Clothes Make the Man

Parashat Shlach L’cha, Numbers 13:1–15:41

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

Clothes make the man, or so it is said, but the Torah turns this principle around. Clothing cannot make us something we’re not, but it can remind us what we’re supposed to be. Moses instructs the Israelites “to make tassels on the corners of their garments throughout their generations, and to put a blue thread in the tassels of the corners. And you shall have the tassel, that you may look upon it and remember all the commandments of the Lord and do them” (Num. 15:38–39).

“Tassel” is tzitzit in Hebrew, and the traditional prayer shawl, or tallit, has a tzitzit at each corner, thus providing a way to fulfill the commandment.

In the ancient world, nobles wore garments with ornate hems as a sign of their status. “The more important the individual, the more elaborate the embroidery of his hem. Its significance lies not in its artistry but in its symbolism as an extension of its owner’s person and authority” (Jacob Milgrom, The JPS Torah Commentary, Numbers, p. 343). Thus, a husband would divorce his wife by cutting off the hem of her garment. A seer in ancient Mari would send his report to the king with a portion of his hem and a lock of his hair, to attest its authenticity. From this we can see why David’s heart troubled him after he cut a piece of the hem off Saul’s robe, and why Saul took it as a sign that David would succeed him as king (1 Sam. 24:6, 20; Milgrom, p. 343). Likewise, we  can see why a woman in need of healing grabbed the hem of Yeshua’s garment (Matt. 9:20).

“Thus the significance of the tzitzit lies in this: It was worn by those who counted; it was the identification tag of nobility” (Milgrom, p. 344). In Israel, the Torah decrees, it is not only the nobles, but every Israelite who is to wear such fringes on their garments.

The requirement to include a thread of blue in the tzitzit heightens its noble quality. Blue is the color of nobility, largely because of the cost of the dye in the ancient world. Indeed, the dye was so costly that the rabbis eventually decreed that the blue thread was no longer to be worn, and the fringe should be white, so that all Jewish men would enjoy equal dignity (Milgrom p. 345). Nevertheless, the original significance remains. Blue is the color of royalty. The single blue thread of the tzitzit reflects the single blue thread that held the golden head plate of the High Priest, on which were inscribed the words kodesh l’Adonai, “Holy to the Lord” (Exod. 28:36). Just as the priestly garment was made of both linen and woolen strands—a combination forbidden to the ordinary Israelites—so the early rabbis ordained that the tzitzit contain both white linen and blue woolen strands. “Thus the tzitzit, according to the rabbis, are modeled after a priestly garment that is taboo for the rest of Israel!” (Milgrom p. 346).

It is clear, then, that the tzitzit not only reminds the Israelites to obey the commandments, but also reveals that they receive these commandments as a holy priesthood. Obedience isn’t just a way to keep the Israelites in line. Rather, it expresses the holiness of their calling and the purpose of their redemption from Egypt. Hence, the Lord concludes the instruction of the tzitzit with the words, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: I am the Lord your God” (Num. 15:41).

This is indeed a lofty calling. Yet even more striking is its position in the text of Numbers. Parashat Shlach L’cha opens with Moses sending twelve men to scout out the Land of Israel in preparation for its conquest. Ten of the twelve scouts bring back an evil report. Only Joshua and Caleb encourage the people to take the Land. The people believe the majority, refuse to take the Land as God has commanded, and end up being condemned to perish in the wilderness. After the ordinance of tzitzit is given, things don’t improve at all. Korach joins Dathan, Abiram, and others to challenge the authority of Moses and Aaron. The Lord puts down this rebellion in the most drastic way, with the earth swallowing up Korach and his family, and fire from heaven striking down 250 other rebels.

So it’s clear that when the Lord clothes the Israelites as priests, he does so fully knowing their tendency to rebel. The holy garment is not a reward for faithfulness, because they have hardly been faithful. Instead, the tzitzit expresses the faithfulness of God. By it, he creates a holy priesthood out of the unqualified and unworthy.

Is it possible that God still views Israel as a holy priesthood, despite its corporate failure to acknowledge Yeshua as Lord and Messiah, and still has a holy destination in mind for the whole people? As Paul reminded the Gentiles who believed in Yeshua, “Concerning the gospel they are enemies for your sake, but concerning the election they are beloved for the sake of the fathers. For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable” (Rom. 11:28–29).

Clothes make the man. The tzitzit not only reminds Israel of the irrevocable commandments of the Lord, but of their irrevocable calling as a royal priesthood and a holy nation.

In our day, we are seeing a great move of reconciliation between Christians and Jews. Despite the corporate Jewish “no” to Yeshua, God still has a glorious plan for the Jewish people, which will ultimately be fulfilled in this same Yeshua. As the tzitzit is a reminder to Israel of their holy calling, so may it be a reminder to Christians, after centuries of anti-Jewish attitudes and actions, to love and honor the Jewish people.

In memory of Father Peter Hocken, 1932-2017

Adapted from Creation to Completion: A Guide to Life’s Journey from the Five Books of Moses, published by Lederer Books, Messianic Jewish Publishers, 2006,www.messianicjewish.net.

Are Jews Adorable or Deplorable?

Parashat Beha’alotecha, Numbers 8:1–12:16

by Dr. Jeffrey Seif

The word “deplorable” was bantered about in recent political discourse, was it not?

The word comes to us by way of Latin and French employments, and harks to something or someone that invokes shock, fear or disgust. By contrast, the word “adorable,” harks to someone or something being extremely charming or appealing. To “adore” speaks of inspiring great affection and delight. “Adoration” worked its way from Latin to English to reference being worthy of divine worship. So what’s the point, Jeffrey? Is this an English lesson? Are you offering a word on European liturgical traditions and theology? Where are we going here?

I want to wrestle with the question whether the Hebrews noted in this week’s Torah portion are deplorable or adorable. In Parashat Beha’alotecha, the Hebrews start moving toward Canaan and that’s when the trouble starts. “Murmuring” is noted in 11:1. “Grumblers” with “cravings” prompt “wailing” in 11:4, resulting in God’s anger burning “hot” in 11:10, and Moses being sorely “troubled.” Chagrined and depressed by it all, Moses asks God to “kill me” in 11:15. Forget Moses’ depression, get depressed with me and note how things go from bad to worse. Moses goes on to take on dissenters from his own family. In 12:1–2, his sister Miriam drags Aaron into a family dispute. Miriam is openly disdainful of Moses’ wife—her sister-in-law. Aaron is drawn into the disdain and it, in turn, translates into their both taking on Moses’ decision-making and spiritual authority. “Has ADONAI spoken only through Moses?” they ask rhetorically: “Hasn’t he also spoken through us?”

This week’s Torah reading ends with God settling the family dispute in 12:1–16. Though that problem is solved then, Israel’s troubles are far from over. In chapters 13 and 14 doubting spies are going to send the population into a tailspin, and in chapter 16 pouting elites will attempt to usurp control of the community, forcing God to stave off an outright mutiny, and reassert Moses. So I ask you dear friends: Are the Bible’s Jews adorable or deplorable? If you’re a Jew, are you adorable or deplorable?

Once upon a time, I was a garden-variety drifty Jewish guy, stumbling along and trying to find his way in life. After I accepted Yeshua, I learned I was part of the “Chosen People,” and was eventually socialized into an understanding that I enjoyed a special status, as such. How can I put it? I was simply adorable, special. People in church looked at me differently from others. I liked that. Because I was Jewish, some thought I had special insights into God, that I knew the Scripture inside and out, and that I could be counted upon to give correct perspectives on biblical history, basic theology and the finer points of eschatology. I was part of an elite and special class of human beings: I was of the “Chosen People” and, as such, I was especially beloved of God and especially endowed by God.

Personally, I appreciate the affirmation, but there seems to be a chasm between the romantic view that people have of Jews in the modern world of today and the real-world experience of Jews in the world of biblical yesterday. Readers of Parashat Beha’alotecha (Numbers 8–12) are taken back to yesterday’s world and, with me, are confronted with the fact that Hebrews aren’t all that good. That the situation doesn’t really improve is attested throughout the Hebrew Bible. The same God who leads Hebrews to Canaan in this week’s Torah portion will throw them out of Canaan in the Prophets and in the Writings. So I ask you dear friends: Are the Bible’s Jews adorable or deplorable?

For me, the lackluster and troubling performance of the Hebrews in this week’s portion is less about Jews than it is about humanity, on the whole. That there’s a problem with the entire human race is amply attested in the first few chapters of the Hebrew Bible. Jews are not singled out in Sacred Literature and chosen to demonstrate how great Jews are, much as Jews are chosen in order to demonstrate how great and kind God is.

Let’s revisit the Torah and note an adorable God at work in a deplorable world. In chapter 8 Levites are set apart to serve and intercede for wayward Israel (v. 14–16). In chapter 9, the mandate to celebrate God’s Passover—itself an attestation to a worthy God salvaging an unworthy people—is fixed, with provisions made for outsiders minded to celebrate it, so they can learn of God’s love through it (v. 14). Then in chapter 9:15–23, God presents as unworthy Israel’s guide. In chapter 10:9–10, trumpet sounds serve as a reminder of God’s greatness on their behalf. God’s faithfulness, despite their lack thereof, is further attested in 10:35, with a verse that’s heralded by Jews in synagogues today: “Arise, ADONAI! May your enemies be scattered.” My point is that there is beauty even in the ashes of Israel’s waywardness. In response to the grumblings in chapter 11, God gives assistance to the people and to Moses. In chapter 12, he comes to Moses’ aid and teaches his sister Miriam to mind her own business.

God works with the children of Israel, despite Israel’s failings. Unlike those who prefer casting aspersions on Jews—both the Jews of then and the Jews of now—God prefers demonstrating his grace toward humankind through the way he graciously acts toward the Hebrew people—then as now. For me, something in humanity is deplorable and something about God is adorable. The grace of God manifests so clearly in the Hebrew Bible, does it not?

B’Midbar: Wildfire, Water, and Wilderness

Parashat B’Midbar, Numbers 1:1 – 4:20

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

B’Midbar, the fourth book of the Torah, is so named since it begins “Vay’daber Adonai el-Mosheh b’midbar Sinai (And the LORD spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai).” Midrash Rabbah B’Midbar asks, “Why does Adonai give the Torah in the Wilderness?” It goes on to explain that Torah is given in fire, water, and wilderness. This is to teach us that just as each of these elements is free, so the learning of Torah is freely given.

Another interpretation of the Midrash is to understand fire, water, and wilderness as forces within man. Rabbi Shmuel Bornstein, for example, in his Shem MiShmuel, writes that fire refers to man’s heart, the inner fire that aspires to reach God; water refers to his mind, which adds an element of patience and reason in approaching the divine; and wilderness refers to the renunciation of worldly pleasures, which interfere with one’s spiritual pursuits. All three elements, he writes, are necessary for the study of Torah. I would like to extend this metaphor to examine the potential hindrances to our growth and our capacity to endure and overcome these obstacles.

Fire to Wildfire

It is no accident that pictures of fire representing the holiness and passion of the Creator surround the giving of Torah. In fact, when first confronting Moses, the Holy One appears in a bush that is ablaze, a “dress rehearsal” for the soon-coming denouement on the very same mountain. It therefore behooves us to meet Hashem with similar excitement and passion. What should not be lost on us, though, is that when Hashem appears amidst the flames of passion neither bush nor mountain is consumed. It does not take long, though, for Israel’s passions to turn from flame to wildfire, as evidenced in the debauchery around the worship of the Golden Calf. Hashem matches Israel’s fire (no pun intended) and the result is destruction. Lesson learned: fire works best for us when properly contained and not burning out of control.

Water to Deluge

If water is symbolic of the human mind, it also represents our capacity to meet our basic needs. It is the human intellect that allows us to farm and gather, build and preserve. Humans are the only species on earth that can communicate across the globe, or even know that we are on a globe. But it is also the pride of intellect that often keeps us from our Creator and puts us in a state of disharmony with him, other humans, and the earth that preserves us. While it is the cool waters of our intellect that are capable of controlling the fiery passions of our hearts, our minds also have the capacity of quenching the fire of our love for Hashem and others. Like unrestrained fire, a flood of hubristic intellect can cause unintended pain and also loneliness.

Wilderness to Wind

So it is in the wilderness of Sinai that Israel learns how to find balance between unrestrained passion for their God and over-reliance on their intellects. It is in the wilderness that humanity learns that “Man does not live by bread alone” (Deut. 8:3). As our ancestors had to transverse dry, arid terrain, so we too go through places and periods of barrenness, when it appears that neither head nor heart can prevail. We are often asked to forego the pleasures and assurances of this world upon which we have become reliant. It is in these arid places and silent moments that we are made aware that the true provision is “…every word that proceeds from the mouth of Hashem.” But how do we endure when the heat of the day feels greater than our capacity to go on? How do we remain diligent when our passion has burned out and our intellect dried up? How do we trust when all we can hear is the syntax of silence? This is when we must recognize a fourth element, the wind of the spirit. From the outset the very breath of Hashem animated our souls. When we choose to trust in the renewing life of Yeshua the wind of his Spirit ventilates the arid stretches of our lives like a cooling breeze.

With fiery passion and minds tempered by Torah, we can diligently continue through the wilderness of life empowered by the Spirit of Hashem.

The Humble Mountain

Parashat B’har- B’chukotai, Leviticus 25:1-27:34

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham

Our parasha this week opens with God speaking to Moses from Mount Sinai. A midrash speaks of three mountains, Tabor, Carmel, and Sinai, vying to be the one from which God would reveal the Torah. God chooses Sinai because it is the lowliest of the three and he wanted to teach Israel humility. One could ask, though, that if God wanted to teach us humility, why didn’t he just give the Torah in a valley instead? The answer that I would propose is that this reflects our nature. Humans are indeed beings of great power. We can mold and shape the world around us in a way that the animals cannot. We also have the power to do great evil and good with our speech and actions. Each of us is indeed a great mountain, but we must learn humility to be of service to others.

This reflects the nature of God, in whose image we are made. He is the Ultimate One of great power, and yet he exercises great humility to give us space to become his partners in the unfolding of creation. Our free will is a gift that an omnipotent and yet humble God bestows upon us.  Another midrash states that God showed his humility when he said to the angels, “Let us make man in our own image.” Rashi says that since humans looked like angels, they could have been jealous that such beings lived on the earth. Therefore, God consulted the angels to include them in the process of creation, which he did not need to do. It was an act of humility for the sake of others.

Messiah Yeshua reflects this attribute of his Father. He repeatedly states that he only does what his Father tells him to do. And he lives as a servant for others, rather than lording it over them. He makes space and takes concern for the poor, weak, sick, and disenfranchised. This is expressed most fully in a passage from Philippians that we read in our congregation as part of the Aleinu. It says,

Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God something to be possessed by force. On the contrary, he emptied himself, in that he took the form of a slave by becoming like human beings are. And when he appeared as a human being, he humbled himself still more by becoming obedient even to death—death on a stake as a criminal! Therefore, God raised him to the highest place and gave him the name above every name; that in honor of the name given Yeshua, every knee will bow—in heaven, on earth and under the earth—and every tongue will acknowledge that Yeshua the Messiah is Adonai—to the glory of God the Father. (Phil 2:6-11)

Yeshua is divine, and therefore a “mountain”. But he is a lowly mountain by living and dying as a human being for the sake of the world. In the last verse, you will note that even his exaltation is for the glory of the Father!

As I already noted, we are created in God’s image and therefore are also beings of great power. Through giving both the Torah on that lowly mountain, and Yeshua, the Living Torah, who exemplified a life of humility, God calls us to the same. Just before the passage above, Rav Shaul urges the Philippians, “Do nothing out of rivalry or vanity; but, in humility, regard each other as better than yourselves. Look out for each other’s interests and not just for your own. Let your attitude toward one another be governed by your being in union with the Messiah Yeshua” (Phil 2:3-5, emphasis added).

Mussar teaches us that humility is not total self-debasement. It is instead recognizing that we need to take up an appropriate amount of space. It is a middle path of being the humble mountain. The Talmud states that one who possesses haughtiness of spirit deserves excommunication, and one who does not deserves it as well. This is the middle road of humility. We are called upon by God to live for the sake of others; to be attuned to their needs and wants. This can only be accomplished through our consistent exercise of humility.

May we be cognizant of our great power and yet exercise humility. May we emulate Yeshua Rabbeinu and live a life of devotion to him and the Father by making room for others. May we be like Sinai, a humble mountain!

The Blemished and the Whole

Parashat Emor, Leviticus 21:1–24:23

By Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

For decades, Western society has been making concerted efforts to be more accepting and inclusive of those who have physical and mental disabilities. This means that accommodations must be made for impediments that have historically restricted people from living fully integrated into the greater society. In the past most of “civilized” society dealt with others’ handicaps by turning a blind eye. At best, the disabled were treated with dismissive sympathies and self-congratulatory charity; at worst they were often blamed for their disabilities and pushed to the margins of society. Only recently has the conversation turned toward treating those with disabilities as fully enfranchised members of society, rather than isolating them and consigning them to lives of degradation and exclusion.

Scripture also speaks of such disabilities through a complex balance of values, priorities, and perceptions. On the one hand, many of the heroes of the Bible suffered from physical and mental handicaps. Jacob limped, Isaac was blind, Moses had a speech impediment (and a fragile ego), Miriam dealt with dermatological concerns, and Saul clearly had bouts of depression and possibly psychosis. Rav Shaul dealt with some type of ailment but preferred to refer to it as “a thorn in the flesh,” leaving us to wonder about his issues of deep shame. What is most important to acknowledge is that these leaders were able to function in exemplary fashion.

But the narrative of Scripture is neither simple nor always inclusive. The parasha for this week, Emor, seems to prefer “wholeness” of both sacrifice and those who presented the sacrifice. The sacrifice could not suffer from any mum (defect) or it would be disqualified! This is an exclusion that I would imagine brought little complaint from the animal community of ancient Israel. But what I find most disturbing on its face is the disqualification of any kohen (priest) who exhibits permanent physical malady. “Any man of your offspring throughout their generations in whom there is a blemish shall not come near to offer food of his God” (Vayikra 21:17). The really troubling part is the elaboration that follows. Those who are blind, those who are lame are excluded. Then it gets personal! If your arm or leg is too long or too short, if you suffer from spine curvature or dwarfism, a scar, scurvy, or crushed testes you are eliminated!

It would be nice to dismiss this as merely a product of its time, but because it is part of the Holy Torah it must be addressed, and we should examine the legacy it has had on historical Judaism and perhaps even the taint it has left on the broader society. We cannot deny that this passage and others have lent a kind of legitimacy to the dehumanization of the disabled. Rabbinic legislation at one time forbade the disabled from participating as fully enfranchised members of Jewish society, either by functioning as acceptable witnesses in legal proceedings or by being part of a minyan. Why? Because Torah said so! Thank God this has been rethought, but in order to wash away the impure legacy of such thinking we need to continue to discuss and dismiss it as the intent of Torah.

There is another way, then, to understand this portion of Torah. Rather than merely seeing the service of the kohen as the privilege of the gifted, we might instead see it as the responsibility of the “whole” to the “broken.” Many commentators noted as I have the relationship between the exclusions of the sacrifice and those of thekohanim. They are precisely the same. Sefer HaChinuch, a 13th century exposition on the 613 commandments, notes, “There are disfigurements that disqualify a kohen from serving, and if they are in an animal they disqualify it from being brought as an offering.” There is an indelible relationship between the animal that will perish on the altar and the one who takes its life. The slaughterer is forced to identify with the terror of the sacrificed animal and to perform the unsavory task of exchanging one life for another. It should also be noted that while specific disfigurements may prevent one from being the slaughtered or the slaughterer, it never prevents any person in the ranks of Israel from bringing a sacrifice. So, it is the unfortunate task of both unblemished animal and unblemished kohen to provide restitution and restoration for those who are blemished.

It is also helpful to consider the expanded meaning of the Hebrew word mum, blemish. In the Bible mum refers to moral. As well as physical, blemishes (cf. Deut. 32:5where it is often translated crooked or warped) and is used extensively in this sense in the Talmud: “Do not ascribe to your fellow your own blemish” (BM 59b). If a man falsely accused someone of being a slave, it was evident that he himself was a slave, since “a person stigmatizes another with his own blemish” (Kid. 70b).  So we might further understand that while it is really only the morally “unblemished” that can offer redemption to the “blemished,” it is actually the responsibility of the “whole” to bring “wholeness” to the otherwise “broken.” A denial of such responsibility, and the stigmatizing of others, might just be a justification for our own deepest sense of “brokenness.”

It is no wonder then that when Yeshua was confronted by self-righteous pietists concerning the rather blemished company that he kept, he responded by saying, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners” (Mark 2:17, Luke 5:31, Matt. 9:12). Yeshua does not challenge the health of those who dismiss the health of others, but reminds them if they have received the gift of health, then they are indeed responsible for those who have not. In the same way that he is both kohen and sacrifice, he beckons us to follow him and live sacrificially daily (Luke 9:23).

We as they are challenged to see that we are all to some degree handicapped. We each must confront our weaknesses, our inabilities, and our injuries, both physical and emotional. But if we are willing to be honest and acknowledge our brokenness then we can be made whole and bring wholeness to others.

Safegaurding the Light

Parashat Acharei Mot – K’doshim, Leviticus 16:1-20:27

Dr. D. Friedman, UMJC rabbi, Jerusalem, Israel

Leviticus is an amazing work, a book that is called “Torat HaKohanim” in many circles, that is, the book of instructions for the priests, and is written in beautiful chiastic form. Wedged into its contents is this week’s double portion.

Leviticus tells the children of Israel how to live in holiness in the Land of Israel. We can see God’s wisdom in inserting these instructions at this point in the story. Israel was preparing to enter the Land of Israel. Her national health depended upon the tribes following what God instructed them to do. The Land of Israel would not be an empty parcel: seven very pagan Canaanite nations already made their home there. Their ways, practices, and lifestyle would easily influence the tribes of Israel and seduce them into paganism if they did not closely obey the Torah.

Thus our portion instructs Israel how to live in such a way to inherit blessing, instead of reaping sorrows by falling into Canaanite customs and practices:

You must not do as they do in the land of Canaan, where I am bringing you. Do not follow their practices. You must obey my instructions and be careful to follow my decrees. I am the LORD your God. (18.3-4)

God wanted the people of Israel to be a shining light from the Land of Israel, and not for the Canaanite nations to “shine their darkness,” if you will. Moses instructs the Israelites in Deuteronomy 4:5-8:

See, I have taught you decrees and laws as the LORD my God commanded me, so that you may follow them in the land you are entering to take possession of it. Observe them carefully, for this will show your wisdom and understanding to the nations, who will hear about all these decrees and say, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” What other nation is so great as to have their gods near them the way the LORD our God is near us whenever we pray to him? And what other nation is so great as to have such righteous decrees and laws as this body of instructions I am setting before you today?

For Israel to walk in her destiny, the Canaanites had to be driven out of the Land, because of their enormous, purposeful and evil lifestyle, built upon serving their demon-idols. Those nations were: Jebusites, Amorites, (the biblical idiom, “the iniquity of the Amorites”, cf. Gen. 15.16, tells us what the Amorites were known for: offending the One true God in his chosen land), Girgasites, Perizites, Hivites, “Canaanites” and Hittites.

eviticus 18:5 states: Keep my decrees and laws, for the man who obeys them will live by them. I am the LORD. Let’s look at the Hebrew in order to understand this verse. The verb ushmartem is used, meaning “watching over, guarding something”. It is often a military term, describing what a military sentry does from his outpost. He carefully looks for any and everything that is out of the ordinary. As a sentry watches over the field, so do we watch over the instructions in the Torah to carry them out. A better translation of the rest of the verse could be a man will do them and so live. It is not an optional clause like some translations make it sound, as in “if you want to live, do them.”

This instruction is coming from a holy God to Israel. Let’s get it right: if the tribes did not act like sentries over the keeping of the Torah, the Canaanite nations would influence them, and that would dim the light that God had called Israel to be! Look at how merciful the Holy One is here: He called Israel to be a light, but he doesn’t leave the people without the knowledge of how to be that light—if you want to live, do them! And the first mitzvah of Torah that they would have kept, which would have shined a bright light this: “I am the Lord your God who liberated from you from Egypt. You will not have any other gods in my presence” (Ex. 20:2–3). So the best paraphrase of 18:5 I can think of is this: Keep my decrees and instructions, for the man who wants to live will do them!

Verse 6 then comes into our text, and instructs Israel as a nation how to live and act in a holy way: No one is to approach any close relative to have sexual relations. I am the LORD. The Holy One separated Israel’s sexual practices from those of the Canaanites around them, who used cult prostitutes, and did most of what we read in 18:7-20. Families were violated and people’s boundaries were violated in typical Canaanite practice. It was not to be so in Israel. Verse 24 summarizes this section of our parasha: Do not defile yourselves in any of these ways, because this is how the nations that I am going to drive out before you became defiled. And thus we see God’s aim: to keep the tribes away from the evil that could infect them through their surroundings.

God through Moses and his scribes has just done a clear job of educating and warning the nation. In God’s great mercy, he told them all of Leviticus 18, so that they now know what they would see. They also know what they must do. And just for a final reminder, we have verse 30: Keep my requirements and do not follow any of the detestable customs that were practiced before you came, and do not defile yourselves with them. I am the LORD your God.

 This is God’s teaching for Israel.  Shabbat shalom!

Eighth Day, First Day

Parashat Tazria-Metzora, Leviticus 12:1–15:33

Rabbi Russ Resnik

All of Creation is in need of redemption, as Scripture says: “. . . which God created to do.” (Sefat Emet)

 Messiah’s resurrection on the first day of the week during Passover, which we recently commemorated, is the seed of redemption, the firstfruits of the resurrection to come (1 Cor. 15:20–23). The nineteenth century commentary called Sefat Emet, or “The Language of Truth,” sees the promise of this redemption established from Creation: “Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it he rested from all his work which God created to do” (Gen. 2:3, literal translation). The phrase “which God created to do,” according to this view, means that after God created all things, he began to do the work of redemption.

Sefat Emet goes on to note that human beings, created on the sixth and final day of Creation, have a share in this work of redemption. “The human was created last in deed, but first in the order of redemption. It is through humanity that Creation and redemption are joined together.”

On the sixth day, just before God entered the rest of the seventh day, he gave instructions to the newly formed human couple: “Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it” (Gen. 1:28). After six days of Creation, the work was not entirely finished. Humankind still had the task of filling and subduing the earth. This process is part of the redemption to which Sefat Emet refers, not just redemption from sin (which hadn’t even happened yet), but fulfillment of all that God intends for his Creation.

In a similar vein, over three hundred years earlier, Sforno commented on Genesis 2:1. “‘Thus the heaven and the earth were finished’ . . . having reached the end purpose of existence in general.” That is, heaven and earth are not finished in the sense that there is nothing left to be done, but in that they express the purpose of Creation “in general.” And what is that purpose? Redemption, or Tikkun, “the restoration of all things, which God has spoken by the mouth of all his holy prophets since the world began” (Acts 3:21).

In a conversation spanning centuries, Sforno and Sefat Emet agree on a point that has tremendous implications for us today. Creation holds within itself the seed of a new Creation. The completion of God’s original plan of Creation entails a new Creation, a spiritual rebirth for every human being. Thus, in Parashat Tazria, we read,

Then the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Speak to the children of Israel, saying: ‘If a woman has conceived, and borne a male child, then she shall be unclean seven days; as in the days of her customary impurity she shall be unclean. And on the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.’” (Lev. 12:1–3)

The eighth day is the first day of new Creation. In Genesis, the seven days are the week of Creation, but here they are seven days of impurity, followed by an eighth day that designates a new beginning. This doesn’t mean that the “old Creation” is somehow corrupt and must be replaced by the new. Rather, the creation of the male child, which is in itself holy, reaches its fulfillment only on the eighth day, through circumcision. The holiness of Creation is elevated to a new level.

God gave the original instruction concerning circumcision, of course, to Abraham:

“You shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be the sign of the covenant between Me and you. And throughout the generations, every male among you shall be circumcised at the age of eight days.” (Gen. 17:11–12a, NJPS)

Circumcision on the eighth day becomes the boundary that distinguishes the household of Abraham, which is joined to the Lord through covenant, from the rest of humankind. We might say that God creates humanity on the sixth day, as the culmination of his work of Creation, and then creates a new humanity on the eighth day through circumcision.

The eighth day is particularly significant because the newborn has completed a seven-day unit of time corresponding to the process of Creation. In like manner, Exodus 22:29 stipulates that the first-born of an animal is dedicated only on the eighth day after birth, and Leviticus 22:27 lays down that an animal is not fit for sacrifice before that day. (Nahum Sarna, JPS Torah Commentary, Exodus)

The eighth day, then, is a day of new Creation that carries forward the purpose of the original Creation. Now we understand why the gospels emphasize the first day of the week in recounting the resurrection of Messiah.

After Shabbat, as the next day was dawning, Miryam of Magdala and the other Miryam went to see the grave. (Matt. 28:1, CJB)

In the evening that same day, the first day of the week, when the talmidim were gathered together behind locked doors out of fear of the Judeans, Yeshua came, stood in the middle and said, ‘Shalom aleikhem [Peace to you]!’” (Yochanan [John] 20:19, CJB).

The first day is the eighth day, the first day of redemption.

God himself accomplishes and guarantees this work of redemption, but he does so in partnership with humankind, ultimately embodied in Messiah himself. The eighth day reminds us that God created us not just to await redemption and certainly not just to await our “heavenly reward” in some other realm. Rather, we are to be active participants in the cosmic drama planned from Creation, a drama that reaches its turning point in the resurrection of Messiah.

Sefat Emet says, “It is through humanity that Creation and redemption are joined together.” We see this reality as the Son of Man, Yeshua the Messiah, brings through his resurrection on the eighth day. But do we see this reality in our own lives? How do we participate as human partners in Tikkun, restoration of Creation, even today?

Adapted from Creation to Completion: A Guide to Life’s Journey from the Five Books of Moses (Clarksville, MD: Lederer Books, 2006).

"Hey Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone!"

Parashat Shemini Lev. 9:1-11:47

by Dr. Jeffrey L. Seif

Years ago, Pink Floyd’s irreverent song “Another Brick in the Wall” caught my attention. Lines like, “We don’t need no education. We don’t need no thought control. No dark sarcasm in the classroom,” followed by the commanding, “Teachers, leave them kids alone!” caught my attention. As a thirty-year college classroom teacher, it gets my attention even now. My job here, of course, is to understand Moses, not Pink Floyd. I mention Pink at the outset, not to attempt to explain him but to note that, in this week’s parasha, Aaron stands up to Moses the rabbi-teacher and, in effect says, says: “Hey teacher. Leave my kids alone!” Really!? Could it be? Don’t take my word for it. Take a look.

In Leviticus 10:16-20, Moses noted that a sin offering was not attended to properly (v. 16) and “snapped at [Aaron’s priestly sons] Eleazar and Itamar” (v. 17). He is heard scolding them, in vv.17-18, with: “Why have you been negligent!?” (My paraphrase.) By way of response, Aaron steps in and says, in effect: “Ok. You’re right. But they did this and they did that. Hey teacher, leave those kids alone!” After he takes up for them, Moses considers his argument and backs off his critique, in v. 20. The back-and-forth between Moses and Aaron makes for a rather odd exchange. Don’t take my word for it; take a moment and read it in the Word yourself. When I did, this odd exchange and moment leapt out and prompted some reflection. What is going on here in the ancient Word, I wondered, and might it have any implications for today’s modern readers?

When one considers how chapter 10began with Aaron’s two other sons, Nadab and Abihu, invoking God’s ire for not properly attending to the Tabernacle’s particulars, and being summarily executed, it’s understandable that Aaron would be a bit edgy when his other two sons—novice priests, themselves—become the object of Moses’ displeasure, for screwing up a major sacrifice in the Sanctuary. By way of response, one hears Aaron immediately taking up for them to stave off further chagrin. I imagine he’s particularly mindful of the consequences for not adhering to proper Tabernacle protocol, given that the chapter opens with a painful reminder to that effect. So much for face value, now let’s dig a little deeper.

In 9:15, Aaron, himself, was told to offer this offering—with no mention of his sons assisting. While I make room for delegation every now and again, the point is that he was principally responsible for the offering—and thus for the impropriety noted here. Rashi alights upon this and says Moses takes on Aaron’s sons, Eleazar and Itamar, so as not to cast aspersions on Aaron and the dignity of the High Priest’s office. Leaving the merits of this assumption aside, J. H. Hertz says, against the backdrop of the deaths of Nadab and Abihu, “they [all] didn’t deem themselves in a state of purity to share in the solemn rite” (Hertz, Pentateuch & Haftorahs, pp. 447-448). For him, assuming I understand him correctly, brazen disregard is less the issue here, than humility and a general feeling of unworthiness. In short, with Nadab and Abihu’s deaths still very fresh, and the internalized pain very raw, seeing themselves as sinners too, Eleazar and Itamar were reluctant to eat the sin offering. Was this a mistake, even so? Yes. But Moses was satisfied with the response (v. 20), and he moved on.

Before we move on ourselves, let’s consider a few applications. First, the misconception that God is an angry God given to snapping out on every one and throwing folk into hell for every infraction is simply not borne out by even a casual reading of the Mosaic literature. It’s not how Jews see him, and it’s simply not who he is. God is gracious. Secondly, note that motive is more important than motion here: at the chapter’s opening, the priests’ mistake evolved out of a casual indifference toward their priestly tasks—spirited along, perhaps, by their being intoxicated while attending to them; here, at the close, the misstep is spirited along by a very sober reverence—a fear of the Lord. With this as the case, judgment is averted: because God looks at the heart and not just at the fact that someone didn’t do their part.

This good news from ancient Jews is good news for me and yous. There is no word for “yous,” of course; I invented it because it rhymes. I wanted my point to impose itself on your brain and stick there. Why is that? Yeshua beckoned his followers to look deeply and to “not judge by appearance, but judge righteously” (Jn. 7:24). This, of course, comports perfectly with the Torah’s oft-stated premiums on looking into matters deeply, inquiring of particulars diligently and judging people and circumstances righteously. May we all do so in our affairs with others, and recall how our gracious God does so in his assessments of us.

Perhaps Pink Floyd’s kids didn’t need their teacher’s “mind control,” as the rebellious song goes, but we need ours. May biblical faith and virtue grow within us and renew our minds, along with a healthy reminder of the grace of God toward us—something amply attested in this week’s Torah reading.

Jeffrey Seif is available at drjeffreyseif@aol.com

Keep That Fire Burning

Parashat Tsav, Leviticus 6:1-8:36

By Monica Roush, Beth Messiah Congregation, Montgomery Village, MD

Have you ever heard the phrase “on fire for the Lord”?  The metaphor of fire has long been equated with passion, and in my mind this is a Christian saying, not a Jewish one.

I was surprised to find out that the phrase actually stems from this week’s parasha!

The fire on the altar shall remain aflame on it, it shall not be extinguished; and the Priest shall kindle wood upon it morning after morning. . . . A constant fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall never go out. (Leviticus 6:5-6)

Yosef Jacobson has this to say:

“A constant fire shall burn upon the altar” – the altar, in the writings of Jewish mysticism, is symbolic of the human heart, the space in each of us most capable of sacrifice. The heart, however, needs a continuous fire burning in it. For the human heart to live deeply, for it to feel empathy and experience the depth of life and love, it needs to be on fire, passionate, aflame. (Yosef Y. Jacobson, http://www.algemeiner.com/2010/03/26/tzav-“a-constant-fire-shall-burn-upon-the-altar”/)

The Modern Hebrew word for enthusiasm is hitlahavut, being inflamed or impassioned, or . . . “being on fire.” Abraham Joshua Heschel says that hitlahavut is

The experience of moments during which the soul is ablaze with an insatiate craving for God, when the memory of all other interests and the fear of misery and persecution are forgotten. In such instances a man seeks to give himself to God and delights in his being a gift of God. (A. Heschel, “Being Aflame or Having Fire Within,” in A Passion for Truth, New York: Jewish Lights Pub., 2008, p. 333.)

There is a challenge here, if you’re willing to take it. Life has a way of bogging us down with the mundane, with self-doubts, struggles, with whatever it can.  It’s easy to lose focus and forget to continue to “kindle the fire.”

So how do we maintain and continue to foster our own inner altar? Jacobson goes on to say:

There is only one way: “The Priest shall kindle wood upon it morning after morning”.  Each and every day we must place “wood” on our altar, in order to feed its potential flame. Fire cannot exist in a vacuum; the fire in our heart and soul, too, requires “wood” to sustain it . . . it needs fuel.

What is the wood or fuel that is capable of feeding the soul’s flames each day? Study, meditation, charity and prayer. These are daily encounters with the living G-d that allow the fire of the soul to hold on to something and to take root in the human psyche.

A delicious piece of cheesecake, reading and answering your e-mail, listening to the news don’t do the trick of turning on your soul or your inner depth. They lack the properties to stoke the flames of the soul. In the morning, before you do anything else, you need to engage in labor that will let the flame of your soul emerge.

What’s the key to a good marriage, or any relationship for that matter? Communication.  It’s vital to any healthy relationship. This same principle applies to our relationship with HaShem. We must make it a priority to meet with him.

According to the Baal Shem Tov, one’s relationship to God is like a romance. One must be fully and wholeheartedly invested. And as Heschel said: “Faith is fire, not sediment,” meaning it is action. Faith requires active investment. When given that investment it becomes, like fire, necessarily infectious.

According to Jacobson,

Goethe said, a man sees in the world what he carries in his heart. If your heart is aflame, your world that day will be on fire. And you must place the wood on your altar each morning, no exceptions.

Consistency is the key to a meaningful and inspiring day. There are no shortcuts to inspiration; everything comes with a price. The only job where you start at the top is digging a hole. But life is about climbing mountains, not digging holes. And to climb a mountain, you must begin at the bottom.

We have the opportunity to make a difference for good, to bring good in the world, but our course is one of action. We must work at having hitlahavut, at being on fire.

May these words from our Master be readily found near our hearts:

You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 5:14-16)

The Call across the Divide

Parashat vaYikra, Leviticus 1:1-5:26

by Rabbi Russ Resnik

It’s one of the 100 most-performed songs of the 20th century, the second best single of all time according to Guinness, and number three in Rolling Stone magazine’s list of “The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.” And here’s what it says:

Imagine there’s no heaven / It’s easy if you try
No hell below us / Above us only sky
Imagine all the people living for today

Imagine there’s no countries / It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for / And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace . . . Copyright © Downtown Music Publishing

This isn’t just a 20th century sentiment, but an idea that is thriving in the twenty-first. The most rapidly growing religious affiliation in the US is the “Nones,” people with “no religion” as John Lennon would put it. In 2014, Nones represented 23% of the US population and 35% of Millennials. Only seven or eight percent of Americans declare themselves atheists or agnostics; so most of the Nones believe that there’s a God or, more accurately, that there’s probably something out there, but this “something” is beyond personality, beyond our knowing, and generally not that relevant. One reason that Nones don’t affiliate is that they think religious people use the idea of God for their own narrow purposes. So if you get too specific in your beliefs about God, you’re suspect. The (dogmatic) truth among the Nones is that all religions are groping toward the same destination, even though they don’t realize it, so any claim to unique truth is invalid.

For the unaffiliated, especially the younger unaffiliated, if you claim to know God, or more outrageously yet, claim that God actually wants to make himself known, you’re part of the problem. If there’s a God, he should keep his distance.

Leviticus dispels this dogma of the undefined God from its first word.

Leviticus opens with Vayikra el Moshe, “And he called to Moses…” Normally, when God speaks to Moses, the verb is amar or davar, used repeatedly throughout the Torah. Vayikra, on the other hand, is used to describe God’s speaking to Moses at only three points in the story.

The first Vayikra came when Moses was out tending his father-in-law’s sheep and saw a bush burning without being consumed by the fire. He turned aside to observe this wonder more closely, “vayikra elav Elohim – and God called out to him from the midst of the bush and said ‘Moses! Moses!’ and he replied ‘Hineni – here I am!’” (Exodus 3:4).

The second Vayikra actually appears twice. When Israel arrived at Mount Sinai, “Moses went up to God and Adonai called to him – vayikra elav – from the mountain” (Exodus 19:3). Later, Moses went back up to receive the stone tablets, “and the cloud covered the mountain. The glory of Adonai rested upon Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it for six days. And he called to Moses – vayikra el-Moshe – on the seventh day from the midst of the cloud” (Exodus 24:15-15).

The third Vayikra is here at the beginning of our parasha. Exodus concluded with the tabernacle or tent of meeting in place, filled with the glory-cloud of God’s presence so that Moses could not go in. The cloud rested upon it “in the sight of all the house of Israel throughout all their journeys, and the Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting” (Ex. 40:38b – Lev. 1:1).

The glory-cloud keeps Moses at a distance; the voice of Adonai calls him near.

This glory-cloud God is not the abstract “something out there” of the no-religion folks. The God of the Bible is awesome, transcendent—and actively revealing himself to us. He’s a person, who ultimately reveals himself by walking among us in human form—a scandalous idea in our postmodern world. In Exodus this God appears to be unapproachable, but he calls out to Moses, our representative, across the distance of his otherness and awe.

This same dynamic is at work with the other two Vayikras. At the Burning Bush, the fire of God keeps Moses at a distance, but the voice of God calls to him across the distance. Likewise at Sinai; the glory-cloud covers the mountain and no one can approach. But the voice of God calls Moses to come near and hear his life-giving instructions.

The Nones are right to emphasize God’s otherness. We’re wrong if we try to reduce God to our categories or harness him to our agendas. The Nones probably wouldn’t use the term “holiness”, but that’s what they’re sensing. But the unique message of Scripture is that God calls to us across the divide of his holiness. God won’t diminish the impact of his holiness, but he still seeks to bring humanity near. Here is a remedy to our tendency to reduce the divine to our own terms, to produce a user-friendly god, or like the Nones, an irrelevant God. The God of Israel will always transcend our terms, and yet he calls us to draw near. Spiritual growth means embracing God’s transcendence, at the same time as we listen for his call across the divide.

God’s call to Moses in Leviticus 1 introduces an elaborate system of sacrifice, detailed in the rest of our parasha, and all the way through Leviticus 9. Worship is the goal of the Exodus, so why does Leviticus seem to make worship so difficult? The truth is that the rules of sacrifice and priesthood don’t make worship more difficult; rather, they make it possible. God is ever-present, but his holiness keeps us mortals at a distance. The Levitical system is given, not to impose or maintain the distance, but to bring us near, and to prepare the way for the ultimate Sacrifice who bridges the gap.

God seems abstract, unknowable, totally other to many today, but the God of Scripture reveals himself to be a person, knowable, and near to those who heed his call. This God might even be calling out across the divide, to some of those who’d like to imagine a world where God doesn’t matter.