Parshat Tazria: Kodesh from Dust and Ashes

"Man is formed in the image of the entire world – when he is dragged down by his material side he is the lowest of the low, since his form is most holy of all."   - Sefat Emet

This week’s parsha opens with the laws of separation for a woman after giving birth to a boy or girl.  Such laws, including the laws of family purity/menstruation are certainly intriguing – I began to understand the halachot (laws) and development of them throughout history by listening to a series of classes on the topic by Rabbi Ethan Tucker while still in college.  But while the development of the laws, social context, and history were expounded upon I did not take away from the class the underlying spiritual background of the mitzvoth associated with birth/menstruation/other bodily emissions (although the class does touch on this as well). 

So what is the reason for the need of such laws?  To briefly summarize Rabbi Mordecai Elon’s response: Impurity is not a curse, it is a lack, a deficiency….  The man or woman with a running issue of the flesh is unclean.  This is a biological period of inability to express life, to create life, to produce new life and bring it forth into the world.  The days of a woman’s separation are also a time of inability to express new life.  Impurity is something one lives with constantly, and one must constantly purify oneself from it.

We are Adam.  Not just “man” but the conception of what man should be.  Adam, the dust of the earth from which we came and with which we have the ability to become the highest living creatures.  Every act we do is a way to elevate the dirt that we are composed of or negate our purpose in this world by succumbing to the baseness with which we are made.  When we fail to follow the Torah we “drag down our material side…we are the lowest of lows.”  We are lower than the animals; we have used our God-given free will to deny His existence and to show our lack of desire to become close with Him.  But when we do just the opposite, when we decide that, yes, we are going to follow God’s laws from kashrut to family purity, we are elevating the dust from which we came to the most holy form of all. 

Parshat Shemini: “And they died before Hashem”

Chapter 10 of the book of Vayikra (Leviticus) has been the cause of much conversation and little agreement.  The question is on God’s swift action to kill Nadav and Avihu: What exactly was the sin of Nadav and Avihu? 

The Torah states (Vayikra 10:1-4): The sons of Aaron, Nadav and Avihu, each took his fire pan, they put fire in them and placed incense upon it.  And they brought before Hashem an alien fire that He had not commanded.

The Talmudic Rabbis, followed by the Midrashic Rabbis, have an array or other possibilities: They were drunk with wine (while performing the Temple service) (Leviticus Rabbah 20).  Perhaps they neglected to wash hands and feet upon entering the Temple, or perhaps they neglected to wear the priestly robes fashion in earlier parshiyot, or perhaps they were naked, various Rabbis put forth.  Others posit, They taught halacha in the presence of their teach Moses (Eruvin 63a & Yoma 53a) or They did not beget sons or marry (Lev. Rabbah 20). 

I find this to be a prime example of commentaries that fit the times.  The reasoning of the Rabbis, while all plausible explanations for punishment based on our knowledge of other areas in Judaism, is simply not supported by the relevant Torah verses.  That by no means proves them false, but I believe they are more likely to have been put forth as reasons due to the social/cultural/political condition of the Jews at the times in which they were espoused.  What I would like to focus on however, is what I find to be the more relevant lesson from Nadav and Avihu.  Based on Rashi and the Netziv, we see the necessity to find the balance between intellectual and emotional worship of Hashem.

In commenting on Nadav and Avihu, Rashi quotes two opinions on the reason for their death:

Rabbi Eliezer says: The sons of Aaron died only because they rendered halachic decisions in the presence of their teacher Moses.  Rabbi Yishmael says: They entered the Sanctuary while intoxicated with wine.

Again, neither reason is related to the “alien fire” mentioned in the Torah (although Rabbi Yishmael does bring contextual proof for his reason).  But Rabbi Eliezer’s answer is the one I find most intriguing, particularly in light of Rashi’s seemingly contradictory commentary on the same story which states that Nadav and Avihu were in fact greater than Moses and Aaron (based on Vayikrah Rabba 12:2).  If they were “greater” than Moses, Rabbi Francis Nataf asks, why would it be wrong to render halachic decision in Moses’ presence?  Should not Moses defer to the more knowledgeable men?  No, Rabbi Nataf explains, because “the rabbis teach that one should respect even a foolish old man, justifying this position by saying that his experience alone is worthy of respect” (Kiddushin 33a).  The wisdom of our elders, who have experienced so much more, cannot be out-bid by the knowledge of youth.  Each generation gains more and more knowledge, learns more and more science, math, philosophy, halacha…but experience is what is most admired.  It is experience that life provides.  The mind does not reign supreme in Judaism, but must be combined with history, tradition, and the heart. 

This explains why Nadav and Avihu were potentially killed by God’s hand for not deferring to the elder Moses.  But I still find the following quote by the Netziv to be the most favorable explanation, the most based on the “alien fire” in the text of the Torah:

Even in Moses’ day there were sects among the Israelites that were fervent in their love of the Lord, but did not adhere to the boundaries set down by the Torah….  Therefore Moses told the Israelites that this is not the way.  Rather, they should remove such evil inclinations from their hearts, for even such desire, albeit directed towards worshipping the Lord in sanctity, nevertheless does not follow the way that the Lord wishes.  Rather, it is no other than an evil inclination, leading Israel’s great leaders to err and stray through this desire….  If we seek to love the Lord in a way which is not that of the Torah, with everyone doing as they please and forming bands of people worshipping together, that is against the will of the Lord, blessed is He.  (Ha’amek Davar, Leviticus 9:5)

What a beautiful concept, balancing on such a thin line.  My heart says “yes, do this for Hashem my God!”  But the Torah says “no, the way laid forth is that way, not this.”  Our challenge is to direct our heart to the way of the Torah, to channel it in the ways set forth.  There is freedom in many areas…in prayer and personality.  But when the Torah says X you shall not do Y.  This is a challenge in so many ways and even so many great Jews have been guilty of wavering, if not falling completely off, this tight rope.  Indeed Yehuda ha-Levi states in The Kuzari that the golden calf was just such an instance.  The Jews wanted to build a calf not as an idol, but to worship Hashem…yet it lead to unexpected idolatrous behavior.  We must to this day follow the halachot  Within this intellectual framework we must set our heart; within this intellectual framework is where our souls can be at peace; within this intellectual framework our emotion in worshipping Hashem must abide. 

Pesach: The Power to Change

Each time of year in Judaism has a specific essence associated with it, related to the holiday.  Pesach is a time with a heightened atmosphere for elevating ourselves to a greater existence.

The Jews left Egypt destitute – physically, spiritually, mentally – exhausted!  We were nothing in Egypt.  Until the prophetess Miriam came along, we had sunk to such a low level of existence that we had even forsaken one of our highest callings, to bring life into the world.  All the Jews had vowed not to have children to avoid Pharaoh’s decree to kill every firstborn male Jew.  But the story of Pesach is a story of resurrection from the depths we experienced in Egypt.  We were nothing, but we became something.  Our ancestors changed themselves, transformed themselves.  And we did not just become something – we became the Jewish people!  Our ancestors rose up from the depths of Egypt to recognize the ultimate purpose of man, that which – even when we don’t feel it – our soul is constantly yearning for: oneness with God, our Creator.  They showed the ultimate power to change – and that is the essence of this time of year, the essence of Passover: the ability to change.  Each one of us has the ability to change, to become someone new.  Each year when we sit at our Pesach Seder we are different than we were the previous year, drastically different than we were even longer ago.  And with this recognition we must also recognize that the same people sitting around our table are also different.  They too have the power to transform themselves.  As we sit at the Seder table, we must look at the positive way in which others too have changed for the better.  We must not judge them based on where they came – on who their parents or family are, on what school they went to, on what mistakes they made in previous times.  Each and every one of us has the power to grow, to improve our selves, to become closer to God both physically and spiritually…and when we make these positive steps forward, we all deserve to be honored for this change, not demonized for our past.  This Pesach, may we all recognize and applaud all the changes that we, and those around us, have made for the better this past year.

Chag Kasher v’Sameach

(Thanks to Rabbi Katz/Rav Leuchter for inspiring this year's take home message on Pesach.)

Parshat Vayikra: A Means of Atonment

“Vayikra – And He spoke.”  The opening word to the book of Leviticus is something that echoes throughout the entire book.  He spoke to Moshe, He commanded the sacrifices the rituals, the day-to-day activities to be performed for His service.  The last letter of this word, those, is smaller than all the other letters.  Why?  Rosh comments that this is to show the humility with which Moses accepts his position as leader of the Jewish people.  The entire parsha, I believe, is a show of humility for all men. 

Vayikra is full of sacrifices for various sins or peace-offerings, willful or intentional, personal or communal.  The act of bringing a sacrifice, according to the great Rabbis of the Middle Ages – Rambam, Ramban, and Sefer HaHinnuch – was to humble a person.  There are three different ways we must transform ourselves to completely atone for our sins: we must change our thoughts, we must change our words (tefillot), and we must change our actions.  It is never through sacrifice alone that we are atoned; but only through sacrifice as a synthesis of all three ways we must change.  When we bring a sacrifice we our humbling ourselves by recognizing that we acted like animals in lowering ourselves to the sin we committed and failing to rise above it.  We disregarded – if only momentarily – God’s charge to by holy.  Perhaps only for a moment we were not worthy of the life God granted us.  And for this we must bring a sacrifice and as the ritual is being performed by the priest in front of us, we think: “that should have been me; I acted like a lowly animal when I committed a sin.  But through God’s mercy I have been granted more life and the opportunity to be a holy person.  This animal, in my place, has been sacrificed to God.”

It seems an archaic practice and I have no idea how I would react if such a sacrifice was to take place in front of me today.  But I can certainly appreciate the power that it help for the people of Temple-times.  To humble oneself is an important trait and the sacrifices were supposed to help in our honing of this trait in us. 

Parshat Veyakhel-Pekudei: Principles and Details

This past Shabbat, we concluded the Book of Shemot (Exodus), the second book of the Torah with the reading of a double-parsha with Veyakhel-Pekudei.  There was a scholar-in-residence weekend at a shul in Columbus and Rabbi-Dr. Avraham Steinberg was the speaker.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get the change to attend most of his talks, but I did hear his d’var Torah on Shabbat morning and found what he said to be exactly what makes the details of Judaism so beautiful. 

Rabbi-Dr. Steinberg’s focus of the weekend was (Jewish) medical ethics, but he expanded his speech for the entire synagogue to be on broader Jewish practice and rooted in the details in which the Torah lists the laws of building the Mishkan and the service performed in the Temple.  Through this detail and two examples he provided that stood out to me, where we see the difference between (1) Jewish medical ethics and secular medical ethics and (2) Other religions and Judaism.   In both cases, the difference is principles versus details. 

In the case of Medical ethics, a popular ethical code to follow in America is Georgetown University’s 4-step approach of autonomy, beneficence, non-maleficence, and justice.  These principles determine whether a doctor is ethical or not.  But, as happened to a doctor I know, what happens when a woman about to give birth chooses death for themselves and their baby?  If a woman needs a cesarean section to save her and the baby, and refuses, an ethical doctor would be required to let the woman and baby die to maintain the principle of patient autonomy.  Judaism would not allow this to happen.  In Judaism, life trumps autonomy.  You cannot allow a suicide or any death.  What good is autonomy when you are dead?  In Judaism, we look at the details in each and every case to work up to the over-arching principle.  A principle cannot be applied without an understanding of the detail. 

The same is true when analyzing Judaism against other religions.  All religions have principles.  But in most religions these principles are set-in-stone and applied in dictatorial way, with no regard to the individual case.  In Judaism, every little detail is important and no halachic (or ethical) decision can be made without all the details being laid out in front of you.  This week’s parsha dealing with the details of building the Temple are a prime example.  The details with which we obsessively build the mishkan, to get every angle and color and corner exactly right…those details are the beauty of Judaism…our infatuation with trying to become a holy being, a holy nation, a nation dedicated to God and God alone.  We become this type of individual – nation – by following the mitzvoth.  Many things take detail, many things are intricate…but only the intricacies of the Torah are the intricacies of God through which we gain (in Heschel’s words) “a sense of the ineffable.” 

Parshat Ki Tisa: Betzalel, Shabbat, and the Golden Calf

“See, I have called by name, Betzalel son of Uri, son of Hur, of the tribe of Yehuda.  I have filled him with ruach Elohim (Godly spirit), with chachma, tevuna, da’at, u’b’chol-melacha (wisdom, insight, and knowledge, and with every craft).  To weave designs, to work with gold, silver, and copper, stone-cutting, and wood-carving – to perform every craft.”

-          Shemot 31:3-4

In this week’s parsha, God designated Betzalel as the head artist and craftsman in the Temple.  It is his job to build the Tent of Meeting, the Art of the Covenant, tables and altars, utensils, garments, clothing of the Kohanim, and more.  Immediately following this appointment God seems to switch to an unrelated topic, commanding Israel to “observe My Sabbaths, for it is a sign between Me and you for your generations, to know that I am Hashem, Who makes you holy.  You shall observe the Sabbath, for it is holy to you” (12-13).  And then the Torah returns to Moshe on Mt. Sinai receiving the Torah form God, and we learn of the sin of the golden calf. 

Why this sequence?  What do we learn from the Torah’s juxtaposition of the Sabbath with Betzalel, of the Golden Calf with the Sabbath? 

I think that, surprisingly enough, we can find a two-fold answer by looking at the words of (1) Senator Joe Liberman and (2) Rabbi Heschel.  The senator, in the Kabbalat Shabbat section of his book The Gift of Rest, writes of how Shabbat gives us the chance to recognize that we are not the center of the universe.  We, the majority of people, tend to get caught up in our own in-dispensability.  We feel as if our job cannot be put on hold, sports cannot wait, our friends cannot survive without us…we are so important that a 25 hour break from any of our activities is just not possible.  But in truth, that is exactly what we need.  The Sabbath gives us this break, this opportunity to step back and realize that, no, we are not the center of the world; and yes, there is something greater out there.  There is more important things than whatever we have going on during the week: there is our soul.  We begin a day where we focus on this spiritual side of ourselves with the beginning of the Kabbalat Shabbat service on Friday nights.  Through this day we become holy. 

In line with this thought, Rabbi Heschel writes: “What would be the value of proving that...keeping the Sabbath is conducive to happiness?  It is not utility that we seek in religion but eternity.”  Our focus on Shabbat is beyond ourselves.  Yes, we my think at a base level that we indulge ourselves by eating big meals and resting.  But our focus is on what is beyond us.  Our focus, the reason behind Shabbat, is on our Creator and our desire to become closer to Him and fulfill His will. 

And this is why our parsha has placed Betzalel, Shabbat, and the Golden Calf together.  With Betzalel, we are told of the Godly gifts that God has endowed Betzalel with.  This particular gift is specific to one man, but every person is endowed with their own gifts, every person is their own world (Pirkei Avot).  No matter what our gift, we must recognize that we are blessed with this gift by God.  We must take time out of our week – take a break from utilizing our gift – to observe the Sabbath and develop a relationship with our God.  We must not fall prey to our own ego and deny God in the use of our gift.  We must not commit the Sin of the Golden Calf, the sin of denying the origin of our talents.  Through this week’s parsha we see the destruction that can result from misuse of our gifts.  We are given our gifts, but we are also given a framework of mitzvoth in which to use them.  The framework is not a box that contains us, but a blueprint for making the most of both our gift and our relationship with God. When we step outside of that framework, we are susceptible to losing a part of ourselves and weakening our relationship with God, as happened to our ancestors when they built the Golden Calf. 

Parshat Tetzaveh: Does God Need?

Two weeks ago, in writing on Parshat Mishpatim, I expressed my ideas to a good friend of mine: God is, in a sense, dependent upon man to be brought into the world.  Not that He doesn’t exist without man’s actions, but that He has created a world in which His presence is primarily seen through the mitzvoth of man.  My friend found a fundamental issue with this idea, and that is that it implies there is something lacking in God’s essence.  Only if there is something lacking would He “need” anything – whether it be our actions or anything else.  Yet of course God is, by definition, infinite and not lacking.  Now, this is certainly not what I (or Rabbi Heschel) was implying, but it is more of a philosophical idea than practical reality.  Nonetheless, I will try to address this issue through a look at this week’s parsha where it appears that God, once again, calls upon man for “His benefit.”

“It is a satisfying aroma before Hashem,” the Torah says numerous times throughout the last part of Parshat Tetzaveh.    It seems that the specific offerings and sacrifices that we are taught to bring in the Temple are brought because God takes pleasure in them, in addition to the fact that we benefit by receiving atonement through the sacrifice.  Unfortunately I am only going to have time for a brief escape into the parsha this week, but I don’t think it possible to believe that there is a God that actually “enjoys” the smell of offerings.  For one, He hasn’t a nose; for two, if He is all powerful He can create whatever smell He wants, whenever He wants.  So when the Torah states the benefit it has for God, there is really an underlying meaning for the offer-giver.  While the Torah states God’s perspective, it implies the transformation that man can undergo through the process.  The act of bringing an offering to Hashem, our God, is not for His sake, at least not in that He needs it for His benefit; it is for our benefit, but only by doing acts that benefit us, does God get exposed in the world.  It is through religious acts that God becomes known through the world.  This is, of course, something that God wants, as it is the reason He created mankind – to perform tikkun, reparation of our world.  Yet God is not lacking without our performance of what He wants. 

The offerings are something commanded by God, for the benefit of man.  Of course God wants us to bring them, but they improve us through the process: to atone for our sins we bring an animal that we watch be sacrificed, all the while thinking, “when I sinned I became like an animal, unable to distinguish between good and bad, right and wrong, godliness and profanity…that animal should have been me, for I lost my human-ness in the moment I sinned” (based on Sefer HaHinnuch).  It is the unification of thoughts, speech, and action that are required to atone for our sins and improve ourselves.  Without all three, we are not fully improved.  That is why the Torah encompasses all three. 

So when I (and, I believe, Rabbi Heschel) say God “needs” something, it is akin to the Torah saying that God smells, or “God’s right hand….”  Does God have a hand? A nose?  Certainly not!  But through this language we can come to relate to Him in a way that would otherwise be impossible.  There is no other way to begin to understand Him.  And, by understanding God in this way, it helps to develop the relationship with Him that we desire.