Recently, when we were celebrating the holiday of Purim, I talked to the congregation about the difference between a story being labeled a tragedy vs. a comedy. They may seem like opposite ends of the literary spectrum, but sometimes they’re actually just one plot twist apart. The Book of Esther, for instance, reads an awful lot like a tragedy… right up until Haman’s evil plans are thwarted, and now the story is a comedy. Sometimes things that seem so different from one another are actually just a minor shift away from being nearly identical. Case in point, a very mysterious, peculiar ritual that is the focus of this week’s special Shabbat. As we continue to prepare ourselves for Pesach, one of the stops along the way is Shabbat Parah, “the Shabbat of the Cow.” The special Torah reading for this Shabbat describes a ritual used to purify someone who had become ritually impure, in order to allow them to partake of the upcoming Paschal offering. The ceremony revolved around the sacrificing of a “red” (probably closer to brown…) cow, and then using its ashes as the main ingredient for this purifying agent. But that’s actually not the part that I think makes this so curious and confusing. Or why I was reminded of the minor distinction between comedies and tragedies.
The Book of Numbers tells us there were basically four “jobs” involved with preparing this miracle elixir that could make anything ritually pure again: A priest to oversee the sacrificing and burning of the cow. A second priest to actually handle the fire and the burning. A third individual to carry the ashes from the altar to a spot outside the Israelite encampment. And a final, fourth person to sprinkle a mixture of water and sacred ashes over the impure person(s). And then, presto-chango, they are rendered pure. Numbers, 19:19, states: “[The purified individual] shall then wash his clothes and bathe in water, and at nightfall he shall be pure.” Pretty straightforward, right? The ritual worked! But here’s the thing: All four of those people who handled the ashes from the red cow are now considered impure! Anyone who came in direct contact with this purifying agent is now, inexplicably, “contaminated,” and remains impure until the evening. This really fascinates me. It’s almost like saying that if you handle a bottle of Windex, you immediately become filthy yourself! It’s a little counter-intuitive, no?
One might have thought that everyone who gets near this fabulous potion is automatically pure, just by association or proximity. But instead, it seems to have just *one* intended purpose - to cleanse someone who was already in this impure state. Everyone who was essentially “neutral” becomes impure from touching the stuff. Though I should clarify, however, that the level of impurity is quite different. The person being cleansed would have otherwise remained in that contaminated state forever, and would thus never be able to rejoin the community for any ritual observances. Those who handled the ashes of the red heifer, on the other hand, are only impure until the evening; then they’re able to return to the community again. But the more I think about it, the more it actually makes sense. If someone cleans houses or washes cars all day, they are by no means clean themselves when the work is over! And on a deeper level, there are many examples of tools of learning, peace, communication, and convenience that can very easily become corrupted and turned into weapons of destruction and oppression.
Whether it’s a literal weapon used for self-defense or an ancient, sacred text like the Bible; it can be utilized to help and protect… or, conversely, to hurt and punish. Most things that are purifying agents - or at least have the capacity to clean or repair - can also be abused if placed in the wrong hands. Perhaps a central reason for insisting that everyone who touches the ashes of the red heifer remain impure for a time, and stay outside the camp until the evening, is to make sure they understand and respect their task. If these ashes are the only agent of total purification… how much couldn’t you charge to give others access, after making them wait in line? Or how much power could you demand from your community, so as not to withhold this precious substance? It is easy to see how this could become corrupted, and wielded as a weapon very, very quickly. Today, the language of “pure” and “impure” doesn’t resonate as much in modern society. Yet I hope the contemporary examples above have demonstrated the relevance this teaching still holds for us today. Do we insist that our leaders undergo a ritual or ceremony to truly impress upon them the awesome and daunting power of their position? Sadly, I don’t think we do. Or certainly not enough. Maybe as soon as they’ve performed their tasks, we should quarantine them for a day (or more), so that they can be humbled, reflect, and give thanks for their unique and vital role. Perhaps that could help turn a few more tragedies into comedies.
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