This week’s portion A’ch’arei Mot – literally, “after the death,” as in after the horrific death of the two sons of Aharon for sacrificing the “foreign fire,” discussed in the portion of “She’mi’ni” several weeks back, which is still mentioned as having a lasting effect – is the first of two portions that deal with the complex, troubling, and important issue of restricted sexual behavior, in particular that of incest and homosexuality. I will dedicate a few words to each.

I. The Laws of Incest: What, and Why

The laws of incest play a major role – both in this week’s portion and that of the next. In the first portion we read the restrictions themselves; in the second, we learn about the punishment. Let us begin with the restriction. Our portion begins with a general statement about incest, followed by an impressive line of specific examples. The general restriction reads: “Each and every one of you shall not come near anyone of his own flesh to uncover nakedness, I am the Lord.” (Levit. 18:5). This general restriction should, in my mind, be first and foremost understood as the paradigmatic restriction on parents from having any sexual relations with their children, either sons or daughters. Somewhat shockingly, this specific example is missing from the long list of specific examples provided by the text. Since parent-child is not only the most pervasive form of incest, it is also the most perverse, it should be granted with a special status among the laws of incest. Indeed, many children view their parents – as they should – as the ultimate moral authority, higher than any book they read or external authority they encounter. When that authority orders them to perform a certain (perverse) act, it often takes years for those children to realize that it was wrong morally (and today, an egregious violation of the criminal code). Accordingly, the text’s general prohibition on incest should be interpreted, in my mind, as a general restriction on parent-child sexual relations.

The general restriction is followed by an impressive list of less obvious examples of sexual offenses within the family, including a restriction on Oedipus’ Complex (“You shall not uncover the nakedness of your … mother” Levit. 18:7), on sexual relations with other wives the father may have, with sisters, with grandchildren, with aunts, uncles, daughters-in-law, sisters-in-law, and others.

Next week’s portion (“Kedoshim”) consists of a similar – though not identical – list of restrictions, this time with the penalty attached. And that penalty – no surprises here – is mostly death, and for both parties involved. For example, “And a man who shall sleep with his father’s wife, exposing his father nakedness, both of them shall be put to death their blood upon them” (Levit. 20:11); “And a man who shall sleep with daughter-in-law, both of them shall be put to death… (Id. 20:12); “And a man who shall take a woman and her mother, it is lewdness, in the fire they shall burn him and both of them…. (Id. 20:14). One may question the justification of killing both parties to the act; both common sense and life experience reveal that in most cases, it was one party who had the upper hand in suggesting – sometimes forcing – the other party to perform the act, sometimes completely hiding from the other party the fact that the act is completely forbidden. But I will lave these (and other) questions unanswered, as this topic deserve a much more comprehensive treatment.

Other than the actual restrictions – the “what” – contained in these two detailed lists, a much more interesting notion is the reasons provided for them – the “why.” Here we encounter the religious (as opposed to merely moral) explanation as provided by God himself to these restrictions.  The first explanation provided by the text is that the Children of Israel should not replicate the customs and laws of other people, in particular those of Egypt (where they have left) and of Cna’an (where they are about to arrive). Apparently, in both countries these amoral acts were prevalent. Rather than following their acts and laws, God emphasizes, the Children of Israel should follow God’s laws and rules – in live by them. That is the fist explanation to the restriction. (Levit. 18:3-4)

The second explanation is more “new age-y,” and relates to the response of the earth itself to the pervasiveness of these forbidden acts: “And the land became defile, impure, … and the land has spewed its inhabitants” (Levit. 18:25). This is a fascinating humanization of the land, and a wonderful demonstration of the symbiotic relationship between host (land) and its guest (we, the people); when we act in a despicable manner, in a way that the land itself may not tolerate, that same land may punish us by not letting us continue inhabiting it. This relationship is particularly worthy to notice on Earth Day (which we all celebrate next week).

Thus, the restrictions on incest are not reasoned by moral decree or by social reasons – such as the need to protect the weak and the young among us; rather, it is reasoned by religious notions (“act by the rules of God”) and “earthy” explanations (“beware of the land for she might spew you out”). I find both these lines of reasons, as well as the punishment by death of both parties to the act, lacking. But, as I have mentioned before, this should be the subject of a much more in-depth treatment.     

II. The Laws of Homosexuality: A Part of Incest?

Other than the rules of incest – which, until today, are accepted as both immoral and criminal acts – this portion and the next contain the restriction on homosexual acts. As with incest, the general restrictions appears in our portion – “And a male person you shall not sleep the way you sleep with a woman; it is abomination” (Lev. 18:22); while the punishment – death, of course, of both parties – appears in next week’s portion: “And a man who shall sleep with another male the way he sleeps with a woman – both have committed abomination, both shall be put to death their blood is upon them.” (Lev. 20:13).

Now, read within the context of the laws of incest, the rules of homosexuality make absolute sense: Within the family, you cannot have sexual relations either with a member of the opposite sex, or a member of the same sex. The punishment for both acts should be precisely the same.

But what about homosexual acts outside the family? Acts between two complete strangers who wish to perform them voluntarily? For thousands of years, these two verses I have just quoted were considered the absolute restriction against such acts in Judaism. In fact, according to the Halacha, the committing of homosexual acts are one of just three “Karet” restrictions: “Ye’ha’reg U’bal Ya’aavor” – a person should be killed and still not choose to violate those three.

But in recent years, both criminal codes – both in Israel, the United States, and elsewhere – and, though much more slowly, moral codes and norms around the world began to get accustomed to the notion that there is nothing wrong with free, voluntary, homosexual acts. In fact, none of reasons that were mentioned in the early times for justifying such an odd restriction – the fear of discontinuing of the human race, or the fear that too many women would be left alone, and others – have survived minimal scrutiny.

Still, the religious restriction – and its heavy punishment – is alive and kicking. True, the Reform Movement in Judaism has begun to acknowledge, slowly and gradually, the act of marriage between two men (and two women, which is much easier from an Halachic perspective), and by that to provide legitimacy to the act of homosexuality itself. Then again, I am aware of no serious attempt to provide “hechsher” to the act in Judaism, that is – to claim that the Torah allows it. This is somewhat surprising, as many things written in the Bible that our sages didn’t like – anything from restrictions on demanding interest on loans to the restrictions on sale of bread in Passover – have garnered very “creative” interpretations, to say the least, such that Jews throughout the ages were able to go around those restrictions. To be sure, I am all in favor of such interpretations, so long that they allow people to adjust to the changing social and moral requirements of the community. But it is time to provide such “creative” interpretation to the restriction on homosexuality itself; it no longer serve any discernable function, either religious or otherwise.

Thus, it may be argued that homosexuality is forbidden only to the extent that it is included within the law of incest; only within the family no one is allowed to have sex with members of the same gender. This restriction, in effect, comes only to remove all doubt that not only fathers and daughters (for example) cannot engage in sexual behavior, but also fathers and sons. That way, the restriction still maintains its moral – and legal – justification, while at the same time releases approximately one tenth of the Jewish population for a restriction that encumbered them for thousands of years. Any Rabbi that you know that is willing to pick that one up?

Shabbat Shalom

Doron   

Parashat Met'zorah and Passover Hagadah

This week’s portion – Met’zorah (the leper) – is not only a direct continuation of last week’s portion, but in most years they are read together. This year, we are giving Met’zorah its own due, which allows us to reflect another week on the notion we began to explore last week. That notion – the ubiquity, or totality of Judaism – as well as the upcoming Passvover Seder would be the two points I will shortly discuss today.

I.                 The Ubiquity of Judaism - in Our Lives….

Last week we began to discuss the unique nature of Judaism, in that it surrounds us from cradle to grave, 24-hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, every single day of our lives. We noted, in brief, the notion of our “holiness” as people, as opposed to the more mundane aspects of our biological life. This week, I wanted to expand a bit on this notion.

In the introduction to the two portions – Tazri’a and Met’zorah – we find, in the Portion of Sh’mini, the ultimate declaration of the connection between the People of Israel and the Lord our God: “For I am the Lord your God, and you shall become holly, and you shall remain holy, for I am holy, and you shall not contaminate your soles.” (Lev. 12:44, my translation). Here, we see not only the many times in which the term “holy” appears, but the only time where the term “Tah-mmè” – often translated as unclean, impure, or contaminated – appears, in the negative sense: “you shall not contaminate your soles.” Accordingly, the essence of the connection between the Jewish person and his or her God depends on the notion of holiness. But in the past two weeks, and this week in particular, we read much more about the “Tah-mmè” and its derivatives than on “holiness.” We thus read more on bodily discharges, menstrual cycle, skin and other diseases – and less on “holy” notions such as standing before God.

This, as I mentioned last week, is not a coincidence. The notion of “holiness” and “Tah-mmè” do go hand-in-hand in Judaism. The ideal and its mirror image, the most elevated and the least, the most unique form of human life and the most mundane – are all a part of Judaism. And when the Shulchan Aruch (the set table) – one of the most important books ever written in Judaism – opens, it does not begin with “you shall be holy before the Lord your God,” but rather with “the laws of waking up in the morning”; we are warned not of “not being holy enough,” but rather of not waking up early enough to serve God. At the end of the day, it is the aggregation of those functions that we execute in our everyday lives that make us unique before God. Thus the mundane and the holy merge, at the end of the day to one, complete, ubiquitous Jewish identity, which embraces us wherever we go, and with whatever we do.

So much for the ubiquity of Judaism in each our lives. The Pasasover Hagada, however, adds another dimension to this fascinating notion of Judaism. I turn now to that second dimension.     

II.               … And That of the Next Generation

The Passover Hagadah is named after the decree to pass on (no connection to pass-over) the story of the liberation from the house of bondage from one generation to the next, from father to son, each year: “Ve’Higa’de’tah Le’vin’cha Ba’yom Ha’huh le’e’mor….” – “And you will tell your son on that day the following…” Interestingly, this opening reminds us of the “classic” opening of the weekly portions, where God speaks to Moshe and says: “Tell the People of Israel the following…” Here, in other words, each parent plays the role of Moshe, and his sons – or daughters – play the role of the children of Israel.

We can thus see the passing on of the torch – of Jewish identity – from one generation to the next. Thus, not only the Jewish religion commands every aspect of our own lives, but it also make sure that we pass on that tradition to the next generation, and so on and so forth through the end of times…

But the Hagadah presents another, even more unique facet of the interconnection between one’s Jewish identity and the passage of time. It reads, among others: “In each generation and generation, a person must see him- or herself as if they have left Egypt, from the house of bondage.” One common interpretation of this interesting passage is that in every generation, each of us should consider him- or herself redeemed, moving away from some form of slavery (physical addiction, mental desire, or any other form of slavery) towards our own personal liberty. I truly like this interpretation, but today would like to offer another one, not necessarily contradicting the first but more complimentary: “In every generation and generation” – means that in the life of each of us we may experience several periods, or “generations.” In each of these periods – childhood, early adulthood, marriage, parenting, etc. – each of us must reflect on how he, or she, has been redeemed. Thus, the torch is passed not only between father and son, between one generation and the next, but within each generation the torch is “passed” – within the life of any one person – such that the Jewish identity always remains, throughout every period of our lives.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron  

  

Parashat Taz'ri'a, Leviticus 12:1-13:59

This week’s portion – Taz’ree’ah, literally, “[a woman] who shall be impregnated” (more about that in a minute) – appears at first glance to be a seamless continuation of past weeks’ portions: a detailed, somewhat tedious account of ordinances relating to all sorts of body conditions – from a mere bad rash to a full blown leprosy.  And yet, just like in those earlier portions, a deeper look into this week’s portion may reveal many thought-provoking insights.  In my post today I want to discuss three in particular: the notion of the portion’s title; the notion of Judaism as a complete and all-encompassing religion; and a quick remark on what is the role of religion. Let us begin.   

I. What’s in a Name (of a Portion)?

Each week, the portion’s title reveals to us something about its subject matter.  Taz’ree’ah is a Hebrew 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, this week’s portion begins with pregnancy – the beginning of human life.  More on this in a moment. 

Importantly, however, this week’s portion is named – as in every other week during the year – 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 have meaning; 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, is 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,” but went instead to the next meaningful word. That is an unfortunate result.  Just think for a moment what would happen to Judaism – in particular to Jewish women, but also to Jewish men and to all Jewish people around the world – if one of the Torah portions were to be named (appropriately) “a woman.” Unfortunately, at this point it seems a bit too late to change that reality; nevertheless, the point should be taken into account every year anew when we read the portion.

II. The Totality of Judaism

Read in the lowest level of abstraction, this week’s portion – as the one read next week (Met’zorah) – deals heavily with skin conditions, rashes, and diseases. Perhaps such issues were of great interest in the desert, during the long marches in the sun. Perhaps they required an elaborated set of ordinances, with the priests playing the role of physicians.  But perhaps there is something deeper here.  Allow me to surmise.

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 influential Chief Justice of all time (think in terms of an Israeli Chief Justice Marshall).  Even back then, during his early tenure on the Supreme Court, 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 present, in every action (or omission) we take.” Thus, at times the law chooses to intervene through restrictions (“You shall not murder”; “You shall not drive over 65 mph,” etc.), and at times the law prefers – and it is a legal choice – to leave “blank spaces” in the regulation blanket (such as “in relationship, do whatever you want to do [as long as you don’t violate the law otherwise (such as sexually harassing 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” to reminisce on Elton John’s beautiful song), 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 conditions, variances, and maladies.

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 point would be my last for today.      

III. What Is the Role of Religion in our Lives?

When we talk about religion – every religion, but ours in particular – we usually think about very spiritual, dignified issues:  Shabbat (or Sunday, or Friday, to others), Praying, the notion of God, the Holidays (note that these are – or should be – “holy” days), going to Shul (or church, or musque), and similar “respected” issues. Very few people, I assume, think about issues such as women’s cycle, skin diseases, proper laundry rules, and similar “dirty” conditions when asked “what religion means to you.”  This week’s portion, however, makes the very profound point that religion – every religion, but ours in particular – is 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 to death. Thus, when a person receives upon themselves the obligation of religion – the yoke of Torah and Mitzvot, in the case of Judaism – 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 until the moment they go to sleep again, every single day.]  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. And that is its special power.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Sh'mi'nee, Leviticus 8:1-11:47

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.  

I. The Case of “Too Much of a Good Thing” – Then…

Can our religion tolerate “too much” worship?  Is there “too much of a good thing” in Judaism?  This week’s portion presents us with very clear answers to these classic theological conundrums. 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 details that were, one assumes, 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). So now it is the sons’ turn to do the same.

But instead of repeating precisely what their father has done, they preferred 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 Chief 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 immediately upon committing their act. 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 Torah’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 of real-politik 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.]

II. … And Now

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 recent months 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 Shpinoza 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 led to the foundation of other Jewish denominations, culminating with the creation of the largest group of Judaism today, that of Reform Judaism. Unfortunately, the leadership of that group is not even recognized by the self-proclaimed group of Orthodox Jews in Israel; thus, the orthodox would not even willing to call the Reform Rabbis “Rabbis.” 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 ask that we think it over?

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

           

     

Parashat Tzav (Leviticus 6:1-8:36)

This week’s portion, T’zav – literally, “[you shall] order them” – is a direct continuation of last week’s portion.  It is also read, this year, at the same time we all celebrate the holiday of Purim. My two short comments will therefore follow that format, respectively.

I. Jeremiah: Back to Basics

In many cases, when a principled debate erupts between two strong parties neither would tend to publicly yield their stand – even ever so slightly – for fear that this narrow waiver would start a snow-ball effect, ending in losing the entire debate.  That is one reason – among many – that the Middle-East peace negotiations have been stuck for so many years. This is also the main reason why all settlement negotiations in civil trials – either state or federal – are confidential. No one would know whether (or to what extent) a party was willing to let go of their clearly-stated stand.

Last week, I discussed in length the compromise that God (through Moshe) struck with the People of Israel, allowing them to worship Him through a series of well-orchestrated, highly detailed rituals that would enable them to satisfy their ever-lasting need to feel, see, smell, touch, and taste their worship.  I am talking, of course, on the rituals of offerings.

This week’s portion is a direct continuance of that compromise. God sets up, in great details, the exact manners by which He should be worshipped. The problem, though, is the fear that this kind of worship would become the center of the Emu’nah (the belief) in God, rather than a mere accompanying ritual to the belief itself, which is – and always has been – the epicenter of the Jewish faith.

Alas, that yielding – ever so slightly – towards the people’s needs may be what, ultimately, has led to eradication of the Emu’nah over the years.  And the people had to be reminded, time and again, that it is not the offering that matters, but rather the belief itself – back to the First Commandment (“I am the Lord your God”), back to the basics. To present this argument, allow me to quote (somewhat in length) from this week’s Haftara citing one of our greatest orators of all times, Prophet Yirmiyahu (Jeremiah):

            [And God said:] 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. But 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 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 fathers. [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. 

So much for the offerings.    

           

II. The Lessons of Megilat Ester 

Megilat Ester – the most famous of all five Megilot, and thus simply named in Hebrew “the” Megila – is unique in many respects. First, God is never mentioned in the entire Megilah, and in fact He does not seem to play any role in it. That, in turn, led to the great argument of whether this book should be included within the 24-book Jewish cannon; and once it has been – why, and for what purpose. Second, the Megilah can be read as a feminist manifesto – queen who refuses her husband (the king)’s orders; a jewish woman who uses her charms to become a queen and then to influence the king, etc. – all great stories, but somewhat “foreign,” in their approach, to the rest of the canon. And finally, the notion of revenge by the Jewish people – killing 57,000 of “the people who hated them” (Esther 9:16) is also quite exceptional, at least in scope. These, as well as other phenomena, have led several scholars to question the “biblical” function of the Megilah.

Despite these legitimate concerns, I think the text itself may offer plenty of clues to suggest that the Megila is a part and parcel of the canon. For example, the very opening verse mentions “seven and twenty and a hundred” states (on which the king ruled); that same number happens to be the exact length, in years, of the life of Sarah, our first matriarch, which is mentioned in the opening verse of the portion bearing her name (Chayey Sarah). Similarly, the last verse in the Megila notes that Mordechai has turned into the “Mishne La’Melech” (Second-only to the King) – the exact same title, and the same rank, achieved hundreds of years earlier by Joseph in Egypt. Chapter 2 of the Megilah opens with the statement: “some time afterwards” (Est. 2:1) – the exact textual tool used to introduce two of Abraham’s most famous encounters with God (Cf. Gen. 15:1 and Gen. 22:1). And there are many other examples. To be sure, all those may be merely textual coincidences; then again, the odds for such frequent similarity are not that high.

Let us assume, then, that the beautiful story about the beautiful (and charming) Jewish woman, her smart uncle, and the turn of luck – is an integral part of the Jewish religion (without a question mark). What does it say about the Jewish religion? What does it say about God? Should we always mention Him explicitly to be reminded of His everlasting presence and affect on your life?

Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.     

Shabbat Shalom & Happy Purim

Doron 

 

Parashat Va'Yikra, Leviticus 1:1-5:26

The first portion of the Third Book of Moses – Leviticus – is called Va’Yik’ra (literally, “and [the Lord] has called on to [Moshe]”).  At first blush, this is one of the less intriguing portions of the entire cycle – most of it, if not all, deals in excruciating detail with offerings – offerings of all kinds shapes and sizes. For example, the portion tells us how to treat a sacrificed lamb, where to throw its blood, how to skin it, what to do with its pieces, where to put its head, what portions should be washed in water, etc., etc., etc. – (for some, ad noseam).

But a closer look would reveal a fascinating portion, a true synthesis of – and an ingenious solution to – the problems 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 the past several 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  – and the all-too-human desire to worship something much more concrete (the Santa-Claus image of God, if you will).  This is the tension between the notion of a transparent God, untouchable, unimaginable, “which has no form, no shape, and no body,” and the almost irresistible impulse to see, feel, smell, hear, and taste the subject of worshiping.  We saw how this tension led the Israelites to commit what many believe to be their worst religious sin ever – the creation and worshiping of the Golden Calf; but we also saw how the same exact tension brought Moshe and God closer than ever.  How can this tension be resolved?

Enter the offerings.  A God-certified worshipping program, enabling any Jewish person of faith to actually see, hear, smell, touch, and – yes – taste the fruits of his worship.  It was the Rambam (Maimonides), of course, who first made this remarkable connection. He understood that such complete algorithm – or framework – of worshiping would contemporaneously show a great belief in God, and allow the believing worshipper to comply with their earthly needs.

Armed with this insight, we can now view again at these “dreary” verses, providing in great detail the exact manner in which we should be treating the animals we sacrifice, in a whole new light. It is only in this way, says the Torah, and not another, that you may use your senses to worship. It is only the Torah’s way – there is no other. Not a Golden Calf, but the proper manner of sacrificing a real calf. In that, the offerings fulfill a very important role of a pragmatic barrier to idol worshipping:  No more could the people complain that “our leader is lost”; here’s a way for them to continue and worshiping our Lord God with all their senses, whether Moshe is there or not.

To be sure, not everyone share the Rambam’s pragmatic (and may I add, ingenious) insights. The offerings, say those critics, occupy way too much room in the Text, not to mention the rest of Halacha, to serve merely as a practical barrier to idol worshipping. (See, in particular, the view of the Ramban.) 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 that the entire creation of the universe. It is for that reason that every aspect of the providing the offerings is analyzed and described to such great detail. And finally, this is also probably the most effective way to assure continued allegiance to God; in other words, this is the insurance of the First Commandment – “I am the Lord your God.” Is there anything more important than that (from a religious standpoint)?

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

Ok, you may ask, so what is the substitute today, now that the entire edifice of the offering framework is no longer in effect? This is a tough question, and I have no good answer to that. I may, however, venture to offer some guesses. One possibility is that since there is no good substitute, many people – much more than ever in the history of Judaism – don’t follow the First Commandment; they no longer believe in God (at least not in the way meant by the Torah).  Another is that these days, Jews all over the world are in constant search for a satisfactory alternative to the actual work of offerings – alternatives like Zen Buddhism, spiritualism, all kinds of “isms” that are not included in the text – all in order to compensate themselves for the lack of using their sense; still, but nothing seems to satisfy them quite like the original. Finally, any visitor to a synagogue – a relatively new invention in terms of Judaism’s history – would easily observe the “physical” aspects of worshiping, from simply standing together as a community, to kissing the Holy Book to moving during the prayer, to special Aliyah, etc., etc. 

So much for understanding the offerings. 

II. When a Ruler Hath Sinned…

The second point I want to note on today relates to the tension (and the complicated relations) between the Torah – a treatise that recognizes one, and only one, true leader – and the pragmatic human need for human leadership. [Sounds familiar? Indeed, it is simply a different aspect of the first point we mentioned.]

In that respect, the portion this week asks what should happen – more accurately, what kind of offerings should be made – “if” a member of the community (or even the community as a whole) unintentionally commits a sin (something along the lines of committing a “negligent criminal act,” in today’s legal parlance”). For example, the text reads “If the anointed priest would sin … “(Leviticus 4:3); and “If the entire congregation would sin . . .” (Id., 4:13); and “If one person would sin, erroneously . . .” (Id., 4:27).

However, when the text approaches the issue of when the ruler of the community would commit a similar, unintentional, sin, the term “if” suddenly disappears and is now replaced by “when”: “When a ruler has sinned  . . . erroneously”  (Id., 4:22) In other words, there is no question that the ruler would sin. There is no “if” here. Rather, the only question is “when,” and for that event we have a ready-made (religious) answer.     

This is very interesting. It shows us that not much has changed over the past 3,000 years (at least in terms of leadership).  Leaders have come and gone, and they have always sinned. They still commit sins today, and would probably sin as long as they would last. It is in the very nature of governing, of one person having too much power over other people. (Recall Lord Acton famous quote of 1887: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts completely.”) Indeed, many years later, the Babylonian Talmud teaches us that we should not nominate a leader on the community “unless a can of worms is hanging from his back” (that is, unless there is evidence that he has performed many a sin before taking office), so whenever his title “alters his mind” (that is, whenever he begins to think of himself as above other people, or the law), the people should remind him: “look at your back.” (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 would create an “earthly” vacuum that the community would not be able to fill up – see the example of the Golden Calf.  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

   

Parashat Pikudei, Ex. 38:21-End

This week’s portion, the very last in the book of She’mot (Exodus), is entitled Pikudey – literally “the records,” or, more accurately, the accounting – of the Mishkan (or Tabernacle). The portion teaches us two very important lessons: one, about accountability in general; the other, about the beautiful contrast between humankind and God when both complete their work. I take these two in turn.

I.                 Moshe and the Agency Dilemma 

Most of this week’s portion is dedicated to an extremely accurate – in fact, tedious at times – accounting of the materials used during the preparation of the Mishkan. Thus, we learn for example that the amount of gold used during the project was precisely 29 loafs and 730 holy shekels, and the amount of silver used was 100 loafs and 1775 holy shekels  - whatever those exact measures mean. (Ex. 38:24-25) We then continue to learn where, precisely, each of those loafs of gold and silver went and in what manner they were used during the preparation.  But why? Why is it so important to the text to provide such a detailed account of the contributions raised for the preparation of the Mishkan?

There are two answers to that question. The first is practical, and is self-evident today to every person entrusted with “other people’s money” (to quote Justice Brandeis). The other is religious, and is grounded in the understanding of the Torah as a book of faith. Let us take those answers in turn.

It is clear today to every person in charge of the use of the property of others – such as directors of not-for-profit organizations, trust fund mangers, and hedge fund magnets – that periodically, they must provide an accurate account to the property owners on what precisely happened with their money. For example, they must provide an account as to where was the money invested; has it yielded profit or loss; was it used for the purposes it was designed to serve; what portion of the money was used for what purpose; and so on and so forth. The reason for the need for such a report is the inherently human phenomenon known in economics as the “agency dilemma” and otherwise as the fear that someone you provide your money with would simply use it for his or her own sake rather than yours (or the purpose for which you gave the money for). Today, complex regulatory schemes require very detailed financial statements to prevent just that – and that makes perfect sense. But why the need to do the same at the time the text was written? Why did Moshe feel the need to provide such a detailed account, and why did the text include every line of it?

The answer provided by the Midrash shows at once that nothing has changed much since Dor Ha’Midbar (Generation of the Desert) and that baseless allegations need no good reason to exist. Indeed, the Midrash specifies that Moshe heard some people wondering how come he looks so healthy – fat, even – while walking in the merciless desert; “because he is drinking from our money, eating from our money” was the answer these people – called “clowns” by the Midrash – provided.  Once Moshe heard these – and other – vicious rumors, he immediately answered: “Once the project of preparing the Mishkan is completed, I will provide you with an exact account of your donations.” And, indeed, once the project was completed, the accounting begins – to the last shekel. Thus, even Moshe, the true “slave of God” and the most revered person in all of Judaism was not immune from the slander that comes with being in charge of the money of others; to prevent such slander, he provided an exact report – and thus we have the last portion of She’mot.

The second answer as to the extremely detailed account provided by this week’s portion is religious. As I have indicated several times in the past, the entire Chumash – the entire biblical canon, in fact – should be read not as a historical (or practical, or political) account of the Children of Israel, but rather as a manual of faith: a complete guide as to the correct and only way to believe in the Jewish God. Thus we see the incredible difference in size and detail between events that we see as cardinal – the creation of the universe, for example, which is given no more than 40 verses – and events that may mean nothing to a man with no faith – such as the creation of the Mishkan, which received more than 400 verses. Here, once the Mishkan is completed, we again see – in excruciating detail – where exactly the donations of the Israelites went; the reason is that the money went for a single purpose: the worship of God, not for any other. Accordingly, each loaf of silver, each shekel of gold should be accounted for – so we know exactly how they were used in the service of God. Not “agency dilemma,” but “God worshiping.” Two views of the same cathedral.

II.               On the Contrast Between Completing God’s Work and that of Man’s

When God concludes the creation of the entire universe, the text famously reports (in the original Hebrew): “Va’yaculu Ha’shamyim ve’ha’aretz ve’chol tze’va’am…” – “And the heavens and the earth and all their armies have been completed, and God has completed on the seventh day His work that He has performed…” (Gen. 2:1-2).

Similarly, the text reports on this week’s portion, upon the completion of the Mishkan’s work: “And all the work of (preparing) the Mishkan has been completed … And Moshe has completed the work.” (Ex. 39:32, 40:33). In the same vein, we find upon the completion of the first Mikdash (House of the Lord): “And Hiram completed to perform all the work for King Shlomo (Solomon) [for] the House of the Lord.” (I Kings, 7:40).

But while all three acts of completion are described in very similar fashion (all using the Hebrew term “va’ye’chal” – (and the work) “has been completed”), there is a fundamental difference between the completion of God’s work and that of its human counterpart. Thus, when God completes the creation of the universe, He cease from working and blesses the Seventh Day (Shabbat) and turns it into a holy day. In other words, He seems to enjoy the completion of His work, so much so, in fact, that He marks it such that humans would celebrate it every week for generations on end.

But when humans complete their work, something completely different occurs. Thus, when Moshe concludes his work: “And Moshe completed the work, and the cloud has covered the Tent of Meeting and the dignity of the Lord has filled the Mishkan; and Moshe could not have approached the Mishkan for the cloud is upon it and the dignity of the Lord fills the Mishkan.” (Ex. 40:33-35). Similarly, when Shlomo concludes his own work: “And when the priests have left the sanctuary, and the cloud fills the House of the Lord; and the priests could not have stand and served (the Lord) for the cloud, as the dignity of the Lord has filled the House of the Lord.” (I Kings 8:10-11).

We see, therefore, that – at least according to the Bible – every human creation is never designed for its own sake, but only as a tool to serve God. This is the religious meaning of human creation; it only exists for serving God. But even if we move away from this extremely religious reasoning, the text may still teach us a very valuable lesson: It is only God who may truly create something for its own sake; for us, humans, should always remember that our creations are meant to serve something – or someone – else, much larger than ourselves. In other words, even at times when we successfully complete the largest, most important projects of our lives, we should always remember to be humbled before God. To quote my favorite verse of the entire canon:

            He has told you, O man, what is good and what has the Lord demand of you: Nothing but the doing of justice, and the loving of charity, and acting modestly before your God. (Micha 6:8).

Shabbat Shalom.

Doron