Parshat Emor: Self-Denial on Yom Kippur

A quick thought for this week:

This week’s Torah portion contains the Jewish holidays, including Yom Kippur – the day of “affliction” or “self-denial.”  While most holidays include bringing offerings to the Temple and abstaining from work in joyous celebration, the holiest day of the year (called “the Sabbath of all Sabbaths”) is a solemn day.  On this day, a sacrificial offering is brought and yet no one eats of it.  Rabbi Meir Don Plotzki, in his book Kli Chemdah, notes that this is an exception to the rule that all sacrifices must be consumed.  On Yom Kippur, even the Kohanim do not partake; the priests too must afflict themselves through fasting.  Today, in stark contrast between the other holidays where we feast in order to enhance the day and enjoy the company of family and friends, Yom Kippur is not an occasion for gathering and is spent largely in prayer. 

One reason for the self-afflicted fasting is to cleanse ourselves physically (parallel to the spiritual cleansing through prayer).  But perhaps also, in contract to the other holidays, we are taught the importance of restraint in the proper time and situation.  We indulge ourselves on Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot, and Shabbat and, given it is for the honor of the occasion, the indulgence is a positive one.  Indulgence is more intrinsic in people than is restraint.  The desire for more of something good, whether it be food or a discussion or money, is inherent.  Therefore it must merely be directed to the right end.  But knowing when and where to restrain from excess is much harder.  On Yom Kippur the importance, and the benefits, of self-denial is emphasized.  Through self-denial comes that ability to transform ourselves – to rid ourselves of the gunk in our lives, to rid ourselves of improper speech or un-kosher food, to rid ourselves of inappropriate behavior towards others or the hindering one’s own self. 

Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: “Bury This Hate, Build it With Love”

This week, we read the double parsha of Acharei Mot and Kedoshim.  The two parshiyot together are full of mitzvoth; and while all mitzvoth have a moral aspect and most have a rational explanation as well, a great many of the mitzvoth we read of this week are clearly and directly designed to make us better people and live in a better society.  What stood out to me is a short two verses:

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart.  Reprove your kinsman but incur no guilt because of him.  You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen.  Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord. (Vayikra 19:17-18)

The last part is well-known as the Golden Rule: to love your neighbor as yourself.  But what intrigued me is that there is not a commandment just to love your neighbor, but first is a commandment to avoid hatred.  The progression from one to the other, according to Sefer HaChinnuch, encompasses six distinct commandments:

1. The prohibition against hating one’s fellow
2. The religious duty to rebuke a fellow-Jew for improper behavior
3. The prohibition against shaming another (“incur no guilt…”)
4. The prohibition against taking revenge
5. The prohibition against bearing a grudge
6. The precept of love for one’s kinsman

Rather than lumping these together into one over-arching commandment of how to behave towards another, the Torah makes a very important distinguishment between the different levels of how to treat others, and how each element is interrelated.  Avoiding hatred (“the worst and most utterly despicable quality in the eyes of every intelligent human being”) is not enough.  We must remove that quality from us, but we must also take it upon ourselves to rebuke others that do wrong.  We do not live a detached existence, only concerned with our self, but are tightly connected with and impacted by so many others that it is also our responsibility to correct others who behave improperly.  But we must not do so in a negative way, but “with soft language and gentle words, so that the other may not be ashamed” (Sefer HaChinnuch).  We are forbidden to embarrass another; we must not just rebuke another but must rebuke them in the right way (“It is better for a man to throw himself into a fiery furnace rather than shame his fellow-man in public.”).  Furthermore, someone who is rebuked (or who does the rebuking) must not take revenge on the other, either for a physical or a non-physical matter.  As Midrash Shifra asks and answers: How far does the force of vengeance reach?  If one asked another, “Lend me your sickle,” and the other did not lend it to him, then the next day the other asked him, “Lend me your pickaxe,” whereupon he told him, “I will not lend it to you, in the same way you did not lend me your sickle…”About this it is said, “You shall not take revenge.” And not only must we refrain from revenge, but must remove the desire to do so from our hearts.  “Even if we should resolve not to repay him in kind for his deeds [i.e. to take vengeance], the mere remembrance of his sin in the heart [is] forbidden us.”  We must not bear a grudge. 

To aid in accomplishing these lofty commandments, we may try, in all instances, to remember that the people we encounter are not mere dust and ashes but a human being imbued with a divine spark.  I recently watched one of TED’s talks and the speaker spoke of her desire to connect with people on a deeper level than words and body; to feel their presence.  She wanted to experience their presence, to share their story, to feel their spirit (“When I meet you I am no longer a part of your future.  I quickly start becoming a part of your past.  But in that instance I get to share your present.  And you, you get to share mine, and that is the greatest present of all.”).  Everyone we encounter is someone we can be impacted by and there are so many who we come across and only have one chance.  This is what should leave a lasting impact: not what you do, but who you are.  This is a Jewish idea: to see a person’s neshama (soul) before you see anything else about them.    To not judge them because you have never and will never stand in their exact shoes.  To relate to them as a person with emotions and needs, even if different than yours.

When we are able to do all of these things – to make ourselves incapable of hate, to give and accept rebuke in the correct manner, to guard someone else’s shame as your own, to live without need for revenge and without bearing a grudge…then we can come to love our neighbors as ourselves.  And this, says Rabbi Akiva, “is the great principle of the Torah.” 

Or, if you prefer, as Our Lady Peace sings, “Bury this hate, build it with Love.” (The song has nothing to do with this parsha, but they were one of my favorite bands in high school and this verse – out of context – is quite relevantJ)

Shabbat Shalom!

Parshat Tazria-Metzora: Lashon Hara and Tzara’at

A quick thought on this week’s parsha.  Much of the parsha deals with tzara’at, the physical manifestation of a spiritual disease.  The sages say (at least some of them, perhaps not all) that this was a disease that only affected righteous individuals; it was not a common disease inflicted by God unto the common man.  It was reserved for people that, due to their job, position in society, background, etc., should have known better than to commit the sin they committed.  One of the most common sins to cause tzara’at was lashon hara, speaking maliciously (even if truthfully) about others or God (literal translation is “evil tongue”).  The main biblical example of this is when Miriam spoke ill of her brother, Moshe.  Although well-intentioned she said something regrettable and was punished with tzara’at. 

One who is afflicted with tzara’at is quarantined outside of the city they live in for a minimum period of seven days.  One reason for this is to take someone out of the environment in which they committed their sin, such as lashon hara.  By taking a righteous person away from people it gives them time to focus on what they did wrong, while at the same time taking away the possibility that they commit the same sin before they have had adequate time to do teshuva, to transform themselves into a better person that would not commit the same sin again.  For most of us, we just get our mouth washed out with soap by our parents when we say bad words growing up.  But the fact that lashon hara is cause for quarantining someone emphasizes how important our speech really is.  When we speak lashon hara, the consequences last much longer than the taste of soap in our mouths.   

We humans, unlike every other animal, have the ability to speak.  Through our speech we can collaborate and impact the world in ways that no other animals can, we can make people smile or make them cry, we can comfort someone or we can embarrass them, we can praise someone’s good deed or we can disparage someone’s misstep.  Our speech is a powerful tool and can be used in so many ways for tremendous good or tremendous evil.  Growing up, our mom’s told us to ignore other kids that slandered us, but the real world rarely allows for people to do so.  We are all affected by what people around us say and we all affect others with our own words.  So with the power of speech we’ve been given, let’s use it for good. 

Shabbat Shalom.