Acharei Mot: The Letter and the Spirit Square Off

When you think about the performance of mitzvot, which would you say is more important, the action or the intention? Let’s imagine, say, that we’re back at the Passover Seder from a couple of weeks ago. Would it be “better” to do all the rituals, sing all the songs, and read every page of the Haggadah, even if your heart isn’t in it and you’re distracted? Or better to go into the holiday with excitement, enthusiasm, and interest… but recite half the prayers, sing two abridged songs, and read none of the extraneous material? At first glance, you might think the answer is obvious. And two different people reading this blog post might each think the answer is self-evident… while holding opposite opinions! I don’t know if there is a “correct” answer here, or even a practice or approach that is better or worse. But the ancient rabbis get into an interesting debate about each of these perspectives, and I thought perhaps it might be worth our while to examine their opinions for a bit.

Their first statement might surprise you. Mira Balberg, in her book “Blood for Thought: The Reinvention of Sacrifice in Early Rabbinic Literature,” explains that the rabbis of the Talmud understood the institution of sacrifice not so much as creating lines of communication to God, but rather about meticulous and flawless performance of Divine commands. In other words, they firmly believed in the first part of my statement above: Whether it’s about sacrifice, keeping Kosher, or celebrating Pesach, the most important thing is to GET. IT. RIGHT! Rabbi Ilana Kurshan wrote a Torah commentary this week in which she wrote, “The rabbinic discussion of the high priest’s activities on Yom Kippur is focused on the precision and accuracy with which each step must be taken.” Based on this, it’s pretty clear how the Talmudic rabbis  would have ruled on this question. Intention is all well and good, but really it’s about performing mitzvot correctly and fully. However, this isn’t the only thing the rabbis say on the subject. There are other sources to look at as well. Furthermore, it gives me pause to hear how the rabbis discussed Temple sacrifice and its rituals. They didn’t live in the era of the Temple. In fact, they were descendants of the Pharisees, who were quite anti-Temple, and who felt the whole institution had turned corrupt and was not fulfilling the Will of God. So when they talk about how meticulous the High Priest was, and how perfectly every single detail had to be performed, are they advocating that behavior… or subtly critiquing it?

There are countless stories of people unable to recite the correct prayers, but directing their hearts to God, and their petitions being accepted. We read the prophet Isaiah - in a text that was chosen by some of those same ancient rabbis to be the Haftarah specifically for Yom Kippur - instructing his listeners that God does *not* want the ritual sacrifices. God, through Isaiah, insists rather that we must “share your bread with the hungry, take the wretched poor into your home. When you see the naked, clothe them, and do not ignore your own kin.” (Isaiah, 58:7) Doesn’t this sound like the opposite approach? Informing us that our practices and observances could be 110% perfect, yet simultaneously meaningless if they don’t have the proper intentions of kindness and compassion. So which one is it, the letter of the law or the spirit of the law? It is so difficult to choose…

And indeed I don’t think we’re actually supposed to choose at all. Like many things in life, we are constantly striving and changing, and mainly seeking to achieve balance and harmony. The same applies here. We can indeed aspire to do things as correctly as possible, acknowledging that the letter of the law has merit and purpose. Yet the spirit can be equally as impactful and significant, and shouldn’t be disregarded. At times, we might even strive to achieve them both together; the precise instructions of the Torah as well as the wholehearted intention described by Isaiah. But humans are not perfect. We aspire, not with the expectation that we will eventually get everything right, but merely in order to keep improving and growing. And I fear that when we imagine leaders like the ancient High Priest in this week’s parashah performing everything perfectly, and we tell ourselves we should be emulating that, we are setting ourselves up for failure. So maybe it’s ok that we can’t do all things well at the same time. That shouldn’t be our goal. Instead, we can appreciate the values of strict adherence *and* heartfelt intention, knowing it’s rare that we can achieve both together. So to answer our question at the start of this blog post, the best option isn’t one extreme or the other; it’s the balance and harmony we strive to achieve inside of ourselves.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Magnes Database Record on Flickr
2. FotoGuy 49057 on Flickr
3. Rawpixel
4. Peggy_Marco on Pixabay

Metzora (Shabbat Ha-Gadol): Plague vs. Plague vs. Plague

At first, I couldn’t see any connection between this week’s Torah portion and the upcoming holiday of Pesach, which starts (gulp!) next Friday. But then a particular word caught my attention, and I started to ponder some similarities and differences in its usage on a few different levels. So, our parashah is one of the oddest ones in the whole Torah, focusing on bodily discharges, weird stains and mold on houses and on clothing, as well as other private, intimate, often uncomfortable topics. You can probably see how that would be tough to connect to Pesach! But the text refers to a lot of these physical symptoms - on bodies, clothing, and walls - as “plagues.” And that word sounded awfully familiar, both because of Passover and because of something much more current…

Now, the words that both amount to "plague" in English are not the same in Hebrew. I would even add a third version of this word - in English and in Hebrew - which is a euphemism for pestilence, disease, or even - you guessed it - pandemic. Despite these various synonyms, the images they each conjure up are similar, as they involve illness, quarantine, and potential death, and they all also ideally warrant introspection and behavior change. But more on that last part a little later. So let’s examine these concepts a bit closer, shall we? The word in our Torah portion of Metzora, is “Nega,” (e.g. Leviticus, 14:34), and it’s often used with a variation on the name of the parashah, “Tzara’at.” A “Nega Tzara’at” is sometimes translated as an “eruptive plague.” It’s interesting, though, that the root of the word “Nega” is also the verb “to touch,” and it’s used in that form repeatedly in our reading as well (e.g. "do not 'touch' (Noge'a) that 'plague' (Nega)!"). Based on that connection, I envision this type of plague as more personal, embarrassing, unpleasant, and touching/affecting the individual deeply. Certainly the plagues of Egypt - from the Passover story - are horrible too, but they also seemingly manifest differently.

That kind of plague is referred to as a “Maka” or “Makot” (pl.). Interestingly, the Torah doesn’t refer to them by that name in the Exodus story itself. Within the narrative, it just refers to the specific scourge of each plague. In Deuteronomy, however, God talks about inflicting “Makot” on the Israelites if they do not follow God’s laws, like the ones rained down upon the Egyptians (Deut. 28:59-60). The root of this word is a “blow” or a “strike.” We still translate them as “plagues,” but I see these as connoting national or widespread affliction; more than just an individual attack on a person or someone’s home. And then, of course, we need to add in the word for our current “plague,” namely the Covid pandemic, which in Hebrew is referred to as a “Magefa.” The root of that term is “Guf,” which means “body,” so both affecting the individual person’s body, but also widespread across an entire population.

So what do we make of all this information? Well, I think it’s both true that there are a multitude of calamities that can affect us on many different levels, and yet all of them should make us pause, reflect, and consider our own actions. In each case, we could argue that the individual(s) didn’t cause the plague. It would, perhaps, be easy to just say, “Not my fault,” and wash our hands of the whole thing. But even when we may not have caused something, it may be a good opportunity to consider our role in the wider environment. God repeatedly reminds the people that these physical manifestations are externalized symptoms of something hidden inside. And sometimes, the only way to deal with something unpleasant, that we don’t want to look at, is to bring it out into the light and force ourselves to confront the pain. We may give them different names, and we may think of these various plagues as unrelated and certainly not of our own making… and yet we are nevertheless impacted and troubled by them. We suffer the repercussions and have to deal with the fallout, so it seems to me that we should use the opportunity to learn something here. Maybe we should focus less on the details and differences, and more on how we can reflect and grow as individuals and in our societies. That, perhaps, is the real remedy; regardless of the particular plague with which we are, well, plagued.

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Sec c sonam on Wikimedia Commons
2. Leo Reynolds on Flickr
3. Wellcome Images on Wikimedia Commons
4. Ivabalk on Pixabay

Tazria (Ha-Chodesh and Rosh Chodesh): Take Out the Babysitting; Keep the Gratitude

We’ve ticked over into April. In general, that’s a very good thing, though it does also bring with it some anxiety - for us as Jews - because Passover is just *that* much closer. We might especially feel the coming of the holiday over the weekend, because this Shabbat includes a special reading, known as Ha-Chodesh (meaning, “The Month”), basically heralding the approach of the festival. I talked about this special Torah reading last year as well, but I find myself returning to it yet again, for reasons that I hope will become clear as you read on. The particular text that we read for Shabbat Ha-Chodesh comes from the Book of Exodus; specifically the first twenty verses of chapter 12. God instructs Moses to inform the Israelites - while still in slavery - that something really monumental is about to occur. This month will become the first month of our soon-to-be-established Jewish calendar, because of this huge upcoming event. God’s instructions for them will be enshrined as “a festival to Adonai throughout the ages; you shall celebrate it as an institution for all time.” (v. 14) You understand what this means, don’t you? “Throughout the ages” and “for all time” means that you and I, today, in 2022, here in the United States, are obligated to observe all these rituals and commandments as well. So it’s probably good to do a quick review of what God has actually commanded us to do, don’t you think?

It gets a little tricky though, I’ll be honest with you. God does lay out some specific rituals for the pre-Exodus Israelites (which I’ll lay out in a second), but one question I have is, are we required to observe every part of these instructions forever, or just the celebration of the holiday *itself* for all time? They seem very still-in-slavery specific, so I’m a little unclear on what we’re meant to do. The text states in verse three that each family needs to “take a lamb” on the 10th of Nisan, and then “watch over it until the 14th day of the month” (v. 6), and then slaughter it at twilight. So right off the bat, I have not done a good job with my four-day-lamb-babysitting duties, nor have I brought it to slaughter before the holiday. I’m guessing you haven’t been observing that one either. Then we’re told to “eat it [the lamb] roasted over fire with unleavened bread and bitter herbs” (v. 8). Honestly, we’re all doing ok on that one. We have the bone (Zeroa) on the Seder plate to *commemorate* the paschal lamb offering we no longer consume, and then we *do* eat the bread (matzah) and herbs (maror) as prescribed. Good job, us!

Then it gets dicey again, because the Torah instructs us as follows: “This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand, and you shall eat it hurriedly…” (v. 11) Oh, and I forgot to mention back in verse seven, that we were supposed to paint the doorposts of our homes with lamb’s blood. I’m being a little flippant, but I do want to make a genuine point here: God instructs us to keep this holiday, and it is worth our taking a few minutes to stop and think about which aspects of these observances have survived across the millennia, and which have changed. It’s both fascinating to see that some rituals have indeed been enshrined, while others have outlived their usefulness or lost their meaning. But even if we no longer paint blood on our doorposts, babysit lambs, or wear our sandals on our feet as we scarf down our food, the importance of the holiday for us as a people -  for all time - has not been lost on us. It was monumental back then, and I think our ancestors would genuinely be awed to discover how central it has remained for us “throughout the ages.”

There is value in looking at both sides here; the underlying meaning of the holiday as well as its practical observances. I think constructing our Seder to, in as many ways as possible, truly mirror the Exodus story can be magical, inspiring, and fun. In years past, I have put strips of red paper on the door posts, actually marched around the Seder table (as many Persian and Iraqi Jews still do), and I know people who sit on pillows on the floor to make it feel more “Middle Eastern.” So going through the motions and inclining (or reclining?) our rituals to actually feel more ancient or connected to our ancestors can be really meaningful for participants of all ages. At the same time, we should talk about the underlying message, which is slavery, freedom, and gratitude. To put it succinctly: We were severely oppressed, and we no longer are… and therefore we should be grateful. And one way that we show our appreciation to God is by “paying it forward,” and looking out for others who are enslaved and/or oppressed and/or in need of rescuing. This year, I encourage all of us to mention Ukraine at our Seder tables, to really think about how we can do our part to help others who are living under oppression, and who are - so tragically - starting their own Exodus away from everything they previously knew. Even as our rituals and observances have changed, aspects of Pesach have endured throughout the ages, and for good reason. It is our job to keep talking about those reasons, going through those ritual motions, and embodying those critical values in every generation, and yes, for all time. 

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. The Magnes Collection of Jewish Art and Life on Flickr (picture from ca. 1920)
2. symkin on Depositphotos
3. pxhere.com
4. Studio Sarah Lou on Flickr