Parashat Be'Chu'ko'tai, Leviticus 26:3 - End

This week we read the last portion of Leviticus, Be’chu’ko’tai (literally, “my laws,” as in “if you shall follow my laws…”). This portion is fascinating on many levels, and quite lengthy and elaborate at that. In this post, however, I would only comment on one aspect of this important portion. That aspect relates to one of central tenets of Judaism, indeed of every religion; in fact, this issue is perhaps the central notion around which the notion of religious concepts began to evolve. And the issue is that of “reward and punishment” (sa-char va-oe-nesh) – whey some people are condemned to suffer, despite being righteous, while others enjoy a happy life, despite being evil. To this day, this question divides philosophers, theologians, religious scholars, and people of all faiths. I will examine one important facet of this issue.

1. The Question Presented: Why Are Righteous People Being Punished?

In a nutshell, the question presented by our portion is this:  Why do some people – Jews, in particular – continue to be punished in this world despite following God’s commandments, while other people, who don’t follow God’s orders, seem to be handsomely rewarded. Put differently, why does the almighty God allow such a state of injustice to prevail in this world, instead of (properly) rewarding the righteous and punishing those who commit evil. This question was presented in its purest form during the most horrific genocide of all time, the terrible Holocaust of Europe’s Jews; it has never been answered satisfactorily since.

 One of the popular answers to this question – quite prevalent in many denominations of Christianity, as well as at the margins of Judaism – is that this world is merely a preparation (a corridor, to use the most oft-quote metaphor) to the hereafter, the next world; and it is there where the proper allocation of retribution – either reward or punishment – is being dealt fairly. This answer, which is convincing to some, is of course unexaminable and therefore irrefutable; in that sense, it is not very interesting. As Wittgenstein once wrote, at the end of his Tractatus, “things we cannot talk about should be passed over with silence.” (Para. 7) This is obviously true with regards to this argument, which may never be tested.  (Nevertheless, as I write these lines, on the evening of May 20, 2011, I am consistently confronted by rumors that the world is coming to an end tomorrow, or at most by the next day after that; if that were true, then we probably will be able to finally test the veracity of the “afterlife” theory that’s been offered for more than a millennia; that should be quite interesting….).

2. The Beginning of an Answer: The Jewish She’ma

Another answer, more nuanced, insightful, and challenging than the one offered by the “afterlife” argument is presented by the constituent text of the Jewish religion, the She’ma. “She’ma Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad” – by far the most famous of Jewish texts, also presents a deeply philosophical argument. As demonstrated by Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz on several instances (for an English version, see The Reading of Shema in Judaism, Human Values, and the Jewish State 37 (Harvard 1992)), the She’ma consists of two separate parts. The first part, which is presented as an absolute demand (or, in Kantian terms, as a categorical imperative), requires every Jewish person to love the Lord our God with all his or her heart, all of his soul, and all of his might. (And as Rabbi Akiva famously noted, “with all his soul – meaning even when they are taking away your soul (killing you) – you should still love Him.”) I would not dwell here on the beautiful issue of why the word love was chosen to portray the desired – nay, decreed(!) – relationship between the person of faith and God. I would just suggest that love is the greatest of human feelings, the strongest, the most expressive, and thus no other description of human emotion – and recall that the text is bound by existing words – could be chosen for the task.

The second part of the She’ma is framed as a conditional demand (or, in Kantian terms, a conditional imperative). It begins with the words “And if you shall hear [Me],” and promises a set of rewards for those who would follow the ways of the Lord. Among these are timely rain (a big issue in a desert land like Israel), plentiful of agricultural produce, and other material-nature rewards. [Importantly, Leibowitz teaches us here on the notions of “Lishma” and “Lo Lishma” (a faith for its own sake and that which is not for its own sake, but for an external gain; the first type of faith appears on the first part of the She’ma, while the second, much more prevalent form of faith, appears in the second part; I dealt with that distinction in previous posts and would not dwell on it here). The important point here, which is quite complicated, is that the reward in life comes inherently from the experience of standing before God. In other words, the reward does not await to the man of faith in the form of a more expensive watch, faster car, promotion at work, etc. The reward for the man of faith is being a man of faith, and that reward comes in many forms, shapes, and sizes; what is important, however, that those who truly stand before God during their lives cannot expect – and indeed, never expects – any other, or “better” reward.

As for the evil-doers who are plentifully rewarded in this world - that is a much more complicated an issue, to which I can provide no answer. My only suggestion here – which is neither scientific nor philosophical in nature – is that sometimes things are not actually as they seems to be. Take for example the 25-year successful marriage of Governor Schwarzeneger and his beautiful heiress of the Kennedy dynasty, Maria Schreiber. Just this week we learned that despite all the money, political power, social success, and any other material reward one may think of, their marriage were built on a sham and they had to break the partnership. Again, this is not a scientific observation (and, obviously, much poorer couples betray each other as well), but it may suggest that the notion of “earthly reward” is not as simple as we initially view it.     

3. The “Missing Part” of the She’ma

But for my purposes today, I would like to remark on what is missing from the She’ma.  The two sections (I omit, for a second, the third part of Ts’tsit) are extremely positive in nature: They mostly describe the good things that would happen to those who follow the laws of the Lord. In other words, they describe very little sanction, very little punishment, very little of the negative consequences that were to occur should one decides not to follow the word of the Lord.

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

The portion of “Be’Chukutai” begins with the now-familiar text of “If you shall follow my laws, and keep my decrees . . . then I shall provide your rain in time (etc., etc.)” – much like the second part of the She’ma.  But then the text moves onto a third part that expands greatly on the small section of negative consequences mentioned in the She’ma:

"But if you shall not listen to me, and shall not follow my decrees, and if you reject my rules and despise my laws . . . then I shall do the following onto you:… " 

Here the text provides a parade of horribles, including plagues, losing in wars, turning to enemy slaves, having no fruits from the ground, death of domestic animals, and so on and so forth, including being forced to eat the very flesh of your own sons and daughters. (Levit. 26:29).   

To me, that shows – once again – that not much has changed since the time the text was written. Yes, it is very nice to discuss categorical imperatives – doing things because they are right in and of themselves; or even doing something in anticipation of reaping the rewards – such as “if you will follow my laws, all the best will happen to you” (insert your favorite material possession here). But human nature is such that in most cases, nothing actually happens unless and until meaningful sanctions are put in place. And those sanctions, to be sure, must be such that would deter someone from doing the act.  Serious, meaningful sanctions (and in this case, perhaps even cruel and unusual sanctions) are what usually motivate us ever since our childhood in all areas of life; the area of faith should be, for most people at least, no different. And this is the role (well) played by our portion of the week. 

I would like to leave you with the following question, however: If this section is so important, so vital, so crucial to human behavior, why was it left outside the She’ma itself? If you were sitting today in the Knesset Gdolah (a religious legislative body that doesn't exist anymore), would you reintroduce this part of the text into the She'ma? Think about it during your restful Shabbat.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron

Parashat Be'har, Levit. 25:1-26:2.

This week’s portion, “Be’har” (literally, “on the mountain”) marks the penultimate portion of the third book in the series, Leviticus.  It contains the famous and important set of laws known as  “shmee’ta” – the innovative idea that every seventh year the land itself has to rest, much like we humans rest every seventh day.  It also contains other, more familiar religious laws such as the prohibition on the making of idols (Levit. 26:1) and the decree to keep the Shabat (26:2), among others.  To me, however, beyond those well-established rules, this week’s portion may serve as an excellent example for the relevance of the biblical text to our lives today; indeed, economic notions that we consider today as “cutting edge” – such as business cycles, great recession, and personal unemployment – were much in vogue back then as they are now. Allow me to demonstrate. 

On Business Cycles and Old Recessions

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

This week’s portion is famous for its detailed discussion of the laws of Sh’meeta, which I mentioned earlier – the careful consideration given to the ground, the main production factor at the time. In a limited sense, this is also a part of a business cycle, though this time – as opposed to a cycle created by market powers (real or manipulated) – this one is self-imposed. However, to me, the more interesting part of the portion relates to the very detailed account of what happens when people are suddenly affected by economic hardship. What happens, for example, when your relative was forced to sell a part of his land for economic hardship; when someone had to sell his lucrative dwelling home behind the protective walls of the city (the then-Upper East Side of Manhattan, so to speak); what happens to other dwelling homes that are sold, without a wall (insert your favorite not-so-well-to-do neighborhood here); what happens when your relative lost his job; and so on and so forth. (Levit. 25:25-55)

Though the laws themselves are fascinating – providing, in essence, a model for market-created social safety net, including the (now famous) restriction on usury loans – I am more interested here in the more general phenomenon of people who fell on hard economic times. What is the right manner in which society should treat those people? Is it “every man for himself”? Is it “socialism” (as it is often called here in America without sufficient basis), where the collective attempts to help those in need? The discussions of these issues more than 3,000 years ago – and the consideration of those issues as so pertinent as being considered a part of the holy cannon – prove to me that those issues were prevalent long before the Great Depression or the current economic crisis we are experiencing in America. The fascinating part, to me at least, is that the Jewish religion saw those issues as religious obligations, not merely as economic ones: Thus, the text mandates an obligation to treat those people with dignity, honor, and hope.  The message here is simple: You have to treat those people well today, because tomorrow you might be the one needing that kind of help. The debate today over the creation of a new consumer protection agency, as well as the idea of “private” bail-out – a direct government assistance to people in need – are but a faint echo of this comprehensive set of rules that was created, more than two thousand years ago, to properly deal with business cycles and their effect. Once again, we can be proud of our wise sages (or God, if you believe He is the author of the text) that identified a social issue and created a comprehensive way of dealing with it.

Indeed, ever since the bible was written and until today, the very idea of community-based economic assistance is one of the pillars of Jewish life. All over the world, as well as in Israel, Jewish communities are recruiting as one in time of economic turmoil to make sure that no member of the community would fall behind. To be sure, those assistance efforts are made with the understanding that the person in need would do everything they can to “get back on their feet” as soon as possible: no “welfare queens” here. But I think this arrangement, by which one (or more) member of the community is falling on hard times, the community as a whole is being recruited to help them, and then he or she returns as a productive member in the work cycle, should be not only a source of pride for the Jewish community, but also serve as a model to much larger economies in general – cities, states, and even federal.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

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.

I. Text vs. Halacha: When Does Rosh Ha’Shana Fall?

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.

II. My Bar-Mitzvah's Haftara

It has been long ago – way too long, precisely three decades – since I stood in the then-new synagogue next to my parents’ home in Ramat Aviv (a small Tel-Ave suburb), very nervous and anxious, preparing to perform my first (and so far only) public Haftara.  We just welcomed, four months earlier, a wonderful addition to our family – my younger brother Uri; I was so proud to carry him on my arms into shul. I will never know how I really did that day (in terms of proper reading). Everyone, of course, sang my praises to my face, telling me I did great. Then again, what would you tell a young Bar-Mitzvah boy who just finished his readings (for which he prepared for months)? That he did horribly? That he was barely understood, or heard? Indeed, even in Israel – the “tell-it-as-it-is-and-in-your-face” country – we have our limits. Bar Mitvah is certainly one of those.

I have been to many Bar Mitzvahs 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 can? The answer implies a fundamental principle of religious leadership adhered to, unfortunately, by only a few religious leaders 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 and respects he should act – and therefore 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 garbs (or robes) for the “regular clothes” of the people. They rightly fear that “the people” would quickly reveal that, behind those gilded quilts, they may not be so different from any of us…

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Ke'do'shim, Levit. 19:1-20-27

This week’s portion – Kedoshim (literally, “holy,” as in “you shall be holy to me”) – is a chock full of excellent advice for a better life, the bible’s version of a “self-help” book if you will. In addition, the portion – as its name suggests – may invite a discussion on the (often misunderstood) notion of holiness in Judaism. I will shortly comment on each of these subject today.

I. The Bible: The Best “Self-Help” Book Ever Written?

Much of the text of this week’s portion may be justly considered as the most useful and well written guidance-for-life ever given. To be sure, for religious persons these words are not merely “how-to-better-oneself” platitudes but actually binding religious decree; they are, however, equally useful for all of us, regardless of our level of faith. Indeed, what truly stunning about reading these words is how fresh and up-to-date they sound today, more than 3,000 after they were first written.

We begin with the Golden Rule – the Ur-text of all moral philosophy – which appears in this week’s portion: Love Thy Neighbor As Yourself; I am the Lord. (Levit. 19:18). Not for naught did Old Hillel considered this statement to be the entire Torah in a single sentence. There is a lot to it. (For an interesting Wikipedia summary of the Golden Rule across the ages and philosophies, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Golden_Rule#Judaism). Just by way of beginning to understand how fascinating this statement is, consider the following: According to most interpretations, the connection between the first and second parts of the statement is for, as in “love thy neighbor as yourself for I am the Lord.” This is the most logical interpretation, because this is a religious decree, and, like all other similar decrees, draws its authority on the divine. Thus, for the religious person, you should not act in a certain manner (such as loving others) because it is morally just, but rather because God ordered you to do so. But another provocative, and very interesting, interpretation to this well-known verse was suggested by Elie Wiesel (who, in addition to all other credential, is also a biblical scholar); he suggests to limit the first part to “love thy neighbor,” while the other part of the sentence should be read: “(for) as yourself I am the Lord.” In other words, the reason for the order to love others is that God is like all other humans; thus by loving others (humans) you also show your love for God. Obviously, such intriguing personification of God can only be made by one the most famous survivors of the most horrific experiences ever to be lived by man; still, this is a fascinating interpretation that I found extremely thought-provoking.   

Other examples of useful advice that are relevant today as much – if not more – than at the time they were written: “You shall not curse the deaf, and before the blind you shall not place a hurdle” (Levit. 19:14) – two interesting decrees which Drash (non-literal interpretation) is much more interesting than the Pshat (textual interpretation), although the latter should also be extremely useful for every disable-rights minded society; “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” (Levit. 19:15) – an early, and very important warning against “social engineering” through using the legal system; “You shall rise before the elderly, and show deference to the old” (Levit. 20:32)  - a decree that every generation seems to be in greater need; “And when a foreign resident dwells among you, do not defraud him; as a citizen like you he shall be to you.” (Levit. 19:33) – suggesting that the undocumented employees of old and those of today receive the same adverse treatment; 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 financial markets: “Do not carry injustice in the law – falsely measuring size, weight, or capacity; you shall have a scale of justice – stones (weights) of justice, ruler of justice, and measurement of justice.” (Levit. 19:35).

I could dedicate an entire blog post to each of these – and many other – great, and very concisely written, “how-to” ideas. But I will let you, the reader, pick your own favorite advice and try to understand it more thoroughly. As usual, I will be happy to hear your comments. 

II. On the Notion of Holiness in Judaism                 

“You shall be holy for I, the Lord Your God, am holy.” (Levit. 19:2).  This is one of the most famous “opening statements” of all portions of the week; it is also one of the quintessential proclamations on the notion of Jewish holiness, and by far the most misunderstood.  As I have explained before (based on Leibowitz, who, in turn, is based on the Rambam), the notion of holiness in Judaism is not based on the premise that we are, ipso facto, holy by the nature of our Judaism. This is a common mistake – perhaps the most common mistake – made by many Jews across history, and is even more prevalent these days:  We are Jewish, hence we are holy.  Not true.

In fact, the notion of holiness in Judaism is properly based upon the holiness of God himself: He is the only Holy entity; He and not us.  In order to become holy – that is, to be raised to the level of holiness that only Jews, and none other religions, may ascend to – Jews are required to do two things: in the affirmative, to follow all of God’s rules and laws; and in the negative, to refrain from doing whatever other people, who do not believe in God, are doing. These two facets – the positive and negative – of Jewish behavior are the building blocks on which the notion of holiness is based. 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 most importantly, to the extent they do follow those two facets, they would only become holy in the relationships between themselves and God – not in the dimension (so often invoked) between Jews and non-Jews, that is between one person and the next. For that level, as we just learned, we must abide by the religious decree of “love thy neighbor (i.e., any person, not only Jewish persons) as yourself, (for) I am the Lord your God.”

So next time you encounter a self-proclaimed Jewish “holy” person, ask them: (1) Do you follow all of God’s rules? If so, (2) Do you refrain from doing what other, non-Jewish people are doing? If so – and only if so – let them know that they can proclaim themselves “holy” in their 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) other human beings is not achieved in Judaism – neither achieved nor meant to be achieved.  This should be pursued – if at all – by other disciplines. And this should serve an important lesson in inter-personal humility for all Jews: We can achieve holiness (though it is extremely hard), but only with regards to our relationship with God.

Shabbat Shalom.

  

Doron 

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