Emor: How Experiencing the Ripples Makes Us Stronger
I often wonder what life was like in the ancient world. The Book of Leviticus gives us many of the laws of that time period, but we don't
hear any emotion in the text, we don't know how the people actually FELT carrying out these commandments. This week, I find myself thinking about this a lot; in part because of odd verses in the text, and in part because of recent events here at Ohev Shalom.
Our Torah reading begins by talking about the duties and restrictions of the priests in the Temple. They have to cut their hair in a specific way, they can only marry certain individuals, they can only mourn family members in a particular fashion,
etc., etc. And then we read the following: 'When the daughter of a priest defiles herself through harlotry, it is her father whom she defiles; she shall be put to the fire' (Lev. 21:9). How did this play itself out in the ancient world? And, perhaps more importantly, whom are we punishing here? It's mainly the daughter, of course, but the father's position in society seems to make her punishment more severe, and surely he - AND the girl's mother - are being punished as well with the death of their daughter. And does the priest have any say in the matter? Could the High Priest, one of the most important men in society, stop this horrific decree from taking place? I really can't help but wonder how this all unfolded in Ancient Israel, and how everyone actually felt about what the Torah was telling them to do. And here's why this is on my mind.
This past Sunday was Yom Ha-Shoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day. At Ohev Shalom, rather than focus our evening program on the story of a survivor, we invited a guest speaker to share a slightly different tale. Trudy Klein Gompers was born in Austria in 1937. Most of the story
she told was about her parents' surviving the war, and the few memories she herself had from years of turmoil and escape. Our program was called 'The Rippling Effects of the Holocaust,' and mainly centered on the experience of SECOND generation survivors, people who grew up with a parent who was a Holocaust victim. Trauma is not limited to the person who experiences a terrifying ordeal; it does indeed have rippling and lingering effects on children and grandchildren (and even, as our Torah portion reminds us, on parents and other family members). Mrs. Klein Gompers shared an incredibly compelling story that illustrated just how true this is.
And so I look back at our Torah portion, and I see children whose lives are affected by the choices of their parents; and even parents punished for the poor decisions of their children. In talking about the responsibilities of the priests, the Torah doesn't just say 'tell all the priests,' it says 'tell Aaron and his sons...'
In fact, it speaks of Aaron and his 'sons,' his 'offspring,' and his 'descendants,' several times in our parashah. The hereditary nature of the priesthood is clearly very significant. Our lives, as parents and as children, are intertwined. What happens to us happens to our family members as well. We are not only as vulnerable as we ourselves want to be, or allow ourselves to be; we are also at the mercy of those closest to us. We let them into our hearts, and it leaves us open to pain. And yet, oddly enough, it is also a sign of love, and a sign of strength. Our vulnerability also allows us to experience affection, warmth, connection, and togetherness. We become compassionate, empathetic, and maybe even more moral and kind. Our lives may indeed be intertwined with others, and sometimes that can be risky business. But I think it also makes us better people.
In the midst of a painful story about family relationships, the Torah is (subtly) reminding us to infuse law with emotion, and to make religion a living, breathing, FEELING thing. And in doing so, we make it, the Torah, stronger as well.
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