Parashat Emor, Leviticus 21:1-24:23

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 Jew in the world. It is personally unique to me as this is my “bar Mitzvah” portion.  It is (or should be) unique to every thinking Jew as it fully presents the stark contrast between the written Torah text and the current Halachic custom. Not surprisingly, 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 to introduce to someone (perhaps yourself…) to all the major Jewish holidays. Emor is easily your pick. The portion is practically a “Lonely Planet 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 interesting 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 “in the first month on the fourteenth day of the month.” But Passover is not celebrated today in the first month – Tishrei; it is rather celebrated on the month of Nissan, the seventh month of the year. Conversely, Yom Kippur, which is celebrated today on the tenth day of Tishrei – the very first month of the current Jewish calendar – is to be celebrated, according to the explicit text, “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 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 – today reserved for the beginning of the 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 – this is what. 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 – and win.  Today, we receive these Halachic commands 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.  Time to move on.

My Bar-Mitzvah Haftara

It has been long ago – way too long, nearly three decades – since I stood in the then-new synagogue next to my parents’ home, very nervous and frightened, preparing to sing my first (and so far only) public Haftara.  We just welcomed, four months earlier, a wonderful addition of my brother Uri to our family and I was proud to carry him on my arms into the shul. I will never know how I really did that day (in terms of singing). Everyone, of course, told me I was great; then again, what would you tell a young Bar-Mitzvah boy who just finished his readings (we prepare for months) that he was horrible?  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 before and 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 the text – it seems to deal with issues of lesser importance, such as the type of cloths the priests should wear on their way to serve 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 wear 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, by very few today (in all religions equally, by the way): The principle that a religious leader is unique only to the extent that he serves God; in all other measures he should act – and appears like – any other person.

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

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Acha'rei Mot Ke'do'sim Leviticus 16:1-20:27

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 -- an event 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 are a chock full of life-coaching tips.  Both contain some of the best, and most well-known advice given by the scriptures – advice that, of course, is a binding decree upon those who consider them the word of God, but perhaps should be heeded by all of us regardless of degree of faith.  They are all sound, and are as fresh today as they were 3,000 years ago. 

Among those are: “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, for one) (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 restriction on “social engineering” on both ends of the social scale) (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 have 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 (allegedly, allegedly, of course) a fraud on the 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).

Other than these – and many other – lessons for life, the two portions are centered around two themes: the incest restrictions, and the notion of holiness.  I want to the dedicate few words (very few) 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 initially on the general restriction – “None of you shall come near anyone of his own flesh to uncover nakedness; 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 sons and daughters – is followed by a very detailed list containing less obvious examples of restricted sexual behavior within the family, including sexual relations with one’s mother or father, with other wives of the father, with sisters, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, daughters-in-law, sisters-in-law, and others. The list concludes with more general restrictions (not incest-related) such as the restriction against homosexual relations, and – separately – bestial relations (hence the erroneous link frequently made between the two by self-righteous moralists) (Levit. 18:6-23).  

In the second portion we mostly find a repetition of that list, but this time with the penalty attached. This 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 to 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 as to these restrictions.  One explanation is that the Israelite should not replicate the laws and customs of both Egypt (where they came from) or C'na'an (where they are destined to arrive) – apparently, 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” its current occupiers, 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 mark this week).    

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 a few words. 

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 on 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 their fellow men and women. They are not better, in and of themselves. Such a mistaken notion was widespread among the Jews ever since ancient history, and is even more prevalent today: "We are Jewish, hence we are holier than thou."  Simply not true.

In fact, the notion of holiness in Judaism is properly based on the holiness of God: He is the only Holy entity; He and not us.  In order to become holy, too, Jews are supposed to do two things: in the affirmative, they should follow all of His rules; in the negative, they should not do "as the other people do." These two facets – the positive and negative – of Jewish behavior are the building blocks on which the notion of holiness lies. 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 their relationships with their God. Holiness, in other words, exists only in the person vis-a-vis God dimension, and not in the person vis-a-vis person dimension.  This is the entire concept, and the rest go and study. 

Thus, the next time you encounter a self-proclaimed “holy” Jewish 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 may proclaim yourself “holy” in your own relationship with God; this 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.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Taz'ree'a & Metzo'rah, Leviticus 12.1-15.33

This week’s portion – or, more accurately, two portions that are read together, Taz’ree’ah and Metzo’rah – seems, at first site, like a continuation of last weeks’ portions: a detailed, somewhat tedious account of ordinances relating to everything under the sun – from bad skin conditions to pure leprosy.  But, just like those earlier portions, a deeper look reveals some extremely thought-provoking insights.  I want to discuss three in particular today.   

A Word About Portion Titles

The title of the two portions tells us something about their subject matter.  Taz’ree’ah is a word related to seed or sperm, but in this week’s portion it appears in relation to a woman.  Most translations understandably took the easy route, simply reading the text as where “a woman gives birth,” “a woman is with a child,” or, closer still, “a woman 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” (they wrote “man-child”).  In any event, the first portion begins with pregnancy – the beginning of human life.  We will return to this issue in a moment.  

[It should be noted that this week – as in every week – the 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 recent weeks “And God spoke to Moses and told him:  Tell the children of Israel to do the following,” and so on).  What is interesting to note, however, that the first of these meaningful words this week is not Taz’ree’ah, but rather “a woman.”  Despite that, the sages chose not to name this portion, as it should have been called, “woman.”  That is unfortunate.  Just think for moment what would it do to Judaism – to Jewish women, to Jewish men, to all Jewish people all over the world – if one of the Torah portions were to be named (appropriately) “a woman.” At this point, it seems a bit too late to change that…]

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.  Allow me to surmise.

The Totality of Judaism

About twenty years ago, the Israeli Supreme Court was heavily divided around a major jurisprudential (legal philosophy) question:  Is the law ubiquitous? Is it 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?  On the one end of the spectrum stood 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 spectrum stood Aharon Barak, then an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, and later to become Israel’s most famous Chief Justice (think of Chief Justice Marshall here 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 portion takes us through a long journey of human life (“the circle of life” in Elton John’s words), and not necessarily through the glorious stops on that journey (to be more exact, it takes us through the legal rules or decrees we have to follow in those stops):  From pregnancy to post-birth “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.         

What Religion Is

When we talk about religion – every religion, but ours most especially – we usually think about very spiritual, dignified issues:  Shabbat (or Sunday, or Friday, to others), Praying, God, the Holidays (realize these are “holy” days), going to Shul (or church, or musque) , 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 (or “holy,” which, as I have explained elsewhere, is also “unique,” or “special”) moments in life, but also about every single moment in life, from birth until death. 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, takes this point to the extreme, ordering a Jewish person what to do from the moment they wake up every single day until they go to sleep again.]  Indeed, the laws of Judaism are all around us, all the time, and not only when we light the Shabbat candles.  That is the message of this week’s portion.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Sh'mi'nee, Leviticus 9:1 - 11:47

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.  While not the most fascinating stuff offered by the Five Books, this week introduces us to a profound notion in Judaism and one of its fundamental tenets – the idea of complete obedience.  

The “Large Head” Syndrome – In The Desert

Can religion tolerate “too much” worship?  Is there “too much of a good thing” in Judaism?  This week’s portion presents us with a very clear answer to these classic theological questions.  But before I present these answers (no, it can’t; and yes, there is – respectively) I want to introduce a term borrowed from the very-modern Hebrew: “Rosh Gadol” (or “Large Head”).

The term was invented – like many others in Israeli slang – in the army (the Israeli Defense Force, IDF).  What it means is taking responsibility above and beyond the order given by a commander. Thus, a private with “Large Head,” when asked to clean his weapon, would also check that his entire gear is properly maintained.  Similarly, a sergeant with large head, 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 sergeant with a “small head” would do exactly as told, never deviating right or left from the commands as given.]

So in this week’s portion, the sons of Aaron – Moshe’s brother and the first Chief Rabbi – are demonstrating Large Head.  After an extremely-detailed description of what their father has done during his offering ritual (including precisely what he did – and not do – with the calf’s blood, which portions of the calf he severed and which he did not, what portions where burned and where,  which portions were washed, and many other excruciating details who were, I assume, of great interest to someone at the time (Leviticus 9:8-22)) – a  ritual 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) – it is now the sons’ turn to do the same.

But instead of repeating precisely what their father has done, they now choose to exercise “large head,” picking it up a notch.  “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 is it?  The text departs then sharply, moving from mere description of what the brothers have done to a harsh evaluation: “[They have offered to God] a foreign fire, which God never ordered them to.” (Id.)  As we have seen, however, those who exercise “large head” do exactly that: They don’t do exactly as ordered, but move a step forward “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 Big Priest – the two Priest-designated, the chosen sons – were executed for exercising a bit of “business initiative,” or free will.

  

At first, this harsh punishment seems like a tough sell.  The two, after all, have not committed a sin of the magnitude of the Golden Calf.  They did not even worship other gods. They did not turn away from God. In fact, they may be said to both recognize and obey 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. 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 all Tora’s teaching.  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, with more than 3,000 dead among the Israelites and killed by their own brethren (the Levites). 

To be sure, in terms or realpolitik we 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 Moshe, their well-recognized “slave of God.” 

But why such harsh punishment? Why death (both to Golden Calf culprits and the Sons of Aaron, and later to Korach and his party)?  My guess is that these initiative attempts were met with the ultimate punishment not so much for the rigid penal ideology behind them as much as for the lack of suitable alternatives.  Recall that Moshe is in the desert, leading a group of former slaves, and he need not only punish, but – more importantly – deter any future attempts of “large head,” of disobedience. In a larger sense, Moshe is trying to curtail any revelation of disagreement with him.  He has the law on his side – the law is what he says it is.  He also has the police with him – there is no separation of powers in the desert.  But, on the other hand, there are no prison camps in the desert.  There is no properly-functioning penal system.  Thus, to impose a crippling sickness on the dissenters (for example) would only slow everyone down.  In fact, any imposition upon the accused would immediately adversely affect the entire group. This is a huge incentive not to punish.  And yet a swift action is required, an action that is both deterring (to other people) and effective (to the people involved).   The only solution, it seems, is death.  [For Kant, however, such “reasoning” cannot pass.  But this discussion is beyond this post.]

The Large Head Syndrome – Today

The problem is that today we are not in the desert.  We are not at our infancy as a people.  There is no urgent need – either from a security standpoint or otherwise – to unite around the leadership of a single person (and, in any event, no one seems to get close to the level of a True Slave of God).  Why, then, the Jewish religion – and almost every other religion, for that matter – is still so adamant to “kill” any revelation of dissent? To destroy any notion of disobedience, of free will, of “Large Head”? Just in the past several weeks, for example, we heard about a woman Rabbi who had to relinquish her chosen title (“Rabba”) so it will not offend some male Rabbies. (see http://www.thejewishweek.com/news/national/beyond_rabba_rousing) But why? What is so wrong about a new female voice? What was so wrong about the writings of Baruch Spinoza that led to his ex-communication (or “social death,” if you will) by his community, all for arguing in favor of a new vision of God? Was that so bad?

In my mind, it is that stronghold, this narrow vision of one-and-only-one interpretation placed by early Judaism that led to its inevitable breakup. It is this monopoly view that let to the foundation of other Jewish denominations, culminating with the creation of the largest group of Judaism today, the self-proclaimed Jewish Reforms.  The trouble is that the leadership of that group is not even recognized by the self-proclaimed orthodox Jews in Israel as “real” Rabbies.  And that, in my mind, is the biggest fracture in Judaism today, and perhaps the worst thing that may ever happen to a small (and historically persecuted) religious minority group like the Jewish people.   

And it all started with the killing of the two brothers for offering a fire to God, a fire God never asked for.  Is it too late to think it over?

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron