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