In order to avoid broken-record-syndrome (kids, ask your parents what a 'record' is, and what it would sound like if it got scratched), I
like to go back and re-read what I wrote on this blog in previous years, so I don't wind up repeating myself. I sometimes can't believe it myself, but I've been writing this blog for close to three years now; this will be my 140th posting, in case you're interested. So by now I've got at least a couple of articles on every parasha. But as I was skimming my two previous postings on Vayikra, this week's Torah portion, I had a bit of a realization.
It turns out that I wrote about pretty much the same thing in 2010 and 2011 (so much for avoiding the broken record...), namely how difficult it is for us to find meaning in the Book of Leviticus. Because,
let's face it, it ain't easy to connect to laws of sacrificing animals, dealing with skin diseases and discharges, what happens when your ox gores someone, or how to handle your field at harvest time. Often we try to modernize the text and make the laws into metaphors for today (a la my postings from the last two years): How do YOU sacrifice of yourself? You may not leave the corners of your field for the poor to harvest, but what ELSE could you do for the very real poor people in society today? And this works; we are indeed able to manufacture meaning out of a text that was written thousands of years ago by interpreting, telling stories, and sometimes just outright ignoring some pretty icky parts.
In the end, however, when you sit down in the pew of your local shul and try to actually read the material in Leviticus, you're basically back to Square One in your frustrations with the text. And that is why I write about it year after year. That is why we never really 'answer' our discomfort with texts like "Eye for an Eye, Tooth for a Tooth," or the law about stoning a rebellious child to death. I can write about these upsetting laws in 2,000 blog posts, and preach about them year after year from the pulpit - and you might even feel better about aspects of them - but you and I and everyone else who reads the Bible will eventually have to come back to the gruesome text, and STILL feel queasy about it.
So why waste our time writing about these stupid laws? Why not just throw the whole thing out, or read different parts of the Bible?
Abraham's a pretty fun-loving fellow, why not just read about him week after week? I guess because we're not meant to love everything we read, and we're not mean to feel satisfied, comfortable, and at ease all the time. At least not until we, as a planet, get rid of poverty, hunger, disease, war, and the mistreatment of others. These laws - and indeed much of the Torah - provoke us to think, feel, and react so that we never rest on our laurels and fool ourselves into thinking that the work is complete.
In a couple of weeks, Passover will be upon us. 'Tis the season of questions: "Why is this night different from all other nights?" "What does the wise child ask?" "Who knows one?" "Why isn't this Seder
over yet, and when do we eat already?!?" All good questions. And you may notice, the Haggadah doesn't really talk about answers, it talks about questions. Like the Bible, the purpose of the Haggadah is to start the conversation, get us thinking, and pull us into a dialog with our heritage and our ancestors. Why ruin a perfectly good question by answering it? The best questions aren't meant to be answered, they're meant to be discussed, challenged, and even agonized over. So get ready for Pesach, and get ready for Leviticus, and start formulating your next question! OK?
2. CC image courtesy of "G" jewels g is for grandma on Flickr
4. Image courtesy of Rabbi Gerber (no Chumashim were harmed in the taking of this photo...)
5. Image of Japanese Haggadah courtesy of Rabbi Gerber
No comments:
Post a Comment