her husband, to “have gone astray and broken faith” with another man (elegant, creative translation by JPS here) (Numbers 5:12).  What would a husband to do in this situation?

According to this week’s portion, the husband has to go to the priest - the religious authority (which, coincidently, comprises of all men – then and now, more than 2,000 years later). In a description reminiscent of the later “Salem witchcraft trials” and the famous “drowning test” –if the accused woman has drowned, she was innocent, but had she lived she was guilty of witchcraft – the text goes in great detail through what the poor suspected woman has to go through:

“And the priest made the woman stand before God, making her hair undone, and then he gave unto her hands [holy water (mixed with) the soil of the Tabernacle…  this water shall be known as] … the bitter, cursing water.  And the Priest swore that woman in, and told her: If no man has slept with you, and if you have not gone sinfully astray under you man, you shall be cleared by this water of bitterness and curse . . . [but if not,] your stomach would distend and your thighs will sag . . . and the woman would say: Amen and Amen.” (The full description, which is heavily edited here, may be found in Numbers 5:16-31).

Importantly, the text provides a nice alternative to the likely physical response the woman may have to the bitter water: if her stomach would not “distend,” then the suspected woman would be cleared of all suspicion, declared as “pure,” and even be “planted a seed” (become pregnant) (Numbers 5:28). [Loyal readers of this blog may look back at the discussion we had on the first verse of Parashat Tazri’a (Levit. 12:1), where, again, our sages has shown clear preference against naming a portion “A Woman”; there, too, the verse deals with the planted seed in the woman’ womb.] 

While the text provides no data, one may only venture to guess how many poor women could actually survive the test – which their husbands, again, had no need to take under similar circumstances – and be declared “pure.” To reiterate, this ritual is not dealing with the case of well-proved infidelity cases. Rather, we are dealing here with mere suspicions, rumors, and innuendoes; all we have in fact is “the wind of jealousy” by the husbands.

When I first read this text, I was appalled. To me, it represented everything that was wrong with the Torah’s treatment of women. It reminded me of my first class of Jewish Law in my final year at the Hebrew University Law School. By then, we were no longer viewing our professors with the same awe and revere that were the staple of our first year.  So when the Instructor opened the class by announcing that the Israeli Law of Equality of Women’s Rights – a mainly declaratory, though still important, act of legislation passed by Israeli Knesset very early in the life of the Jewish State – that this Act has “violated a delicate balance struck over thousands of years by Jewish sages with regards to women’s rights” I could no longer remain silent. “It is quite the opposite” – I told the instructor, shortly before leaving the class for good – “The State of Israel has corrected an imbalance that lasted through thousands of years with regards to the rights of Jewish women, due mostly to sages of Jewish thought who intentionally and creatively discriminated against women.”

That is precisely how I felt when I read the text initially. 

II. Later Developments – in Halacha and Within Me

In part, it seems that my sense of reprehension was at least justified in part. During the Mishna period, the “Water of Bitterness” test was abolished. (3 Mishna, Sotah, Chapter 9 mishna 9).  The reason behind this surprising turn may be more telling than the actual act of abolition itself: “Mi’she’rabu Ha’me’na’a’fim” – when cases of infidelities became so many, too many in fact, there was no longer need for the test.  In other words, the deterring effect of the test was lost in the “sea” of infidelity. But a careful reading of the text shows an even more interesting feature: The Mishna does not say: “Mi’she’rabu Ha’me’na’a’fot” – when the women infidelity cases became too many; but rather “when the infidelity cases [by all!] became too many” then the test was abolished. Here we have an initial recognition – very implicit, very hesitant, almost secret – in the fact that perhaps the initial test was wrong, as it applied to women alone. Perhaps not only women should have been accused of such an act. Perhaps men, too, are fallible.

But not only have our sages changed their mind. I did, too. I came to view the test in a different light. I realized that – at the time, and within that context – women required a great degree of protection from their jealous husbands.  In fact, in some instances these women were in a state of “clear and present danger” to their very lives, just by virtue of being suspected of committing adultery. (Hmm… Is that really so different today in some parts?) And that by providing the test – horrible as it may seem to us today – the Jewish religion has stepped forward to end this situation and to protect those women (clearly in a manner less than satisfactory, but still).  To be more specific, the notion that a priest – the prime religious authority – may absolve a woman of that cloud, in a final manner and with the blessings of God, is a huge step towards the protection of women’s right. [Moreover, as I was pouring some sugar into my baby son’s bitter medicine – he was sick this week – I was thinking that maybe some thoughtful Priests pored some sugar into those bitter waters back then, to make it easier on the women.] 

Again, I don’t know if any of this is true. I don’t know how many women, if any, were absolved by this test. But the very option granted by our religion to clear a woman from any unfaithful suspicion – with the authority of God, no less – should, in my mind, be looked upon favorably, even if the actual means used to effectuate this thought were inhumane by today’s standards. At least for that thought, the Torah’s text should be absolved.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron   

Parashat Ba'Midbar

This week’s portion, Ba’Midbar (literally, in the desert) opens the penultimate book of the Pentateuch. It begins with an interestingly accurate time stamp – God speaks to Moses on the first day, of the second month, of the second year from the day they left Egypt – in other words, one year and one month, to the day, after the famous Exodus.

And what concerns God on that day? The exact number – or “Numbers” as the book is entitled in English – of the People of Israel.  In other words, God orders a census. And that brings me to a point I began talking about last week – that very little had changed between then and now.

The Census – Then & Now

Two years ago, in 2010 – much like during any other “decade” year – the federal government has held a census of the People of the United States, in accordance with federal law.  To me, this latest census is strikingly similar to the first census ever taken – the one we read about this week in our Portion. Allow me to demonstrate.

           

i.                The term “People”; their exact number 

God orders Moshe to count the number of “people” of the Children of Israel. What does the term “people” encompass? Does it entail all people, men and women, adult and children, slaves and slaves owners? Not quite. The original biblical text refers to the term “people” as including only males (as opposed to males and females); over 20 years of age (as opposed to people of all ages); and who could bear arms (see Numbers 1:3). The original American Constitution’s notion of “person” was equally exclusive: In the period close to ratification, the constitutional term of “persons” was interpret to include only males (and not females); only “free” persons (as opposed to slaves); and mostly property and land owners (which excluded minors as well).

The number of those “people,” according to the biblical census, was precisely 603,550 (see Numbers 2:32).  This number is strikingly similar to the approximated number of people who left Egypt, according to the text, just a year earlier: “approximately 600,000 men, notwithstanding children.” (Exodus 12:37).

While this number is not similar in any way to the 310 million or so Americans living in the U.S. today, it certainly is identical to the number of people who conducted the census in America in that year; see, for example, a not from the Census’ Director: “A Note to my 600,000 New Colleagues.” (available at http://blogs.census.gov/2010census/ ).

ii.              The Census’ Method

Today, just like the first biblical Census, the actual method of counting is based upon divisions. The entire group is divided into sections, or districts; those districts are divided further into lots; and those – into families. Each person conducting the count adds up to the grand total, which is received after accumulating a large group of data (in the U.S., a data gathered by 600,000 counters). The biblical text dedicates nearly an entire chapter – 46 verses, to be exact – to the accumulated data that led to the grand total; from which we may deduce the great importance accorded by the text to the census’ method (see Numbers 1:1-46). Indeed, it seems that the very method by which the census is conducted today is not very different, if at all, from the one used by the original biblical census. This is probably one of the very few things that we do today precisely the way they were conducted thousands of years ago (and with the same amount of success, I may add).

iii.            The reason for conducting a census

Why a census? Today, we are all aware of the “formal” reasons – a proper allocation of federal grants and budget in a manner that is proportional (or number-dependent) to the amount of people in each state. Indeed, the census determines, to a large extent, the amount of dollars each state would receive to fund its education, police, infrastructure, and, in fact, almost anything that receives federal support. In addition, there are several other reasons why the census is important today (see “Why [The Census] Is Important?” http://2010.census.gov/2010census/why/index.php ). 

Yet part of the reason so many people try to evade the census’ pollsters (and part of the reason the federal government had to recruit 600,000 strong to do the job) is that they fear additional knowledge would provide the government with additional power – too much power, perhaps – than needed in order to govern over its citizens. There’s a strong sense among some of the citizens that governmental knowledge equals governmental power, and absolutely accurate knowledge may lead to absolutely directed power. I would not like to dwell into this weak version of conspiracy theory, (“weak,” counter intuitively, because it does have some factual basis), but I would love to leave it to you to draw the proper analogy with the ancient ultimate pollster entity – and the reason why He was interested in the exact number.

The Prophecy: Hypothetical, Not Actual

From the census – a scientific, data-oriented, fact-based, empirical experiment – we move this week into the world of moral philosophy – the untested, hypothetical, purposively inaccurate realm of biblical prophecy.

This week’s Haphtarah – Hoshe’a 2:1 – begins with a statement that is quite contradictory to the subject-matter of this week’s portion: “And the number of the People of Israel has been like the sand of the sea, which cannot be measured or counted . . . [but God told them:] You are the children of the living God.” I will not dwell here on the heavier conundrum posed by the text – why would God have to wait until the Jewish People reached that nearly infinite number in order to break the good news to them (that they are the children of a living God), but instead concentrate on a much more mundane question:  Why does the actual portion text take so much pains to reach an accurate number, while the Haftara’s “prophecy version” insists on a number that is neither countable nor measurable?

The answer to this seemingly trivial question is actually quite profound, and stands at the heart of truly understanding the notion of Jewish prophecy. And this true understanding can be summarized in the wonderful phrase – appearing originally in the Tosaphot (Yevamot 50, 71) and invoked countless times by Leibowitz – that “the prophet engage in prophecy only for the matters that are ought to happen.” In other words, prophecy is not intended to describe the situation “as is” (descriptive), but rather intended to encourage certain desirable patterns of behavior (prescriptive). It tells us, in other words, in which direction we should go, not in which direction we are actually going.

Indeed, for thousands of years many of the prophecies written into the text did not come true – in fact, many have proved wrong over the years. But rather than seeing that as evidence of incompetence on the side of the prophets, those unsubstantiated prophecies should only serve as evidence of our own incompetence – of our own inability to live up to the prophets’ ideals. Still, those ideals are for us to reach, and they may always be there. And that, to a large extent, is the difference between the actual (census) and the hypothetical (prophecy). 

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Be'Har - Be'Chu'ko'tai

This week’s two portions – Be’har (literally, “at the mountain”), and Be’Chuku’tai (literally, “in my laws”) – mark the end of the third book of the Torah, the book of Leviticus.  Among others, these portions contain the famous laws of “shmi’ta” – the innovative idea that every seventh year the land itself has to rest, just like we humans who own it do every seventh day.  They also contain other, more familiar religious laws such as the prohibition on creating idols (Levit. 26:1), the decree to keep the Shabat (26:2), and others. 

And at the end of the Chapter 26 we find this dramatic concluding remark: “These are the statutes, laws, and doctrines that God provided between Himself and the Israelite People at Mount Sinai at the hand of Moshe.”  (26:46)

But other than those well-established rules, this week’s portions also discuss two very interesting concepts that are often less discussed in Judaism – that of business cycles and that of negative incentives for inappropriate behavior.  To me, both demonstrate, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that very little has changed between the time the Torah was written and today. I will dedicate a very short discussion to each.

On Business Cycles and Old Recessions

The modern theory of business cycle – the notion that markets operate in stages, notably four: (1) expansion; (2) crisis; (3) recession; and (iv) recovery – was only developed in the twentieth century by pioneer economists like Joseph Schumpeter.  Yet the idea that economic activity operate in waves, and that sometimes people find themselves on top and sometimes on the bottom of economic success, is as old as the idea of market itself. 

This week’s portion is famous for its detail discussion of the laws of Sh’meeta, which I mentioned earlier – the careful consideration given to the soil, the main production resource of the time. In a limited sense, this too can be seen as a part of the notion of business cycle – here, the land must “rest” every seven years, and then begin again. To me, however, the more interesting part of the portion relates to the very detailed account of the rules that should apply when members of the community fall on hard economic times. For example, what is the law when your relative was forced to sell a part of their land, as he no longer can hold on to it? When a member of the community had to sell his lucrative residence located behind the protective walls of the city (the then-Upper East Side, perhaps) and to move to live outside the protective bounds of town? What happens to when out-of-protective-town homes are sold, as the owners can pay the mortgage? What happens when your relative losses his job and cannot make do? And so on and so forth. (Levit. 25:25-55) I hope that by now, some – if not all – of this sounds very familiar. An accurate description of the “biblical housing bubble,” if you will. 

Though the laws themselves are fascinating – providing, in essence, a model for market-created social safety net, including the (now famous) restriction on usury loans – I am more interested here in the very phenomenon of people who fell on hard economic times and how society should treat them (according to Judaism). This, to me, shows not only that a community-based approach and notions of shared responsibility were envisioned well before the Great Depression or the current economic crisis, but that the Jewish religion saw it as a moral and legal obligation to treat those people with dignity and fairness, and to provide them with hope for better economic times.  The message here is simple: You have to treat those people well today, because tomorrow you might be the one in need of that kind of help. The debate today over the creation of a new consumer protection agency, as well as the idea of “private” bail-out – a direct government assistance to people in need – are but a faint echo of this comprehensive set of laws created over  two thousand years ago to properly deal with the notion of business cycles and their effect. Once again, we can be proud of our wise sages (or God, or both) who identified a social issue and created a comprehensive way of dealing with it.

The “Sh’ma” and Sanctions for Bad Behavior

While business cycles are entirely a secular phenomenon – no God is involved in either their creation or the solution provided (with the proviso, of course, that everything is done in His command) – the next issue is anything but.

The Sh’ma – “Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad” – is by far the most famous of Jewish texts.  It consists of two parts, as Yeshayahu Leibowitz explains in length (also in English, see The Reading of Shema in Judaism, Human Values, and the Jewish State 37 (Harvard 1992)). The first part of the Sh’ma, which is presented as an absolute demand (or as a Kantian categorical imperative, for those who are interested in modern philosophy), requires every Jewish person to love the Lord our God with all their heart, all their soul, and all their might. (And Rabbi Akiva added: “with all thy soul – meaning that even when they come to take away your soul (i.e., to kill you) – you should still love Him.”)

I would not dwell here on the beautiful issue of why the word love was chosen to portray the desired – nay, decreed(!) – relationship between the person of faith and God. I would just suggest that love is the greatest human feeling of all, the strongest, the most expressive, and thus no other human emotion could be chosen for the task.

The second part of the She’ma is framed as a conditional demand (or, in Kantian terms, a conditional imperative). It begins with the words “And if you shall hear [Me],” and promises a set of rewards for those who would follow the ways of the Jewish Lord.  Leibowitz dwells here on the notion of “Lishma” and “Lo Lishma” (a faith for its own sake, which is the one mentioned in the first part, and a lesser, though much more prevalent, form of faith, to gain a reward, appearing in the second) – an issue I dealt with in previous posts. But for my purposes today, I would like to remark on what is missing from the Sh’ma.  The two sections (I omit here the third part of the Sh’ma, dealing with the Ts’tsit) describe no sanction, no punishment, no negative reward for the person who chooses not to follow the ways of God. 

That part is supplied by today’s portion. And in droves.

The portion of “Be’Chukutai” begins with the now-familiar text of “If you shall follow my laws, and keep my decrees . . . then I shall provide your rain in time (etc., etc.)” – much like the second part of the Sh’ma.  But then the text moves onto a third part that does not appear in the Sh’ma:

"But if you shall not listen to me, and shall not follow my decrees, and if you reject my rules and despise my laws . . . then I shall do the following onto you:" And here the text provides a parade of horribles, including plagues, wars lost, becoming slaves to enemy armies, a land refusing to give fruit, the death of domestic animals, and so on and so forth, including being forced to eat the very flesh of your own descendants. (Levit. 26:29).   

To me, that shows – once again – that not much has changed since the time the text was written. Yes, it is very nice to discuss categorical imperatives – doing things because they are right in and of themselves; or even to do something for anticipation of reaping the rewards – such as “if you will follow my laws, all the best will happen to you.” (As the second part of the Sh’ma is phrased). But at the end of the day, human nature is such that nothing would happen unless and until meaningful sanctions are put in place. And those sanctions, to be sure, must be such that would deter someone from doing the act.  Serious, big sanctions (and in this case, perhaps even cruel and unusual sanctions) should be put in place in order to deter unwanted behavior. And this is the role (well) played by the portion read this week. 

I would like to leave you with the following question, however: If this section is so important, so vital, so crucial to human behavior, why was it left outside the Sh’ma itself? Put differently, If you were sitting today in the Sanhedrin’s Knesset G’dolah (a religious legislative body that ceased to exist, but that had all the required authority to change the law) would you reintroduce this part of the text into the Sh'ma? Let me know your thoughts.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Emor

This week’s portion, Emor – literally, “tell” as in “tell all the priests to…” – is very unique, both to me personally and to every thinking Jewish person more generally. It is personally unique to me as this is my “bar Mitzvah” portion.  It is (or should be) unique to every thinking Jewish person as it fully represents the stark contrast between the ancient written Torah text and the more current Halachic custom. I will shortly elaborate on each of these points in my notes today.

Text vs. Halacha: When Is Rosh Ha’Shana?

Suppose you had to pick just one portion that would include as many Jewish holidays as possible. Emor would easily be a top choice. This portion is practically a “Lonely Planet Guide to Jewish Holidays.” Beginning with the somewhat dramatic statement: These are the Holidays of the Lord – Readings of holiness that you shall read in their due course” (Levit. 23:4), the portion goes on to describe in great detail each of the major holidays: Passover (23:5-8); The counting of the Omer (of which we are currently in the midst) (23:15-22); Rosh Ha’Shana (23:23-25); Yom Kippur (23:26-32); and Sukkot (23:33-44).     

I will not go here through the intricate details of each of these Torah-mandated holidays. What is important to me today are the dates: Passover, according to the explicit text, is to be celebrated “on the first month at the fourteenth day of the month.” But Passover is not celebrated today on the first month – Tishrei; it is rather celebrated on the month of Nissan, the seventh month of the year.

Conversely, Yom Kippur, is celebrated today on the tenth day of Tishrei – the very first month of the current Jewish calendar; but according to the explicit text it is to be celebrated “on the tenth day of the Seventh month.” More importantly, between these two important holidays lies yet another holiday, in the beginning of that seventh month, in which the text requires us to cease all work.  Today this holiday is called “Rosh Ha’Shana” – the beginning of the year (or, more simply, “New Year’s”) – a name, by the way, that can be found nowhere in our portion (or anywhere else in the bible, for that matter).

But how can we celebrate the beginning of the year on the seventh month? In particular, how can the year begin not in the first month as is specifically prescribed by the text itself? Have we been wrong all these years? Should we move Rosh Ha’Shana to Passover?

In a way – a textual way – we have been wrong.  The term Rosh Ha’Shana (New Year’s) does not appear in the text. The holiday – which today marks the beginning of the Jewish year – is not designated as such by the text. Moreover, the first month of the year is not up in the air. According to the text, the month in which the Israelites left Egypt – Nissan, the month of Passover (of course) – is the first month of the year. So what is going on here?

Halacha O’keret Mikra – the Halacha overrides the biblical text – is the principle used to explain these (and many other) discrepancies. This week marks one of the most explicit cases where the customs devised by our sages stand in stark contrast to the biblical text itself. Today, we receive these Halachic commands, first iterated by the Mishna, as a binding (Jewish) law.  But you don’t have to be Justice Scalia – who can’t stand a law that has no strong textual basis – in order to pose a penetrating question: What is the basis of that? Who are those sages – and who appointed them – to overrule (or override) an explicit biblical text?

I am not able to answer these questions here. I am, however, able to suggest that an acceptance of such Halachic override may have far-reaching consequences both in terms of understanding what are the real sources of Jewish law, and, more profoundly, what does it mean to accept the “yoke of Torah and Mitzvot” – to accept Jewish law as a person of faith.  More on that in future posts. 

My Bar-Mitzvah’s Haftarah

It has been long ago – way too long, over three decades – since I stood in the then-new synagogue next to my parents’ home in Ramat Aviv (a small Tel-Aviv suburb), very nervous and anxious, preparing to read aloud my first (and so far only) public Haftara.  We just welcomed, four months earlier, a wonderful addition to our family – my younger brother Uri; I was so proud to carry him on my arms to shul for the first time. I will never know how I really did that day (in terms of proper reading). Everyone, of course, sang my praises, telling me I did great. Then again, what would you tell a young Bar-Mitzvah boy who just finished his readings (for which he prepared over several months)? That he did horribly? That he was barely understood, or almost not heard? Indeed, even in Israel – the “tell-it-as-it-is-and-in-your-face” country – we have our limits. Bar Mitvah is certainly one of those.

I have been to many Bar Mitzvahs ceremonies since, but every year I love to come back to my own Haftara – by the Prophet Ezekiel, of course (Ez. 44:15-31). Initially I was disappointed to read its text – it seems to deal with the mundane issue of the type of cloths priests should (and should not) put on prior to perform the holy task of serving God.

But then it hit me, several years later, that this text must mean much more than that. And indeed, thanks to my own “Rabbi,” Yeshayahu Leibovitz, I grew to understand that the text has profound – and indeed very relevant modern-day— implications. In essence, it requires the priests and Levites, when they enter into the “inner” sanctum, the holy of holiest places, to wear special (and very specific) clothes. But when they go back outside, “to the masses” as the text puts it, these same servants of God should again put on their regular clothes: “and they shall not consecrate the people in their [special] clothes.”

Why would the priests wear special clothes when no one can see them, but regular clothes when everyone does? The answer implies a fundamental principle of religious leadership adhered to, unfortunately, only by very few religious leaders today (in all religions equally, by the way): It is the idea that a religious leader is unique only to the extent – and during the period – that he or she are serving God; in all other measures, in all other respects, they are equal to all other people – and therefore should appear like that. In that manner, both them and the people would have a constant reminder that they are not “above all others” in any respect, except for the time they serve God.

But none of the religious leaders I know today – from the Pope to the Chief Rabbis to major Mullahs – would sacrifice their uniquely-looking garbs (or robes) for the “regular clothes” of the people. They rightly fear that “the people” would quickly reveal that, behind those gilded quilts, they may not be so different from any of us…

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Acharei-Mot - Ke'doshim

This week’s pair of portions are A’ch’arei Mot (which means “after the death,” as in after the horrific death of two of Aharon’s sons for sacrificing the “foreign fire,” discussed in “She’mi’ni” several weeks back, that still has a lasting effect), and Ke’do’shim (which means Holy, as in “You shall be holy for I am Holy” said God).  Both contain some of the best life-guiding advice ever provided, thousands of years before the first “self-help” book was ever published. And they all, without exception, sound as fresh today as they did 3,000 years ago. 

Take, for example, the following: “You shall not curse the deaf, and before the blind you shall not place a hurdle” (the last one being extremely versatile; think of cookie-filled closet in the house of a person trying to loose weight (Levit. 19:14); “Do not carry injustice in a trial: do not favor the poor or show deference to the well-to-do; in justice you shall judge your peers.” (notice the early warning against “social engineering” at the trial level, on both ends) (Levit. 19:15); “You shall rise before the elderly, and show deference to the old” (enough said) (Levit. 20:32); “And when a foreign resident dwells among you, do not defraud him; as a citizen like you he shall be to you.” (pointing to the undocumented employees of old and the adverse treatment they already received back then); and finally, for those who wonder about the origin of the symbol of justice – the famous balanced scale – a reminder that Wall Street moguls were not the first to commit a devastating fraud on the financial markets: “Do not carry injustice in the law – falsely measuring size, weight, or capacity; you shall have a scale of justice – stones (weights) of justice, ruler of justice, and measurement of justice.” (Levit. 19:35).

But other than containing these – and many other – important lessons for life, the two portions are centered around two themes: first, the incest restrictions; and second, the notion of holiness.  I want to dedicate today a few words to each.

The Laws of Incest: What, and Why

In both portions, the laws of incest play a major role. In the first, we learn first of the general restriction – “None of you shall come near anyone of his own flesh to uncover nakedness (for) I am the Lord.” (Levit. 18:5). This general restriction – which, in my mind, should first and foremost be understood as a complete restriction against sexual relations with one’s own descendants – either sons or daughters, is followed by a very detailed list of less obvious examples of forbidden sexual relations, including sexual relations with one’s mother or father, with other wives the father may have, with sisters, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, daughters-in-law, sisters-in-law, and others. The list concludes with more general restrictions (not incest-related) of homosexuality and – separately – bestiality (hence the frequent erroneous link made by some self-righteous moralists between the two)(Levit. 18:6-23). 

The second portion mostly repeats that list of restrictions appearing in the first, but this time also adds the penalty attached. And that penalty – no surprises here – is mostly death. For example, “And a man who shall sleep with his father’s wife, exposing his father nakedness, both of them shall die, their blood upon them.” (Levit. 20:11) The same punishment awaits both persons engaged in homosexual relations (20:13); death by fire awaits a man taking a daughter and her mother (20:14); a “regular” death penalty is prescribed for a man engaged in bestiality (20:15); and so on.  Other punishments, presumably for less than full sexual intercourse, include excommunications or “cutting off” of the persons involved.

Much more interesting than the “what” contained in these two detailed lists, however, is the “why” – the religious explanation given by God himself for these restrictions.  One explanation to the prohibition is not to replicate the laws and customs of both Egypt (from where the Israelites have arrived)  or Cna’an (to where they are destined). Apparently, it seems that in both countries these acts were prevalent. Another explanation is that the land itself, according to God, became so “unpurified” by the prevalence of these acts, that it “spewed out” those sinners, presumably allowing the Israelites (who would not commit those acts) to come and settle in its midst. This is a fascinating humanization of the land, and one worth noticing on Earth Day (which we marked just recently).   

These two explanations are in fact one. They are two sides of the same coin. And they both relate to the notion of holiness in Judaism, on which I (again) want to say very few words next. 

The Notion of Holiness in Judaism                 

“You shall be holy for I am Holy, the Lord your God.” (Levit. 19:2).  Thus opens the second portion of this week (“Ke’do’shim – Holy); it is also one of the quintessential proclamations of the notion of Jewish holiness.  As I have explained before (based on Leibowitz, who, in turn, is based on the Rambam), the notion of holiness is not based on the fact Jews are superior in any way to other people in and of themselves; indeed, this is a prevalent mistake made by many Jews across history, and one that has caused many a misunderstanding for both Jews and non-Jews. Indeed, the equation:  We are Jewish, therefore we are holy is simply not true.

In fact, the notion of holiness in Judaism is properly based solely on the notion of holiness of God Himself: He alone is the only Holy entity; He and not us.  In order to become holy, too, Jewish people are supposed to commit wholeheartedly to two things: in the affirmative manner, they must follow all of His rules, decrees, and ordinances (613 of them) as they are detailed in the text; in the negative, they should never worship other Gods, and so many other people are doing. These two facets – the positive and negative – of the Jewish faith are the building blocks on which the notion of holiness stand. To the extent that Jews are not following God, or doing “as the rest of the people do,” they cannot claim their unique status.  But, and perhaps more importantly, to the extent they do, they are only holy in so far as the relationship between themselves and their God is concerned – not in any other dimension, including the oft-invoked Jews-non-Jews sphere.

So next time you encounter a self-proclaimed “holy” person, ask them: (1) Do you follow all of God’s rules?; and, if so, (2) Do you refrain from doing what other, non-Jewish people are doing? If so – and only if so – you can proclaim yourself “holy” in your own relationship with God, but nowhere else. Now, to be sure, such a status should be considered a huge achievement to every person of faith; but that is all that the achievement is. Holiness between (and among) men is not achieved in Judaism – neither achieved nor meant to be achieved.  This is an important lesson in humility. May all of you be holy in your standing before God today.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Taz'ree'a - Met'zor'a

This week’s portion – or, more accurately, two portions that are read together, Taz’ree’ah and Metzo’rah – seems, at first site, not like the most interesting of reading material: a detailed, somewhat arduous account of ordinances, laws, and requirements relating to almost every aspect of every bodily ailment – from bad skin condition to pure leprosy.  But, as was the case in other portions, a somewhat deeper examination reveals some extremely thought-provoking insights.  In this post I want to discuss three in particular.   

What’s in a Name? A Word About Portion Titles

The title of the two portions tells us something about their subject matter.  Taz’ree’ah – the title of the first of today’s two portions – is a word related to seed or sperm; in today’s context, it reads something in the vicinity of “whenever a woman becomes pregnant, she should [do the following…]” (Lev. 12:1-2). Most translations understandably took the easy route here, simply reading the text as whenever “a woman gives birth,” or whenever “a woman is with a child,” or, closer still, whenever “a woman who has conceived seed.”  Only one translation of the eleven I examined, the Douay-Rheims Bible, chose to confront the Hebrew original head-on by writing: “If a woman having received seed shall bear a [male] child… [then she should]” (they actually used “man-child,” a term I cannot accept).  In any event, the first portion begins with pregnancy – the point of departure for every human life.   

And indeed, this week’s portion – as any other portion – is named after the first meaningful word in the opening section.  By “Meaningful” I do not mean that it has a meaning – all words in the bible do; rather, it is meaningful in the sense that it is not a part of the formal introduction to the portion (as in “So said God,” or “Then God has spoken,” or, more to the point in this week’s portion: “And God spoke to Moshe and told him:  Tell the children of Israel to do the following”). What is interesting to note, however, is that the first of these meaningful words, this week, is not Taz’ree’ah, but rather “a woman” [“Ee’shah”].

Despite that, the sages chose not to name this portion, as it should have been called, “a woman,” but rather the much more convoluted term “Taz’ree’a.”  That is unfortunate.  Just imagine for a second what an important contribution a portion named “woman” can make to women’s rights and status in Judaism. Just consider the annual cause for celebration, discussion, and reflection on that day for (at least) half of the persons who are Jewish, merely because of the portion’s name.

And while it is true that in Judaism today, once the Sanhedrin ceased to exist, the formal authority to make such serious revisions – as re-naming a portion – is gone, one could make the argument that individual communities, should they so desire, may mark this week by naming the portion in public “Woman.” We should echo, therefore, Juliet’s question to her Romeo – “what’s in a name?” – and answer it anew today: Much is in a name. Let us properly restore it.

The title of the second portion – Me’tzorah, which means a leper – also tells us something about this week’s content.  In the lowest level of abstraction, reading the text as plainly as possible, both portions deal heavily with skin diseases in different stages of evolvement.  Perhaps that was a frequent condition in the desert, requiring an elaborated set of ordinances (with the priests in the role of physicians).  But perhaps there is something deeper here.  That would be the issue of my second point today.

The All-Encompassing Aspect of Judaism 

About twenty years ago, the Israeli Supreme Court was heavily divided around a major jurisprudential (=legal philosophy) issue:  Is the law ubiquitous? Is the law everywhere, all the time, all around us, whenever we go?  Or does the law have a limited role, intervening in our lives only when we do (or attempt to do) something wrong?  One side of the debate was presented by the Vice Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, a noted Torah scholar and a prolific jurist, Justice Menachem Elon. He vehemently opposed the idea of “the law is everything.” To him, (and I cite from memory, twenty years after the fact), “the law has nothing to say about love, dancing, playing with my grandchildren, and many other activities. The law is not everywhere, and the law is not everything.” 

On the other end of the debate, however, stood Aharon Barak, then an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, and later Israel’s most famous Chief Justice (think of Chief Justice Marshall for comparison).  Even then, there was no dispute about Barak’s legal brilliance.  To him, (and again, citation from memory only) “the law is not everything, but it is everywhere; everything can be examined through a legal lens.” The fact that we can “dance, love, and play with our children,” Barak explained, exists only because “the law allows it.”  More concretely, “the law sometimes allows, sometimes restricts, but is always there.” Thus, at times the law chooses to intervene through restrictions (“You shall not murder”; “You shall not steal” etc.), and sometimes through leaving “blank spaces” in the regulation map (such as “in relationship, do whatever you want to do [as long as you don’t violate the law otherwise (such as attacking your partner)]”). 

The debate was never firmly resolved.  But reading this week’s portion and thinking of the debate between these two giants – the noted Torah scholar on the one hand and the brilliant jurist on the other – it seems that the Torah itself leans towards the latter (the jurist), at least in its perspective on Jewish law.

Indeed, this week’s portions take us through a long journey of human life (“life cycle” in modern parlance) - and not necessarily the most esthetically pleasing portions of it: skin conditions, ailments, rashes, and the like. (To be exact, the portions take us through the legal rules or decrees we have to follow whenever we encounter such conditions). From post-pardom irth “impurity”; from circumcision (an eighth-day decree that the Rambam himself emphasizes comes from this portion and not from the elaborate discussion in Genesis on the Compact between Avraham and God; see Leviticus 12:3) to a variety of skin diseases in all shapes and sizes; from hair and beard infections to baldness; from contaminated clothes (and proper rules of laundry) to leprosy; from women’s menstrual cycle to men’s inadvertent semen discharge – and many, many, more.

While tedious at times, this legal journey is fascinating in the sense that it shows, on the one hand, the ubiquity of the rules of Judaism – how it may govern every aspect of our lives, from birth to death and everything in between.  But it also makes another important point, which often escapes theological observers, especially non-religious ones – and that is the subject of my third and last point today.        

What Religion Truly Is

When we talk about religion – every religion, but ours most especially – we usually think of very spiritual, dignified settings:  Shabbat Dinner; Shul Prayers; Reflections on God; Celebrating the Holidays (and realizing they are “holy” days); etc. Very few people, I would venture to guess, think about issues such as women’s cycle, skin diseases, proper laundry rules, and others when asked “what religion means to you.”  This week’s portion, however, makes the very profound point that religion – every religion, but ours most especially – in not only about those unique and glorious moments in life, but also – and perhaps mostly – about every single moment in life, from cradle to grave, and everything in between. Thus, when a person receives upon themselves the obligation of religion – the yoke of Torah and Mitzvot – they are placing an enormous responsibility on their lives: It is the responsibility to live and act like a Jewish person at all times.

The Shulchan Aruch, one of Judaism’s profound documents, demonstrates this point beautifully when it begins with the description of what a Jewish person should do immediately upon awakening every single morning (to overcome [his desire to go back to sleep] “like a lion” and to go out and serve his God by prayer [Shacharit]), all the way through going to sleep again. Indeed, the laws of Judaism are all around us, all the time – not only when we light the Shabbat candles.

That is the message of this week’s portion.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Sh'mi'nee

This week’s portion – Sh’mi’nee (literally, “the eighth,” as in “In the eighth day Moshe called Aaron) – continues last weeks’ main theme, which is the notion of proper worship through offerings.  But this week’s portion also introduces us to a profound notion in Judaism, and one of its fundamental tenets – that the degree of worship in Judaism must bear an exact resemblance to God’s instructions; not an iota less, and not an iota more.  

I. The Case Against “Too Much of a Good Thing”

Can Judaism tolerate “too much” worship?  Is there “too much of a good thing” in worshipping? These classic theological conundrums, which occupied generations of commentators of all religious stripes, receive a convincing answer in this week’s portion. But before I present these answers (“no, it can’t,” and “yes, there is,” respectively) I want to introduce a term borrowed from modern-day Hebrew: “Rosh Gadol” (“Large Head”).

The term was invented – like many others in today’s Israeli slang – in the army (the Israeli Defense Force, IDF).  What it means, essentially, is the taking of responsibilities above and beyond the command given by your officer. For example, when asked to clean his weapon, a private with “Large Head” will also make sure that his entire military gear is in order. Similarly, a drill sergeant with large head, when asked by his commander to check the unit’s gun cleanliness, would also go ahead and check their entire readiness for battle.  You get the drill. Conversely, a soldier with a “small head” would do exactly as told, or the minimum required to satisfy the order; he would never attempt to perform more than he was asked.

And thus we arrive at this week’s portion. Here, the sons of Aaron – Moshe’s brother and the first Chief Rabbi – are trying to demonstrate a “Large Head.” We first read, in great detail, about the actions taken by their father during his offering ritual (including details regarding the calf’s blood, its internal organs, and certain burned parts) (Leviticus 9:8-22)). We then learn that this offering was well received by both God and men (“And fire came out before God and consumed the burned offering that are on the altar … and the entire People has seen the sights, and they were delighted, and they fell upon their faces” Id., at 24). [For an extra brownie point, compare this well-received offering to the one presented by Abel, Cain’s brother, at the very beginning of our story (see Gen. 4:3-5).]

So now it is the sons’ turn to do the same.

But instead of repeating precisely their father’s set of precise actions, these sons have preferred – like many generations before and since – to try and outdo their parent. They were trying, in other words, to exercise “large head.”

 “Now the sons of Aaron Nadav and Avi’hu each took their pan, and they put fire in each, and they placed incense on it; and they have sacrificed it before God.” (Lev. 10:1)

So far so good. Or was it?  The text changes its tone here sharply, switching from a mere description of the brothers’ actions to a harsh criticism: “[They have offered to God] a foreign fire, which God has never ordered them to.” (Id.)  As we have seen, however, those who exercise “large head” do exactly that: They don’t only do exactly as they were told, but move a step further, “enlarging” their task – usually by demanding more of themselves and others.

But God’s response to such self-improving initiative is swift, and could not have been clearer: “And a fire came out before God, and it consumed them, and they have died before God.” (Lev. 10:2).  So goes one of the Five Book’s most famous stories, of how the sons of the Chief Priest – the two Priest-designated, the chosen sons – were executed for exercising a bit of “business initiative,” a limited amount of free will, or “Large Head.”

At first, this harsh punishment seems like a tough sell.  The two, after all, seem to have not committed a sin of any serious religious magnitude; they certainly did not build a new Golden Calf or called for the worship of other gods. In fact, they never turned away from the One God they were supposed to worship. They actually followed closely both the First, Second, and Third Commandments (“I am the Lord your God”; “You shall not make any statue or mask; and “You shall not take the Lord’s name in vein,” respectively).   And yet they were executed immediately upon committing their act.

But why?

The answer lies in the concept of blind and complete obedience – Na’asse Ve’Nishma (first we obey, then we listen [or question] the command).  This concept is fundamental to the understanding of the entire corpus of the Torah teachings.  As a rule, Judaism despises dissenters.  As we shall see in the next Book in the series, the first indication of a real opposition to Moshe was also met with a deadly faith (the story of Korach and his party).  And we have yet to recover from the punishment – arguably, disproportional – imposed following the Golden Calf event, in which more than 3,000 fellow Jews were killed by their own brethren (the Levites). 

To be sure, scholars of public policy could make the argument that the desert is not the best-suited venue for disagreement.  We can even agree that at least until they have settled in Israel, the Israelites had to unite around the leadership of one leader (Moshe), their well-recognized “slave of God.” 

But how can all this justify such a harsh punishment for an act of worship? Why was the extreme punishment of death required to make the point in this case?  My guess is that these initial attempts at a new form of worship were met with the ultimate punishment because they were considered not less dangerous than the Golden Calf itself. If one were to be allowed to deviate, at will, from the prescribed method of worshiping, we might have tomorrow 600,000 different ways of worshiping – an un-tolerable situation in the desert (and, arguably, in the Land of Israel as well). Further, short of capital punishment, Moshe, waling in the desert sun, had very few options of criminal sanction. No prison, detention center, or community services were available to him. The paying of fines was also inadequate for a desert tribe. Finally, let us not forget that the notion of Separation of Powers has not been introduced yet. Moshe, for all intents and purposes, was at once the legislature, Judge, and jury. It was in his best interest to curtail dissenters, and God backed him up to the fullest extent.  

II. Can the Case Hold Water Today?

Today, however, we are no longer walking in the desert. We do have a complex set of laws and social norms, which may adequately be used against social deviants. And there is absolutely no need – either from a security standpoint or otherwise – to unite under the banner of a single person, even if he or she were truly a Slave of God. Why, then, is the Jewish religion – and almost every other religion, for that matter – still so adamant about rejecting every attempt at new thinking, other ways of worship, or any notion of “Large Head,” for that matter?

Just in the past year we have heard of a woman Rabbi who had to relinquish her chosen title (“Rabba”) so it will not offend her colleagues male Rabbies. We also heard of Reform Jewish women who wanted to prey in front of the Israeli Kotel with Talit and Tefilin, but were not allowed. And most recently we heard of the attacks – physical and others – committed by Ultra Orthodox Jews against little girls, as young as eight, in Beit Shemesh near Jerusalem, for not wearing “modest enough” clothes.

But why? What is so wrong about new female voices in Judaism? What is so wrong about worshiping the same God, in similar devotion, but in different ways? What was so wrong about the writings of Baruch Shpinoza that led to his ex-communication (or “social death”) from his own Jewish community in the 17^th century?

In my mind, this type of monolithic thinking may present one of the larger challenges to Jewish faith today. The story of the Chief Priest’s sons, to the extent it was justified during its time, no longer serves a useful purpose. We must recognize, as a group of modern people, that there is more than one way to worship our God. We must respect the dignity and liberty of other Jews to do so, as long as they respect ours. We must let a thousand roses bloom – all for the sake of one God.  And if both temples were destroyed for nothing else but “hatred among brothers for no reason,” (Sin’at Chinam), then we should focus our efforts in an attempt to ensure that this will never happen again.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Passover Part II - A Look To The Future

Passover Part II: A Look To The Future

            By now we are almost “Passovered-out.” We have practiced the restriction “not to eat leavened bread …  for seven days”(Deut. 16:3) - one of the longest restrictions in all of Judaism. We have celebrated two nights of Seder. Our kids were home from their Jewish Day Schools. Some of us even took some time off work. And all that why? This week’s reading provides the answer, succinct and clear: 

“So that you remember the day of your departure from the Land of Egypt as long as you shall live.” (Id.)

At first glance, the text seems to be confused (at best). “I have never been to Egypt,” the reader may think, “how can I ‘remember’ something that never happened to me?” To this, our Haggadah has a perfect answer: “In each generation and generation, every person must see him or herself if they left Egypt in person.” Simply put, we should put ourselves, every year, in the shoes (sandals?) of our forefathers who left Egypt in haste to follow their God. More broadly, however, we should consider, each and every year, our own process of moving from slavery to freedom; from forced decisions to self-made ones; and from coerced actions to ones initiated by our own free will. In that way, we could truly reflect – we have a full week to do so – on the changes we underwent since last year’s Seder. We also have ample time to consider the changes we would like to achieve by next year.

Now that the week is over, what’s next? “Seven weeks you will count … and you shall celebrate the holiday of Sha’vu’ot” the text tells us (Deut. 16:9). Seven weeks we are instructed to count, during which no weddings are allowed  - short of one day, “Lag Ba’Omer,” the 33^rd day of the 49-day count. Other than weddings, this special day is also marked in Israel by “Me’du’root” – camp fires lit throughout the country by kids of all ages. Indeed, as a kid growing in the ‘70s, Lag Ba’Omer was the biggest day of the year: Our parents would leave us alone around the campfire before 10:00 pm, and we would stay out all night, grilling potatoes and union on the campfire… These were the days.

Once the seven-week count is over, we finally celebrate Sha’vu’ot – the holiday of Receiving the Torah. And that is indeed fitting: First we celebrate the leaving of Egypt, with the many miracles that allowed us to move from slavery to Freedom. Then we reflect on this move, and we wait – much like our forefathers, who walked in the desert for quite some time before receiving the Ten Commandments. Then we mark that event as well. Indeed, we are no longer a band of ex-slaves awaiting redemption by miracles, but a unified people ready to receive its laws from the One God we acknowledge.

Shabbat Shalom. 

             

Passover Part I: The Cost of Freedom

            As I am about to sit at our Seder table here in Cleveland, I cannot avoid but reflecting of all the Seders I experienced as a young boy growing up in Israel. I recall my grandfather, Mattatyeho Kalir, sitting at the head of the table, assigning portions of the Hagadah to every member of the family to read. We, the young children, fiercely competed to impress the grownups with our ability to read the text properly. Though not aware of it at the time, we actually played a part in a modern miracle: We were one of the first generations to read the Hagadah in Hebrew as a first language after more than 2,000 years.

            Israel has changed a lot since then. Yet eating dozens of Matzot with chocolate spread (or any spread, for that matter), acting the ten plagues and the Exodus as part of a school play, and a prolonged spring break, are still all hallmarks of Passover in Israel today.

Yet more than anything else, the holiday of Passover signifies today, as it always has, the transition from a state of slavery to that of personal freedom.  That transition, both at the personal and national level, is complex. And yet we are told to reflect on it every year anew; we are to imagine that each of us was personally salvaged from the house of bondage and led freedom. This is especially true here, in the Land of the Free, where freedom is valued over almost all else. 

Yet freedom, like other things of value, does not come freely. Freedom comes at a cost. For the people of Israel, part of the cost was the nearly 400 years of oppression and slavery. But anther part, much less discussed, is the price paid by the then-Egyptian people to enable that freedom. In particular, the Egyptians had to endure the Tenth Plague: “And in the middle of the night the Lord has struck down every first-born in the land of Egypt, from Pharaoh’s first-born sitting on the throne to the prisoner’s first-born who is in jail, and every first born of the cattle… There was not a house with no death.” (Ex. 12:29-30)

Was the killing of every first-born an appropriate price to pay for freedom?  A tough question, no doubt. On its own, probably not. But there is a reason why the Tenth Plague was preceded by nine others, all lighter in terms of force and effect. And there is a reason why the Tenth Plague was proceeded by no other, as Pharaoh finally agreed to “let my people go.” Indeed, the principle of proportionality – a measured response in relation to the harm expected – served Moshe well then, as it still serves us today in all matters of foreign relations.

Happy Passover,

Doron 

Parashat T'zav

This week’s portion, T’zav – literally, “[you shall] order them” – is a direct continuation of last week’s portion. My notes, fittingly, would also continue the discussion we began last week.

I. Back to the Basics with Jeremayah

Last week we introduced the beautiful synthesis presented by the offering of sacrifices: On the one hand, the People of Israel were ordered for the first time in history to be completely obedient to a God that has no shape, form, or other sensory presence; on the other hand, those same people – a band of former slave, let us recall – had also a very strong urge to see, hear, smell, touch, and feel the God they worshipped. Enter the sacrifices – a limited but well-defined form of worshiping allowing all Jewish people to be involved with all five senses during their service.    

This week’s portion is a direct continuation of that idea. Again we see how the text sets up, in great detail, the exact manners by which God should be worshipped. But while the idea of a synthesis through the sacrifices – first brought up by Maimonides – is certainly impressive, it may also overlook a serious issue. There is a fear – particularly in Judaism, though in other religions as well – that this exact form of worship will ultimately replace the very substance of the faith; that the center of the Jewish Emu’nah (faith in God) would become the way by which we observe God rather than the mere belief in Him. Indeed, once the people were allowed to succumb to their earthly desires, even ever so slightly and under control, what would prevent them to think that this is the essence on which their entire Emunah rests? What would make them forget that presenting the sacrifice is merely the demonstration of their belief rather than the belief itself? How could such fears be alleviated?

Enter this week’s Haftarah. Here, the prophet Yirmiyahu (Jeremiah) eloquently explains how to prevent any misunderstanding as to what is important, and what is less important, in Jewish Emunah:

            So said the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel: For I have NOT spoken to your forefathers and I have NOT ordered them on the day I freed them from the land of Egypt on the notions of sacrifices and offerings. Rather, I have commanded them but this one thing: “Listen to my voice, and I shall be your God, and you shall be my people. And you shall walk in all the ways I have commanded and you shall be better for that.”  But they have not listened, nor have they lent their ear to me, and they have formed their own groups, following their evil hearts and instincts, and they went backwards instead of forward.  [And this is true] from the day your forefathers have left the land of Egypt to this very day.  And I have sent upon you all my true slaves – the prophets – every single morning I have sent them; but they have neither listened to me nor lend me their ear, and they have stiffened their necks and became worst than their previous generation. [Jeremayah 7:22-26]

To cap this wonderful recitation, Yirmiyahu reminds us (in one of his most famous statements):

            So said our Lord: Let not the wise man brag about his wisdom; and let not the brave man brag about his bravery; let not the rich man brag about his richness; for by this those who brag should brag: Find wisdom and know me, for I am the Lord who performs justice, law, and charity in the land – for these are the ones I have wished for. So said the Lord. [Jerrmiah 9:22] 

Indeed, Yirmiyahu brings us back to the basics.  And it’s good to be back.

Shabbat Shalom,

 

    

            Doron 

 

Parashat Va'Yikra

The first portion of the Third Book of Moses – Leviticus – is called Va’Yik’ra (literally to call, as in “and [the Lord] has called on to [Moshe]”).  At first blush, this is not one of the most intriguing portions – most of it deals, sometimes in excruciating detail, with the issue of how to present an offering – usually in the form of a slaughtered animal – to God. Among others, the portion describes what parts of the animals should be offered and which parts should not, what to do with the blood, how to skin the animal, what to do with the internal organs, and so on and so forth – not exactly the material that makes exciting reading.

And yet a closer look would reveal a fascinating portion, offering a true synthesis of – and an ingenious solution to – the issues we discussed in recent weeks.  On that, and on one other aspect of the portion that shows, once again, that not much has changed in the past 3,000 years, I would like to comment shortly today.

I. The Offerings – A Great Synthesis

In past weeks we have discussed the nearly insurmountable tension between the First Commandment – “I am the Lord your God,” which requires us to worship a transcendent, impossible-to-see, hear, or feel divine entity  – on the one hand, and the all-too-human impetus to worship something much more tangible (the so-called “Santa-Claus image of God,” if you will) on the other.  This is the tension between the notion of one transcendental God, untouchable, unimaginable, “which has no form, no shape, and no body” (Maimonides), and the almost irresistible impulse to see, feel, smell, hear, and taste the subject of our worship.  We saw how this tension led the Israelites to commit what many consider their worst religious sin ever – the creation of the Golden Calf. But we also saw how the same tension led Moshe himself, to ask God specifically for a more concrete communication form. How could this tension be resolved?

Enter the offerings.  A God-certified worshipping program, allowing any Jewish person of faith to actually see, hear, smell, touch, and – yes – taste the fruits of his or her worship.  It was the Rambam (Maimonides), of course, who first made this remarkable connection. He understood that only such comprehensive framework of God worshiping would contemporaneously demonstrate a great belief in God, and allow the believing worshipper to comply with their earthly needs. Moreover, the Rambam emphasizes that worshiping in this particular way – through presenting of offering in the ways detailed by the biblical text – would create an insurance program against worshiping other gods in similar ways. 

Armed with this new insight, we can now re-examine the same “dreary” verses in the text that explain in great detail how to treat the animals we sacrifice. Now we can understand why those verses are so exact. Now we can appreciate why those verses, while seemingly dealing with mindless details of animal internal parts and blood residue, are actually dealing with the most important part of our faith – how to properly worship our God. Only in that way could we really appreciate this opening portion of the Third Book of Moshe. 

To be sure, not everyone share the Rambam’s pragmatic (and may I add, ingenious) insight. The offerings, say those critics, occupy too much room in the Text, not to mention the rest of Halacha, to serve merely as a practical barrier to idol worshipping. It therefore must be treated as an end by itself, rather than a means to an end. (See the Ramban view, in particular). But I think that the Rambam is right precisely because of the large space dedicated to each and every detail of the offering’s work. We must recall that, in the religious sense, the entire five books of Moshe are nothing but a manual for servicing God properly. It is for that reason that the building of the Mishkan receives ten-fold the amount of verses than that of the entire creation of the universe. It is for that reason that every aspect of providing of the offerings is analyzed and described to such great detail. And finally, this type of practice is also probably the most effective way to assure continued allegiance to the Jewish God, or, in other words, to make sure that the First Commandment – “I am the Lord your God” – is followed closely. Is there anything more important than that from a religious perspective?

[Keen readers of the blog would probably notice that such a form of worship may not appear, on its face, to be “Lee’shma” or “for its own sake” alone; rather, it seems to be more “she’lo lee’shma” or “not for its own sake.” This issue is beyond this week’s blog post, but I’ll be happy to answer questions about it.]

Ok, you may say, this is all good and well; but the practice of sacrifice offering has been eliminated nearly 2,000 years ago with the destruction of the Second Temple. Now what? This is a tough question, to which I can offer no complete answer. I may offer some guesses, however.  One possibility is that since there is no good substitute, many people – much more than ever in the history of Judaism – no longer completely follow the First Commandment; they no longer believe in God (at least not in the way meant by the Torah) and do not follow His commands. Another possibility is that these days, more than ever before, Jews all over the world are in constant search for a satisfactory alternative to the actual work of offerings – alternatives like Zen Buddhism, spiritualism, yoga, and other practices not mentioned in the biblical text, all in an attempt to compensate themselves for the lack of using their senses during worshiping. And while the search is still ongoing, it would be safe to assume that none of the alternatives are as satisfying as the original prescribed in the text. But that same search symbolizes that even today the tension between a transcendent God and our earthly desires is far from resolved. Finally, it is possible that the answer to this question simply lies with us, with the “here and now” form of practicing Judaism all over the world. Any occasional visitor to a Synagogue would not be able to miss the physical aspects of worshiping – from the actual coming together to stand in a place of worship, to kissing the Torah scroll, to the opening and closing of the arc, and so on and so forth. This, perhaps, is the best substitute we can offer to the original form of worshiping. 

So much for understanding the offerings. 

II. When a Ruler Hath Sinned…

The second point I would like to comment on today relates to yet another form of the tension we mentioned earlier, with a slight twist: This time the tension is between the Torah as a treatise that recognizes one, and only one, true leader and the pragmatic human need for human leadership (rather than merely divine authority).

In that respect, this week’s portion deals with several instances where the possibility of committing a sin or an error is plausible. Thus, for example, it instructs us what to do – or, more precisely, what type of offering to present – “if” a member of the community unintentionally commits a sin (Leviticus 4:27); or “if” the entire people commit an error, a result of which is a violation of one of the biblical laws (Id. 4:13); or “if” the Anointed Preach himself has sinned against God, even through no fault of his own (Id., 4:3). The text, in other words, recognizes that these instances may or may not occur. If they do occur, however, the text provides the remedy. 

When the text arrives, however, at the subject of a sin committed by a lay leader of the community, the possibility that he or she would make even an unintentional sin against God is no longer conditioned; the term “if” disappears and is replaced by the ever present “whenever”: “Whenever a ruler has committed a sin (against God) . . . without intention”  (Id., 4:22) In other words, there is no question that any human ruler would sin. There is no “if” here; the only question is “when” this would happen.

This is a very interesting insight by the text. It shows us, once again, that not much has changed over the past 3,000 years (at least in terms of human leadership).  Leaders have come and gone, and they have always sinned, either intentionally or not. They still commit sins today, and would probably sin as long as they would rule. Indeed, one could argue that the tendency to sin lies at the very heart of governing, in the very nature of the situation in which one person has power over others. As Lord Acton famously noted in 1887: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Similarly, the Babylonian Talmud teaches us that we should never choose a leader over our communities “unless a can of worms is hanging from his back” (that is, in free translation, unless there is clear evidence that he has many a skeleton in his closet). The idea was that whenever his title and office “alter his mind” (that is, whenever he begins to think of himself as above other people, or above the law), the people would be able to remind him: “look behind your own back,” and thus restore his good behavior. (8 Bab. Talmud, Yoma, Page 25, 2). 

Here, again, we see Judaism’s ambivalent relation to – and deep understanding of – human nature.  On the one hand, our forefathers realized that leaving the entire role of leadership to God alone would create an “earthly” vacuum that the community would not be able to fill (See the Golden Calf example). The same Jewish leaders wanted to emphasize that no leader, not even Moshe himself who spoke to God face-to-face, is above ordinary human tendencies and behavior.  All those human leaders sin, the portion tells us this week, and therefore all should be treated with the same amount of suspicion. Only God does not sin, and only He should be worshipped. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron