PARSHAT AHAREI MOT
EREV PESACH
(5768)
WHERE IS HOLINESS?
“It shall be a Sabbath of complete rest for you, and you shall practice self-denial; it is a law for all time.” (Leviticus 16:31)
What is holiness? Where can holiness be found? We are in the middle of the section of Leviticus designated by scholars as the “Holiness code.” Today’s portion deals with the laws of Yom Kippur, which Jews consider the holiest day of the year. The next reading after Passover is actually called “holiness.” And after Shabbat the festival of Passover begins, with its holy observances of conducting a seder, eating matzah, and telling the story of the Exodus from Egypt.
Last week I wrote that young people today have lost their sense of holiness. To quote last week’s message: “The world is filled with unholy behavior. Our young people are growing up in an age of unbridled consumerism, the casual use of alcohol and drugs, the prevalence of foul language, as well as the acceptance of recreational sex.” We must inculcate in our young people a sense of holiness, a sense that life is not simply about following one’s passions and doing whatever feels good. Rather it is about rising above the animal within us.
How do I teach young people about holiness? I often use the example of either Passover or Yom Kippur, festivals that most Jews observe on some level. Take Passover. Imagine you are sitting down to begin your Passover seder and you look outside to your Jewish neighbor’s home. You see the Domino’s delivery truck pulling up with pizzas. (Pizza is made from bread dough and is totally forbidden on Passover.) Would you be bothered? Most Jews would feel that their Jewish neighbor has marred the holiness of the Jewish festival. It is not as if they have done anything ethically wrong; this is not about ethics but about holiness. The sense of holiness has been loss.
It is fascinating to note that there is a huge controversy regarding this point going on in Israel today. Israel despite its Jewish roots is a deeply secular country. But traditionally restaurants, stores, and other public places are not allowed to serve or display bread, cake, and other blatantly forbidden foods on Passover (except in the Arab parts of the country.) A recent court ruling overturned this law, allowing such places to display and serve bread and during Passover. There has been a huge hue and cry, and a powerful sense that serving bread on Passover, even among a non-religious population, mars the holiness of the public sphere. It is unclear how Israel will resolve this issue, where there are frequent skirmishes between those who are concerned with the Jewishness of the country and those who are concerned with religious freedom.
When I am with young people, I often imagine a similar scenario for Yom Kippur. Imagine that you are on your way to synagogue kol nidre night, the beginning of the fast and the holiest night of the Jewish year. Outside you see your Jewish neighbor barbequing steaks to eat for dinner. Again there is nothing ethically wrong with barbequing on Yom Kippur. But somehow the sense of holiness has been marred. It is almost like the stridently anti-religious Jews among the early immigrants to America who help public “Yom Kippur balls,” dances on the holiest evening to show how free they were from religion.
Certainly individuals have every right to eat pizza on Passover and steak on Yom Kippur. When people do it privately, it is a personal matter between them and God. But when people flaunt publicly their non-observance, it becomes a deliberate attempt to undermine the holiness of the day. I imagine Christians can come up with parallel examples of people who publicly mar the holiness of their Christmas or Easter observances.
One last thought about holiness, which comes from the play The Dybbuk. Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the Jewish year. The Holy of Holies in the ancient Temple was the holiest spot on earth. The High Priest was the holiest person among the priests, who had a special call to holiness among the Jews. The holiest word in the Hebrew language was God’s unpronounceable name. Once a year on Yom Kippur the High Priest would enter the Holy of Holies, and that was the only time he could pronounce God’s name. These four holies came together. If the High Priest had an improper thought at that holy moment, it could destroy the world.
May we capture that deep sense of holiness as we gather with our families on this Passover evening.
PARSHAT KEDOSHIM
LOVE THE STRANGER
(5768)
“When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God.” (Leviticus 19:33-34)
This week Jews throughout the world will commemorate Yom HaShoah – Holocaust Memorial Day. We will gather to remember six million Jews and millions of other human beings murdered by the Nazis. And again the question will arise – how could human beings be so cruel to other human beings? How can people be so cruel?
The answer is that have always murdered other human beings who were different – who looked different or practiced a different faith or came from a different ethnic group. The Nazis were not the first and not the last. We have seen genocide in Armenia, in Burundi, in Kosovo, and in our own day in Darfur. What is natural is learning to hate the stranger, to oppress the stranger, to kill the stranger. What is unnatural is learning to love the stranger.
When the Nazis began their campaign to solve the “Jewish Problem” by ridding the world of Jews, they did not immediately create death camps. The first step was passing laws stripping Jews of their humanity. Jews had to wear yellow stars on their clothing, Jews could not employ non-Jews, Jews could not be on the streets after hours, Jews could not live outside designated ghettos. Slowly the rights and the dignity which made Jews human in the eyes of their adversaries were stripped away.
This week we took our synagogue to visit the holocaust memorial down in Miami Beach. Solemnly a large group of young and old walked by the many pictures of the holocaust inscribed on walls of the memorial. I have seen too many such pictures at the National Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. and in Yad VaShem in Jerusalem. But one thing struck me this year. In numerous pictures the Nazis stripped the Jews of their clothing. In the Bible it is clothing that gives humans dignity. Making people stand naked is another way of turning them into animals. And when the Jewish people became mere animals, some would say mere vermin, it was a simple step to the gas chambers and crematoria.
Stripping away the humanity of the stranger is natural. What is unnatural is seeing the human dignity of the stranger. That is the wisdom of this wonderful Torah portion. It tells us to love the stranger for we were strangers in the land of Egypt. It commands us to cross the divide that separates us from other humans so we can recognize those of a different faith or color or ethnicity as fully human. It teaches that when we long at the very old or very young, the disabled, those with a different sexual orientation, those who are homeless, or even those who would harm us, we need to see their humanity. Love the stranger does not come naturally to human beings. It must be taught from the youngest age.
We just finished our festival of Passover. During the Passover Seder we open the door and cry out, “All who are hungry come and eat.” Not just all Jews, but all human beings. We must feed the hungry of all people. During the Seder we remove a drop of wine from our cup for each of the ten plagues which came onto the Egyptians. A full cup of wine is a full portion of joy; by lessening the wine we lessen our joy. We were redeemed but God’s children suffered. Most important, we must see ourselves as if we personally have experienced the exodus from Egypt. We were strangers. We must learn to see the humanity of the stranger.
Currently I am reading Rabbi Jonathan Sachs book The Dignity of Difference. It is a wonderful book, extremely postmodern for a book by an Orthodox rabbi. By postmodern, I mean that it expresses the idea that there is more than one way to be in the world, that human differences make us precious in God’s eyes. How many of us fail to see the preciousness of those who are different?
The Nazis began their cruel plans against the Jews by stripping them of their humanity. The Torah teaches us to see the humanity of every human being. It is the fundamental lesson of God’s Torah, a lesson that must be taught in every generation.
PARSHAT AHAREI MOT – KEDOSHIM
(5767)
THE WHITE FAST AND THE BLACK FAST
“This shall be to you a law for all time. In the seventh month, on the tenth day of the month, you shall practice self-denial, and you shall do no manner of work, neither the citizen nor the alien who resides among you.”
(Leviticus 16:29)
I recently reread a Yom Kippur sermon I delivered years ago in Nyack, NY, a few years after I was ordained. The idea was a good one, even if the sermon is somewhat immature. I began with the words, “I was in college during the height of the Vietnam War and the various protests against it. I remember a book that came out at that time called The Jewish Radical. There was a section the book calling for a mass protest by Jews against the war and other forms of social oppression. According to the book, if I remember the quote correctly, `We Jews should descend on Washington D.C. for a mass service and protest on our national day of mourning Yom Kippur.’”
At the time, I do not know what most bothered me about this quote. Was it the idea of using Yom Kippur, a day of prayer, fasting, and introspection for a political protest? (I still get peeved at rabbis who use their High Holiday pulpits for politics.) Or was it the absolute ignorance of the book, calling Yom Kippur a “national day of mourning.” Yom Kippur has many meanings in Jewish tradition. But it is not a national day of mourning. If anything, it is a serious but joyous day. Our sins are being forgiven. That is the reason it is called in Jewish tradition the White Fast. The prophet Isaiah taught us, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” (Isaiah 1:18)
We do have a tragic day on the Jewish calendar, the saddest day of the year. It is called Tisha B’Av, and like Yom Kippur, it is a full fast from sundown until darkness the next day. Tisha B’Av is called the black fast, in contrast to Yom Kippur’s white fast. We commemorate the tragedies that occurred on this day, going all the way back to the Biblical event where the Israelites were punished with forty years wandering through the desert. In particular, Tisha B’Av commemorates the destruction of the two temples in Jerusalem. It is the day the Jews have chosen to remember the long litany of tragedies.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once made a powerful comparison between the black fast and the white fast. Heschel was asked how he could bring himself to fast for twenty-four hours twice a year. He answered that when he was in the depths of despair over the tragedies of our people on Tisha B’Av, who can eat? And when he was uplifted by the spirit of forgiveness on Yom Kippur, who needs to eat? Yom Kippur is such a spiritual high that food becomes unnecessary; we reach a plane beyond our physical needs on that day. Yom Kippur is a joyous fast.
I wrote my sermon about the white fast and the black fast years ago. But the idea still seems relevant today. On a personal level, I confess that I am not a good faster. (Without my morning coffee, I find life difficult.) I fast twice a year, on the black fast and on the white fast. I fast on the black fast because I do feel a need to mourn the sadness of Jewish history, and yet I do not want to overly mourn. I find too many Jews see Judaism as something sad and depressing; I find Judaism joyous. One day of mourning a year is enough.
I fast on the white fast, not only because the Torah commands it, but because for one day a year, I want to rise above the physical. I want to live for one day on a totally spiritual level. And just as angels live without sin, so when we live at this angelic level our sins are forgiven. We become at one with God again. (The term atonement literally means at-one-ment.) To find forgiveness is a joy.
This week’s portion begins with a description of the Yom Kippur rituals as they were carried out in ancient times. Yom Kippur is clearly difficult. Not only do I fast, I have to conduct services and deliver sermons throughout the day to the biggest crowd of the year. By the end of the day I am exhausted. And by the end of the day I am on a spiritual high. Yom Kippur is clearly the white fast.
PARSHAT AHAREI MOT – KEDOSHIM
(5766)
TRAINING TO BE GOOD
“You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your kinsfolk. Love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord. (Leviticus 19:17)
I have debated all week whether to see the new movie United 93. The pain of the events of 9/11 portrayed in the movie is still too raw. I barely tolerated sitting through Munich and reliving the pain of the 1972 Olympics. On the other hand, it is vital that we confront evil up close and personal. That is why we send our young people on the March of the Living, to walk from Auschwitz to Birkenau and relive the horrors of the holocaust. We must see the evil that humans are capable of if we are ever to remove evil from our midst.
What makes people good, and what make people evil? There are two prevalent views of human nature. One view teaches that people are naturally good. It is society that corrupts. Change society and you change people. The other view teaches that people are naturally evil. Genes will do what they must for survival. Humans are selfish and depraved. Only through a powerful fear of punishment will evil be stopped. Our tradition teaches that both these views are incorrect.
Where does good and evil come from? How do we teach goodness? How do we fight evil? Let us turn to the words of the great Russian novelist Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn from his book The Gulag Archipelago: AIf only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart.@
Each and every one of us has good and evil running through our very hearts. Each of us struggles constantly between doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing. Each of us has the potential to become a saint or a monster, an Albert Schweitzer and an Osama bin Ladin. The rabbis used the language that every human being is born with a yetzer hatov, a good inclination and a yetzer hara, an evil inclination. Good and evil are both natural. Life is a struggle between both of these inclinations. This week’s portion, perhaps more than any other in the entire Torah, is a training guide on how to be good. It contains, among many ethical maxims, the Golden Rule “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
Many of us think that talk of evil is not about us. The other guys are the bad guys. We are the good guys. But what would we have done if we were Germans living in the time of the Nazis? Would we have put our lives on the line to save Jews? If you visit Yad v=Shem, the holocaust museum in Jerusalem, you can see the trees planted on the walkway in honor of righteous gentiles who saved Jewish lives. What is noteworthy is how few there are. How rare it is that people do the right thing.
To show how evil lurks under the surface of each of us, I must share a psychology experiment performed by Philip Zimbardo, a professor at Stanford University. He had student volunteers set up a mock prison. Half the students were appointed as prisoners and half were appointed as guards. The guards were given special uniforms and told to keep order. The prisoners were kept in tiny, cell-like rooms. Within a few days, the students playing guards were brutalizing the students playing prisoners. The experiment was supposed to last two weeks. Zimbardo had to shut it down after six days. Perhaps this, more than anything else, explains the brutality we witnessed in Iraq at Abu Ghraib prison by American military personnel.
I learned a lesson during a trip to California a few years ago. The Olympic trials for swimming were being held in Long Beach. They actually built a temporary pool over a parking lot, which was dismantled as soon as the trials were over. My cousin, a college student, got a dream summer job. He worked as an intern in the media center for the Olympic trials. And he acquired tickets for me to see one evening of the swimming. So I was able to watch Michael Phelps and Amanda Beard break world records, and even to go back to the press center to meet the athletes. One of my most wonderful memories was a brief face-to-face conversation with Natalie Coughlin after she swam; she went on to win a gold medal in Athens.
Why am I sharing this? One evening they let the staff go for a swim; my cousin decided to swim a few laps in this temporary Olympic pool. He is a college athlete, in good shape, who plays basketball, tennis, and golf. He told me that he swam a lap and a half and was so winded he had to hold onto the rope. It made him appreciate the kind of shape these Olympic swimmers must be in. To be a good swimmer takes a huge amount of training and practice.
Then I had a huge insight. Anything worthy in life takes training and practice. And in particular, to fight the evil inclination and bring out the good within us takes training and practice. In fact, one could easily say that this is the essence of Judaism. All the laws - the Sabbath, fasting on Yom Kippur, eating kosher, avoiding gossip, basically boil down to one goal. They are training in the art of being good. When a potential convert wanted the sage Hillel to teach him all of Judaism while standing on one foot, he replied, AWhat is hateful to you do not do to anyone else. All the rest is commentary. Go and learn.@ Judaism is about learning to control evil and do good. And whether one wants to be an Olympic swimmer or a good person, one must put in hours of training and practice. We must constantly train ourselves to be good; that is the only way we can hope for a world with no more United 93’s.
PARSHAT AHAREI MOT – KEDOSHIM
(5764)
AN ETHICAL DILEMMA
“You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. You shall fear your God, I am the Lord.” (Leviticus 19:14)
I threw out an ethical dilemma for discussion at services recently. You hear that an acquaintance has hired someone who used to work for you. You had suspected this employee of dishonesty and had terminated her. Do you tell your friend of your suspicion?
First, let us lay out the ethical rules. According to the Torah, it is forbidden to gossip or speak in a negative way about another human being. “You shall not be a tale bearer among your people.” (Leviticus 19:16) This law certainly holds for slander, any false report that puts our fellow in a negative light. But the law even holds if the gossip is true. It is forbidden to speak in a negative way, whether true or false, that disparages a fellow human being. As the book of Proverbs wisely teaches, “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” (Proverbs 18:21)
If negative words are forbidden in general, how much more so are they forbidden if they prevent someone from receiving a job and earning a living. The great Jewish philosopher and legal scholar Maimonides taught that the highest form of charity is helping people secure employment so that they can support themselves and their families. Few acts would be more negative than to prevent someone from receiving a job and undermining their ability to provide for their family.
There is another reason to avoid speaking negatively about one’s fellow. Perhaps they were dishonest when they worked for you. But perhaps they have changed, become a different human being, put their past behind them. Jewish law forbids mentioning one’s past behavior if one has clearly repented and changed that behavior. People have a right to start all over, renew themselves and become better than whom they were. People can change and when they do, it is improper to bring up the past.
Based on all these factors, it seems the best action would be to keep silent, and not tell your acquaintance of your suspicions regarding this employee. If the employee is honest, there is no problem. If she is dishonest, your acquaintance will find out soon enough. It seems that when there is a doubt, the best action is to hold one’s tongue. Or is it?
There is another side to the issue. This week’s portion teaches that we should never “put a stumbling block before the blind.” (Leviticus 19:14) This is interpreted not simply in a literal sense of tripping someone who cannot see. The Rabbis of the Talmud understood this law in a much broader sense. It is forbidden to allow someone to stumble when we have knowledge that could prevent them from doing the wrong thing. For example, it is forbidden for stockbroker to recommend high risk trades to a person who does not truly understand that their money is at risk. It is for forbidden for a lawyer to recommend a settlement or a plea bargain to a client unable to comprehend the consequences of their decision.
The understanding of this law against placing a stumbling block before the blind is even stronger. It is forbidden to tempt someone to break a law or transgress a commitment. One cannot serve or even offer a drink to an alcoholic who is struggling to give up drinking. One who is dieting and avoiding certain foods should not be tempted with foods they cannot eat. It goes without saying that a person who observes the Jewish dietary laws should never be given non-kosher food with the attitude “they will never know the difference.”
Based on these insights, one needs to tell a potential employer of the risks of hiring a particular employee. By withholding such information, we are placing a stumbling block before the blind. One must say it in a private way, with kindness, with the understanding that perhaps the person has repented and changed. But we should never allow someone to stumble when we have information that can help them.
What is the answer to this ethical dilemma? Do we tell or do we not tell? And if we do tell, how do we do it in a way that does not destroy someone’s life? Anyone who has ever faced the issue of giving a reference for an employee with less than perfect reviews has faced this dilemma.
My own sense is to tell the truth as kindly, carefully, and discretely as possible. But I understand there is more than one side to this dilemma. I hope this simple case proves the importance of carefully considering the ethical implications of all our actions. I have written elsewhere that we should develop an Action Impact Statement for everything we do. If I take this action, who will be hurt and who will be helped? Through careful consideration of the ethical implications of our actions can we truly, as this portion teaches, be holy as the Lord God is holy.
PARSHAT AHAREI MOT
(5763)
VICARIOUS ATONEMENT
"Aaron shall lay both his hands upon the head of the live goat and confess over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the Israelites, whatever their sins, putting them on the head of the goat; and it shall be sent off to the wilderness through a designated man." (Leviticus 16:21)
I was approached recently by a young woman considering conversion to Christianity. She was Jewish enough to want to speak to a rabbi, but obviously had not found spiritual meaning in her own heritage.
I told her that I have a deep respect for Christianity. (In fact, many of you who receive this weekly message are religious Christians, and I have learned a great deal from you.) Having said that, I want Jews to be Jews, and to find their spiritual home in their own faith. There is a reason why Jews have stubbornly clung to their faith for two thousands years without converting to Christianity.
So, with a deep respect for my Christian brothers and sisters, I spoke to her about where Judaism differs. The issue is far deeper than whether or not Jesus was the Messiah. After all, there have been many arguments in Jewish history over who was the Messiah. Rabbi Akiba thought Bar Kochba was the Messiah, thousands in the Middle Ages thought Shabbatei Tsvi was the Messiah, today many believe the Lubavitcher Rebbe was the Messiah. I suppose it depends on how you define Messiah.
The central issue that separates Judaism and Christianity is not the Messiah, but rather how we humans find atonement for our sins. To Christians, we humans are born sinful and there is no way on our own to remove that sinful state. Through our sins we are separated from God. The Bible describes how we find atonement (at-one-ment) with God. A goat carries our sins away into the wilderness, creating vicarious atonement. The word "scapegoat" comes from this very ancient ritual. We Jews still reenact this ritual of placing our sins on the head of a goat, which is designated for Azazel often translated "to a demon" or "to hell."
Vicarious atonement remains central to the Christian view of humanity. The New Testament teaches, "[John the Baptist] saw Jesus coming to him and said, Behold, the lamb of God who takes away sin from the world." (John 1:29) From a Christian perspective, without Jesus there can be no atonement and no salvation. Only someone without sin has the power to take away our sins.
With all due respect, Judaism has rejected this idea. Perhaps the best illustration is a man who once came to me for counseling. He confessed to me a number of sins he had done over many years, and then he came to the point of our meeting. "Rabbi, do you think God can still love me after what I have done?" I answered with a question, "You have a child. Can you imagine anything your child would do that would make you stop loving that child." He answered, "No." I continued, "So it is with God. God never stops loving you."
I continued, "When your child does something wrong, you obviously want your child to change his or her behavior and start doing the right thing. But you do not stop loving your child."
This is the Jewish view of sin. We all go down the wrong path in some area of our lives. But we do not need vicarious atonement to take away our sins and become at one with God. We do not need an intermediary. God, like a parent, may be disappointed in us, but God does not stop loving us.
Ultimately, we are responsible for our own behavior. There are no intermediaries, no scapegoats, no vicarious atonement. If we do wrong, it is our responsibility to try to do right. What God really seeks is true repentance. Changing our behavior is hard work. But a good God, like a good parent, expects nothing less from His children.
PARSHAT KEDOSHIM
(5763)
CURSING THE DEAF
"You shall not curse the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. You shall fear your God: I am the Lord."
(Leviticus 19:14)
Among the many beautiful ethical laws in this week's Torah reading is the commandment: "You shall not curse the deaf." The question that comes to my mind is - why not? If I insult or curse the deaf, as long as they cannot read my lips, they cannot hear me. Therefore, they will not know that I insulted them. So what is the harm? I have gotten my anger out of my system, and the deaf person could not hear me anyway. What is wrong about derogatory words towards someone who cannot hear those words?
The answer is that perhaps the deaf person will somehow hear my curse and their dignity will be lowered. Or if they do not hear, perhaps some third party will overhear me and will see the dignity lowered of this deaf person. Or perhaps, no one will hear, but the dignity of another human being will be lowered in my own eyes. By saying derogatory words about another human being, even if no one hears it, I will perceive that human being as somehow less worthy. My curse may change how I treat another human being. And since each human being is created in the image of God, my insult becomes an insult to God.
One of the greatest concerns of the Torah is avoiding any action that lowers the dignity of another human being, even if that person does not know about it. That is why the Torah forbids gossip. That is why we cannot respond to our fellow human with anger. That is why we need to carefully guard our words to avoid harming anybody.
Besides derogatory words, there are other actions we do too often which lowers the dignity of other human beings. For example, one of the ways we humans avoid seeing the humanity of someone else is through stereotypes. We see a person who is old or young, who is an Orthodox Jew or an Evangelical Christian, who is a Moslem or a Hindu, who is black or Hispanic, who is gay or bi-sexual, and who is European or Israeli or Asian or South American, and we immediately place them into a box. They become some pre-conceived image of who they really are, a mere stereotype. They lose their individuality, and by doing so, they lose their humanity. It is a simple way to avoid seeing the real person.
Similarly, we come up with ethnic slurs for other human beings, based on race, religion, nationality, or dozens of other superficial characteristics. During war we often come up with nasty nicknames for the enemy. When Japanese become Japs or Vietnamese become Gooks, their humanity evaporates. It becomes less painful to go to war against them. Name calling is a classic way of lowering the dignity of another human being. That is why every despised group in history has a derogatory name. And that is why it is vital to avoid using such names to discuss any groups.
One final way we lower the dignity of other human beings is by being judgmental. None of us can know what another human being is going through. The great sage Hillel taught, ADo not judge your fellow until you stand in his place.@ (Avot 2:4) I can never know precisely what extenuating circumstances caused a person to behave in a certain way.
Stephen Covey of The Seven Habits of Highly Successful People tells a moving story about judgment. He was in a subway when he saw a man with several young children. The children were acting quite unruly, bothering other passengers, while the father stood there taking no action. Finally he spoke up and disparaged the man.
He looked up sadly. "Our my children becoming disruptive. I am sorry, I did not even notice. They lost their mother today and we just came back from saying goodbye." Covey realized that he had judged the man without knowing all the facts. Suddenly his attitude towards him changed.
There are many ways we lower the dignity of our fellow human beings. We do it by belittling them, even if they cannot hear. We do it by stereotyping, or by using ethnic slurs. We do it by being judgmental. Perhaps we each need to do a Ahuman dignity impact statement@ before every word we utter and every action we take. By this particular action, are we lowering or raising the human dignity of a fellow human being? And in doing so, are we lowering or raising the image of God in this world?
Parshat Aharei Mot B Kedoshim
(5762)
Teach Your children Holiness
"You shall be holy for I, the Lord God, am holy."
(Leviticus 19:2)
Many years ago when it was still legal, I shared the podium with a Catholic Priest at a public high school graduation. I gave the opening invocation and he gave the closing benediction. In the middle pandemonium broke out when one graduating senior let a mouse loose up on the dais. The Priest turned to me and said, "The problem with young people today is that they do not know the difference between the holy and the profane."
My youngest son Benjamin will become a Bar Mitzvah this week as we read the double portion of aharei mot - kedoshim. Kedoshim means holy (literally holies), and contains one of the most powerful chapters in the entire Torah, the call to holiness in both our relationship with God and with each other. How do I explain to my thirteen year old son what holiness is?
We humans have evolved from animals, and still contain a good deal of an animal-like nature within us. Nonetheless, we were also created in the image of God and contain a good deal of an angel-like nature within us. As humans, we are perched somewhere between the animal and the angel. When we reach above our animal self and strive to attain the angel within us, that is what the Torah calls kadosh - holy.
If we were mere animals, the role of a father would stop after he plants his seed in the female. For most species of animals, the male plants his seed and then walks away. His job is done. The female animal gives birth and nurtures during the youngest stage of life. But animals live by instinct, and fairly quickly live on their own. Not so humans.
For humans, birth is just the beginning. The Torah gives fathers a whole series of obligations towards his son after he is born. (I can speak of mothers and daughters also, but this month my mind is on my particular role as father to my son.) According to a passage in the Talmud, (kiddushin 29a) a father must arrange a bris, and when necessary a pidyon haben. He must teach his son a trade, and when he is of age, find him a proper wife (I will try but I doubt if he will listen.) He must teach him to swim (particularly important here in south Florida with so many pools, many of them unfenced.) And finally, he must teach his son Torah. By Torah, I mean much more than the five books of Moses. I mean the vast number of teachings on how to rise above the animal and become a little more angel like.
My job as a father has been to teach my son that he must achieve holiness throughout his life. He cannot simply follow his appetite as animals do. He must recognize Shabbat and the other sacred days on the calendar. He must honor his father and his mother, respect his elders, care for his brother and sister. He must give to the poor, avoid gossip, never curse the deaf or put a stumbling block before the blind, treat people fairly, and love his neighbor as himself. He must find holiness in all of his relationships, with his family, with his friends, and hopefully someday with his own wife and children. Finally he must find holiness in his relationship with God, through prayer and synagogue life.
My job as a dad is to teach him. I must teach by words, but more important, I must teach by personal example. As he reaches the age of Bar Mitzvah, he begins to become responsible for his own behavior. If this were an Orthodox synagogue, I would say "Baruch She'petarani MeOnsho Shel Ze" "Blessed is the One Who freed me from punishment for this one's sins." (I do not have the father say these here, because he is still legally responsible, at least until eighteen if not further.) But more and more my son must prove responsible for his own behavior.
How will I know if I was successful as a father? Certainly the teen years are the most difficult and challenging. I will have to wait and see how he grows up, and most important, how he raises his own children some day. As the Talmud so aptly puts it, "The love of the father is towards the son, the love of the son is towards his own son." (Sota 49a)
PARSHAT AHAREI MOT - KEDOSHIM
(5761)
FATHERING AND MOTHERING
"You shall each revere your mother and father"
(Leviticus 19:3)
What is the difference between being a mother and being a father? There is a passage in the Talmud based on this week's Torah reading which points towards an answer. The Torah teaches "You shall each revere (or fear) his mother and father..." (Leviticus 19:3) The Ten Commandments says "honor your father and your mother." (Exodus 20:12) The rabbis noted that when it comes to reverence or fear, the mother is mentioned first, while in terms of honor the father is mentioned first. The reason is because a person has a natural tendency to honor their mother (who cared for and nurtured them) and fear their father ("wait until daddy gets home!") (Kiddushin 30b-31a) We tend to honor the one who nurtured us, revere the one who laid down rules and punished transgressions. Therefore the Torah emphasizes that we must also honor our father and revere our mother.
My work with children and families, as well as my reading of Jewish tradition, has convinced me that there is a difference between mothering and fathering. Sometimes, due to death, divorce, abandonment, or other circumstances, a single parent must do both the mothering and the fathering. Sometimes mothers are better at fathering, or fathers are better at mothering. But speaking in broad generalities, there is a difference between men and women which is reflected in their approach to child raising. Children do best when there is a mother for mothering and a father for fathering. In a perfect world they would even be married to each other.
Some would claim that there is no difference between a father and a mother. I recently read a sermon by a prominent rabbi who claimed that there is no such thing as fathering or mothering, simply generic parenting. In a society which tends to erase all gender differences, I believe it is vital to concentrate on the unique qualities that both a father and a mother bring to their children.
This difference between mothering and fathering is already reflected in the Hebrew language. Rabbi Daniel Lapin, founder of the conservative group Towards Tradition, teaches that there are words in classical Hebrew for mother and for father, but no word for parent. One cannot say single parent in Hebrew. One can only say the plural parents, horim, from the same root as to teach. This simple Hebrew insight seems to indicate that it takes two to parent, each with slightly different roles.
What is mothering and what is fathering? Dr. Deborah Tannen, in her brilliant little book You Just Don't Understand, has beautifully summarized the essential difference between men and women. These differences are based on primitive attributes of both sexes that allowed survival in the jungle. According to Tannen, women have a fundamental need for connection and intimacy; men have a fundamental need for status and recognition. Women are concerned with relationships and attachments, men with independence and achievement. Again speaking in broad general terms, these fundamental gender differences are reflected in parenting styles.
Tine Thevenin, in her book Mothering and Fathering; The Gender Differences in Child Rearing, writes, "The most significant psychological difference between men and women is that men tend to be self-focused and seek independence, while women tend to be other-focused and seek intimacy and connectedness." Mothering is concerned with questions of connection, nurturing, unconditional acceptance. Fathering is concerned with mentoring, success skills, independence. A child needs both.
Children, if they are to flourish, need both mothering and fathering. They need someone who emphasizes connection and belonging, to nurture them and accept them unconditionally, giving them the same feeling of comfort of a nursing baby. They need someone who emphasizes independence and competence, to teach them the rules and skills they need to survive once they leave the nest, to make demands and lay down expectations. Certainly many single parents do wonderful jobs raising children on their own. Nonetheless, the Torah presents an ideal of a man and a woman, in partnership, raising their children together. It reflects the divine wisdom, that every child deserves a mother and a father.
PARSHAT AHAREI MOT
(5760)
HOMOSEXUALITY?
"Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman." (Leviticus 18:22)
This week's portion discusses forbidden sexual relations. In doing so, it touches on one of the most controversial issues facing the religious community today - homosexuality. How ought religious Jews and Christians relate to this divisive issue?
I cannot treat this at length in a short spiritual piece like this. However, what I can do here is try to search for some common ground, something that the most conservative religious believer and the most fervent gay activist can agree upon.
Perhaps the best place to begin is with the question, what precisely is forbidden by the Torah? Many people have told me that the Bible forbids people from being gay. That is false. The Bible never forbids people from being anything, it obligates particular actions and forbids particular actions. It is a specific act that is prohibited in this portion, not sexual attraction nor sexual desire.
The particular act which the Torah forbids is what the rabbis call mishkav zachar, a man having a sexual encounter with another man. Nothing is mentioned about lesbianism, although one later Rabbinic source forbids it as a type of promiscuity. What is important is that one particular sexual act may be forbidden, but nowhere is the person forbidden from being. The Torah is concerned with the act, not the person.
Today our society is carefully rethinking how it views people attracted to their own gender. Should we reconsider and rewrite this particular Torah prohibition? There are at least four different ways, depending on one's particular religious outlook, to answer this question. These are all things over which reasonable people might disagree.
Some would say that if the Torah forbids an act, then it is forbidden and there is no room for compromise. To quote the Talmud, "let the law pierce the mountain." (Sanhedrin 6b) One must abide by the law, even if it is painful or difficult. It is God's word. This is the view of most traditionalists on this issue.
Some would say that, even if the Torah forbids an act, there is room to be more flexible on a case by case basis. Afterall, the Torah in this week's portion also obligates one to fast on Yom Kippur. Nonetheless, an individual who feels that he or she cannot abide by the for medical reasons can opt out. Afterall, "the heart knows its own bitterness." (Proverbs 14:10) This is the view I explore in my books.
Some would say that, when the Torah forbid homosexual acts, it did not have the scientific knowledge we have today. They claim that there are constitutional gays who, by there very nature, are unable to pursue a heterosexual relationship. The law in the Torah could not possibly apply to such individuals; its scope must be limited to those who truly have a choice.
Some would say that, not only must we reinterpret this law, but today we must find a way to sanctify gay relationships. We must to bless such unions, either with the symbols of traditional marriage or some other ceremony of commitment. This is the view of many gay activists, including the majority of Reform rabbis according to a vote at their recent convention.
These are four very different views. Can they all agree on anything? I believe that advocates of each of these points of view can agree that all human beings, regardless of sexual orientation, are created in the image of God. All are welcome in our houses of worship. All must be treated with the full human dignity they deserve. Reasonable people can disagree on how to interpret a law in Leviticus. Nobody can disagree that we must never use a law to marginalize or dehumanize any individual. We must see the Godliness in everybody, regardless of sexual orientation.
PARSHAT KEDOSHIM
(5760)
THE POWER OF SPEECH
"You shall not be a talebearing among your people."
(Leviticus 19:16)
This portion is a call to holiness in our daily life. But what does the word "holy" really mean? When I ask young people to define "holy," they usually say sacred. When I ask them to define "sacred," they usually say holy. So the cycle continues.
I have a working definition of "holy" I use in my teaching. We are holy when we rise above our animal nature, seeking rather to imitate God. Humans are part animal, just as the evolutionists claim. But we also contain the breath of God, a holy neshama (soul, literally breath). When we move above our animal nature and seek to demonstrate a Godliness, we are being holy. As this portion teaches, "You shall be holy, for I the Lord God am holy." (Leviticus 19:2)
One of the main areas that differentiates us humans from the animal kingdom is the power of speech. Speech gives us God like power. After all, God used speech to create the world. The Bible teaches that "death and life are in the power of the tongue." (Proverbs 18:21) Some may say "sticks and stones can break by bones, but words can never hurt me." Anyone who has ever been the victim of verbal abuse or gossip knows that words hurt. Sometimes it takes longer for a broken heart damaged by unkind words to heal than for a broken bone to mend.
God shared some of God's divine power by giving us mortals the ability to speak. There is one story in the Bible where we misused this power to build a tower and challenge God. At the Tower of Babel, God confused our speech and limited our ability to communicate with one another. Speech has the potential to destroy, but also the potential to heal.
Holiness in speech takes many forms. In this portion we learn that we are not to go from place to place spreading gossip about others. This is true whether the gossip is true or false. Sometimes even saying something nice can indirectly hurt someone. "So-and-so finally lost some weight." "Look who came dressed up today." "This week the rabbi's sermon made sense." It is a slap in the face dressed as a compliment.
Holiness in speech goes beyond avoiding gossip. It also means avoiding the crudeness and profanity that passes for speech today. It is painful to go to a contemporary movie (and I say this as a movie lover). Virtually every movie contains profanity, often simply to avoid the G rating which can be box office suicide. Popular songs contain crude language and are filled with sexual innuendos that detract from the holiness of relationships. Too many of our young people, influenced by both the media and their peers, use language that (to quote a lyric from My Fair Lady, a musical from a more refined time) "would make a sailor blush."
Animals simply follow their appetites. Too many humans also behave in an animal-like way, following their appetites, saying whatever comes into their heads, speaking about others, using crude language, misusing the power of words. It is the antithesis of holiness.
Words give us God-like power. The right word at the right time, carefully thought out, can heal. How many of us remember the words of our parents, of a special teacher, of a coach, of a spiritual or political leader. How many of us remember words that inspired us and raised us up. Each time we speak, may we recall the ancient words of King Solomon "death and life are in the power of the tongue."