PARSHAT SHMINI
(5768)
GROWING UP
“And Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire in it, and put incense on it, and offered strange fire before the Lord, which he commanded them not.
And there went out fire from the Lord, and devoured them, and they died before the Lord.” (Leviticus 10:1-2)
I write these words from a hotel room in Orlando, FL after driving up and down the state visiting college students from my synagogue. It is a trip I make every year. And it is a joy to watch our young people grow up.
When do young people make the transition from childhood to adulthood? In this week’s portion we learn of the tragic death of Aaron’s two oldest sons, who brought a strange offering before the Lord. What did they do wrong? One well-known Midrash (Rabbinic interpretation) teaches that they were in too big a hurry to grow up. They followed their father Aaron and their uncle Moses around asking, when will these two old men die already so we can take over. They wanted to take over before it was their turn.
I meet young people all the time who are pushing to grow up too fast. They have their bar/bat mitzvah and they are talking about driving. The start driving and they talk about moving out. They move out and they are talking about marriage and careers. It all happens so fast. I want to tell our young people, savor each moment and each step in the growing up process.
So when do we grow up? Jewish law identifies adulthood with puberty. When a young person is old enough to make a baby, he or she is ready to celebrate a bar/bat mitzvah. There was a time in Jewish history when thirteen year old boys were preparing for a career and twelve year old girls were given in marriage. Yet even the Talmud admits that thirteen is too young for some things; the age of marriage in the Talmud for boys is eighteen.
In America and other Western countries we have made eighteen the magic age of transition to adulthood. Young people are now legally adults. I pay for college for my eighteen year old son, but cannot view his grades without his legal permission. He is considered an adult and the college protects his right to privacy. An eighteen year old can sign legal contracts, join the military, and vote. But he or she still cannot drink (at least legally. There is a flourishing of fake id’s in these college communities.) We tell our eighteen year olds, you are an adult – but not quite yet.
Part of the problem is that we humans possess “collective knowledge,” as historian David Christian has taught. As the human race grows older, the amount of knowledge we need to function in the world increases exponentially. In Talmudic times, a young man or woman knew enough by the early teen years to function as an adult. In our times, the college students I visit, mostly in their early twenties, have years to go before they can fully function as adults in our complicated world.
When does adulthood truly begin? Obviously a big part of adulthood is becoming self sufficient economically. It takes years to reach a point where one can support one’s self. It takes even more years to reach a point where one can support a family, one’s spouse and children. It is small wonder that so many young people move back home while in their twenties. The empty nest takes years to become fully empty.
Even for those who are able to move out of their homes and become economically self-sufficient, true adulthood is difficult. It is so tempting to call mom and dad before every decision. As I parent, it feels good to have my children so dependent on me. And yet, I know that a key part of successful parenting is letting them become adults, which means making their own decisions. Children cannot become adults until their parents can let go.
Both as a rabbi and as a father, I try to guide young people into adulthood. Like Aaron’s sons in our portion, many want to grow up too fast. And like Peter Pan, many do not want to grow up at all. The journey to adulthood is a tough journey, particularly in our complex society. I hope my college trip, in some small way, helps these young people on that tough journey.
PARSHAT SHMINI
(5767)
ALCOHOLIC BUZZ
“And the Lord spoke to Aaron saying, Drink no wine or other intoxicant, you or your sons with you, when you enter the Tent of Meeting, that you may not die – it is a law for all time throughout the ages.” (Leviticus 10:8-9)
I recently spoke to one of our young people (under age) after he drank two beers. I questioned his drinking and he replied, “Two beers are nothing. It takes at least six beers to get a buzz.” This was an insight into what is popular among our young people – drinking too much in order to get that buzz. For many it is more than feeling light headed and good; they get downright drunk. Sadly, some then drive, some mix their alcohol with drugs, and now and then one of them dies. It is a tragedy among our young people.
I admit that I enjoy an occasional drink at a social occasion. The Bible certainly praises the joy of alcoholic beverages. “Wine gladdens the heart of man.” (Psalms 114:15) We drink wine at our Sabbath and festival meals, two cups at a wedding, and four cups at the Passover Seder. (We even pour a fifth cup for Elijah, who visits every Seder in the world and drinks a little. Talk about being able to hold your liquor.) But the Bible also warns about over indulgence. Noah leaves the ark after the flood only to fall into a drunken stupor in his tent. And this week’s portion warns the priests serving in the Temple not to drink any wine or spirits.
The problem with our young people, and too many adults, is they need that buzz - they need the instant high. The buzz can come with too much alcohol. It also can come from drugs, both legal and illegal. For some it comes from other appetites – too much food, too much shopping, casual recreational sex, pornography. It is a human weakness to want immediate satisfaction, that feeling of being high. And alcohol is one of the quickest paths to instant satisfaction. For many of our young people, and many mature adults, it is also a quick path to personal destruction.
We all have an appetite for instant gratification. We satisfy that appetite in various ways, but one of the simplest ways is to put chemicals in our bodies to feel high, “for the buzz.” I grew up in the sixties where the casual use of drugs by young people became a norm. Today the children of my generation are becoming young adults. And they are growing up in a world where “chemicals to give a buzz” is an expected rite of passage. It is happening at a younger and younger age, often due to peer pressure. Sometimes it is parents who provide the alcohol to their young people. It is a sad reality of contemporary life.
Judaism teaches that real gratification comes not through chemicals but through work and effort. Real gratification comes through academic and professional achievement, developing skills in the arts or in sports, nurturing loving relationships with significant people, developing religious skills and working on one’s spiritual life, trying to improve the world through acts of loving kindness. Real gratification takes effort. But as a wise rabbi once taught, “According to the effort is the reward.” (Avot 5:27) Real satisfaction involves effort and pain, time and commitment. It does not come from mere chemicals.
How do we teach this lesson to our young people? Probably the best way is by example. Do our children see us overindulging in attempts to achieve instant gratification, particularly through drugs and alcohol? There is a story I often tell of the Hasidic rebbe and his followers, who see a drunken man in the gutter. Behind him is a younger drunken man who calls to the first, “Dad, wait for me.” The rebbe turns to his students and says, “I want to be like that man in the gutter.” The students are shocked, “That man is a drunk.” The rebbe replies, “There is a man whose son is following in his footsteps. I want my children to follow in my footsteps.”
Teaching children is the world’s toughest job. But somehow, we must give them the message that instant gratification is not a healthy path, that they should seek true gratification in their lives.
PARSHAT SHMINI
(5766)
A TRAGIC LOSS
“And Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire in it, and put incense on it, and offered strange fire before the Lord, which he commanded them not. And there went out fire from the Lord, and devoured them, and they died before the Lord.” (Leviticus 10:1-2)
In this week’s portion, tragedy strikes. At the climax of the inauguration of Aaron and his sons into the priesthood, Nadab and Abihu his two oldest sons offer a strange fire onto the Lord. A fire comes down from God and devours him. Aaron in one day must go from great joy to mourning life’s most grievous loss. His brother Moses tries to say comforting words, but Aaron can only react with silence. Later Moses would criticize Aaron’s handling of the sin offering. Finally Aaron reacts speaks for the first time. He reacts in anger, “Behold, this day have they offered their sin offering and their burnt offering before the Lord; and such things have befallen me; and if I had eaten the sin offering to day, should it have been accepted in the sight of the Lord?” (Leviticus 10:19)
How do we react to overwhelming sadness? How do we react to such a tragic loss? The first thing to note is that Aaron is silent. There are no words that can possibly express his feelings. Later in the Bible, Job will suffer a series of terrible losses including the loss of his children. His three friends come to comfort him. They sit next to him in silence, waiting for him to speak first. From their behavior comes the law that when visiting a shiva home (a house of mourning), we wait for the mourners to speak first. There is nothing to be said. Simply being there has said it all. Mourners need our physical presence, not our words. Often silence is the best reaction to loss.
When Aaron finally does speak, he lashes out in anger. Many mourners today often react in anger to people who come to comfort them. Often they hear trite phrases and insensitive comments. “Your son is in a better world.” “At least you have other children.” Or worse, those who would comfort ball them out for what they could have or should have done. “You should have gone to (fill in the blank) and perhaps this would not have happened.” “You should have handled the funeral this way.” As a rabbi, I have heard all of these comments and worst said to bereaved parents.
Finally, a house of mourning is not a time to talk theology. I have definite beliefs about life and death, and there is a time to share them. I will speak in a sermon, or more important, in an adult education class. But at the time of bereavement, unless people ask particular questions, it is not appropriate to speak theology. Perhaps the best way to put it is that people need the presence of other people; words, no matter how carefully chosen, just get in the way.
Having said that, newly bereaved people often ask me to share words of wisdom. “Rabbi, why is this happening to me?” “Is my loved one in heaven?” “Why does God hate me?” What can I possibly say? I try to answer with whatever wisdom I can muster. Here is the essence of what I have said to people.
We humans are more than physical bodies. A body contains a soul, a neshama, literally “the breath of God.” The soul enters our body with a mission to accomplish in this physical world. Then the day comes when the body can no longer hold onto the soul. It may be because the body has simply grown old and worn down, as all material things must grow old and wear down. Or it may be that an illness or accident has injured the body so that it can no longer hold onto the soul. As we learn from the Bible, “And the dust returns to the earth as it was; and the spirit returns to God who gave it.” (Ecclesiastes 12:7) The soul is with God. Perhaps, as many mystics teach, the soul will be reborn in another body and have another opportunity to continue their work (reincarnation). Meanwhile, a loved one is with God. Our job is to keep their memory alive.
If every human has a mission to accomplish in this world, it is a particular tragedy when that mission is cut short by a premature death. The best thing we can do for the person who is no longer with us is to continue the work in this world which they can no longer do. We keep their memory alive through continuing the tasks that were important to them. Ultimately, doing acts of loving kindness in this world is the best path to comfort.
PARSHAT SHMINI
(5764)
LET THE LAW PIERCE THE MOUNTAIN
“Moses inquired about the goat of purification offering, but it had already been burned. He was angry with Eleazar and Ithamar, Aaron’s remaining sons.”
(Leviticus 10:16)
At first my mother did not want me to become a rabbi. She felt that as a rabbi, I would be more concerned with laws than with people. Only after an encounter with a little boy in South Dakota was I am able to convince my mother that people would always be more important than laws. (For the full story, see my entry in Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul.) Only then did my mother make her peace with my decision to study for the rabbinate.
My mother had known rabbis who looked at books and laws and rules rather than looking at people. In a way, her attitude reflected that of Moses our teacher, the very first rabbi. Moses used to say, “Let the law pierce the mountain.” (Sanhedrin 6b) The law is the law, whatever the consequences. People are there to serve the needs of the law, rather than the law serving the needs of people.
We sees Moses’ attitude clearly in this week’s Torah portion. Aaron has lost his two oldest sons when they offered a strange offering to the Lord, and were consumed by the fire. Aaron and his surviving sons were still in mourning. Moses chastised them for not properly eating the sin offering which had been presented on their behalf. Aaron turned to Moses and said in a sad voice, “See this day they brought their purification offering and their burnt offering before the Lord, and such things have befallen me! Had I eaten the purification offering today, would the Lord have approved?” (Lev. 10:19) In other words, on this day of tragedy, does God really worry about all the rules. In the end Moses understood.
I have met people like Moses, who see the rules rather than seeing the people. I once officiated at a rather tragic funeral, trying to comfort the family and say the correct words. Somebody interrupted me in the middle of the service to tell me, “Rabbi, you are doing it wrong? You are not doing it by the rules.” I gave them a look to be quiet, but I desperately wanted to say, “Do you think this family cares about the rules right now. Take a look at what they need.”
Rules and laws are certainly important. Our tradition is built on the notion of covenant, of how we are to live our lives in a relationship with God. God is concerned with what we do, how we behave. Ours is a religion of law, of halacha which literally means “the way.” And yet, the rules are there to serve the needs of the people. We must understand what people need and where they are at before we can intelligently decide how to apply the rules. And sometimes, dare I say this, we have to set the rules aside when real human needs demand it. Ultimately, our religion is about people.
There was no greater law giver than Moses. He was able to commune face to face with God, and bring back the fundamental laws which form the foundation of our society. No one can detract from Moses’ greatness. But if Moses was a great law person, he was never a great people person. Through much of the Torah he loses patience with the people he was called upon to serve. People can be difficult. Or as my dad put it when I told him I wanted to be a rabbi, “You will be dealing with people. And people are the toughest commodity.”
Religion is about laws. Equally important, religion is about people. Or, as I have often told those who questioned me, “to be a good rabbi you have to love Jews and you have to love Judaism.” Ultimately, any faith must begin with people. Who are the people who are supposed to observe this law? How will this law affect their lives? Will it make them better, holier, bring them closer to God? If not, perhaps we should rethink this law.
Moses said, “Let the law pierce the mountain.” It took his people oriented brother Aaron to tell him, “My sons and I are in mourning. Set the law aside for the moment and look at us. People are more important than laws.” It was a message Moses needed to hear.
PARSHAT SHMINI
(5763)
ALCOHOL
“And the Lord spoke to Aaron saying, Drink no wine or other intoxicant, you or your sons, when you enter the Tent of Meeting, that you may not die.”
(Leviticus 10:8-9)
Last week was Purim. I did my ritual duty by having a quick shot of whiskey after morning services. It was not enough to fulfill the Talmudic requirement, that one should drink enough to not distinguish between “blessed be Mordecai and cursed be Haman.” ( In our current times, I might say “blessed be Bush and cursed be Saddam.”) At least I had one little drink.
Our tradition sees moderate drinking as a sign of joy. As the Psalmist says, “Wine rejoices the heart of man.” (Psalms 104:15) We drink wine at our most joyous occasions, Shabbat and festivals, at a bris, at a wedding. At the Passover seder we are obligated to drink four cups of wine. The drinking is less moderate at our more raucous festivals- Purim and Simchat Torah. At our daily morning services, the men end with a shot of whiskey. Certainly wine and heavier spirits are considered a gift of God to increase joy.
Having said that, there is also a powerful warning that runs through our tradition about the misuse of alcohol. Noah was the father of humanity. Yet his first act after leaving the ark was to plant a vineyard, get drunk, and fall into a drunken stupor in his tent. This began a series of events that led to Noah cursing his son and grandson. The message is clear that alcohol abuse can send humanity down the wrong path.
In this week’s portion, Aaron and his sons are warned not to drink alcohol before conducting the priestly service. Immediately before the warning, the Torah tells of the death of Aaron’s two oldest sons. The Torah never gives the reason why they died. The rabbis speculated that perhaps they abused alcohol and went into the holy place drunk. Perhaps the alcohol helped lower their inhibitions and gave them courage to enter a place that was quite frightening.
Later Rabbinic teaching asked why it was forbidden for the priests to perform the divine service while drunk. One answer is that the joy of serving God should not come from artificial chemicals like alcohol. Rather, there should be a pure joy in conducting God’s service with a full heart and an aware mind. Alcohol diminishes that awareness.
Over the years I have watched people who misuse alcohol. They lose their inhibitions, doing and saying things they would never do nor say when sober. Self-control is a necessary part of being a decent human being. “Who is strong? Whoever controls their evil inclination.” (Avot 4:1) Alcohol takes away a vital part of that self-control. How often are we embarrassed by words and actions when we were drunk.
Today many people want instant pleasure in life. One of the easiest ways is to abuse chemical substances. Many misuse alcohol, illegal drugs, or even prescription pills to achieve an instant high. It is even possible to misuse legal substances from coffee to chocolate (my two favorites) for their chemical effects on our body. Perhaps the message of the Torah is that true pleasure comes not from chemical additives to the body, but from maintaining our mental faculties while serving God with joy.
PARSHAT SHMINI
(5762)
THE VALUE OF SILENCE
“Then Moses said unto Aaron, This is what the Lord spoke saying, Through them that are near unto Me will I be sanctified, and before all the people I will be glorified, And Aaron held his peace.” (Leviticus 10:3)
The Tzartkover Rebbe often stood in silence instead of preaching. When asked why, he replied to his disciples, “There are seventy ways of reciting the Torah. One of them is through silence.”
We humans fill the universe with words. It is through speech that we most closely imitate God, Who created the world through words. And yet speech is not always appropriate. As we learn from the book of Ecclesiastes, “To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven ... A time for silence and a time for speaking.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1,7)
In this week’s portion Aaron experienced the sudden tragic death of his two oldest sons. On the eighth day of their inauguration into the Priesthood, they brought a strange fire before God and were suddenly killed. Moses tried to comfort his brother, “This is what the Lord spoke saying, through those near to me will I be sanctified.” Aaron heard the words but did not react. All he could do was be silent. Moses tried to help with words, but Aaron did not need words at that point. Sometimes the proper reaction to tragedy is silence.
In the book of Job, the main character experienced a number of grievous losses - his wealth, his children, his very health. His wife told Job, “Curse God and die,” but Job replied “Should we accept only good and not evil?” (Job 2:10) His three friends came to comfort him. But they sat in silence next to him for seven days, waiting for Job to speak first. From this we learn that Jewish tradition that when visiting a shiva home (house of mourning), the visitors are silent until the mourners speak first.
Job called on God to appear before him and justify His actions. At the end of the book God appeared before Job with a long soliloquy. “Who is this who darkens counsel, speaking without knowledge? ... Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations? Speak if you have understanding.” (Job 38:2,4) Job listened to God’s words, and in the end said, “Indeed I spoke without understanding, Of things beyond me, which I did not know ... Therefore, I recant and relent, Being but dust and ashes.” (Job 42:3,6) Job spoke, when silence would have been the appropriate response.
We have known terrible tragedy these past months which have intensified during the Passover holiday. In Israel there have been random acts of terrorism killing innocents as they sat at a Passover seder, as they shopped in a supermarket, as they visited a nightclub or restaurant. Many of you have asked me for comments and insights. And I tried on the festival to speak intelligently of these events. In the same way I tried on the High Holidays to speak about the tragedy that hit our country on September 11.
Nonetheless, I cannot help but believe that sometimes silence is wiser in the face of tragedy. Like Job, we humans cannot understand the ways of God. When sadness hits, it is not the time to discuss theology. Words about God’s justice are scant comfort to the bereaved and the injured. Moses’ words were scant comfort to his brother Aaron following his tragic loss.
There is a time to speak and a time for silence. There are too many words in the world. Perhaps we need a little more silence in the face of questions we cannot answer.
PARSHAT SHIMINI
(5761)
ON EATING MEAT
“These are the living things which you may eat among all the beasts that are on the earth.”
(Leviticus 11:2)
This portion contains a list of animals, fish, and birds permitted and forbidden for food. Animals must have cloven hooves and chew their cud. Fish must have fins and scales. There is a long list of forbidden birds, mostly birds of prey, leaving mostly the standard domesticated birds. The Jewish people, in their quest for holiness, are limited in which animals they may eat.
The real question many people ask today is, what gives us the right to eat animals at all? Should we humans be permitted to eat other sentient beings? After all, in the Garden of Eden we were vegetarians. Is a vegetarian diet more in keeping with the ethics and values of the Torah?
Some would claim that a vegetarian diet is healthier. Certainly our bodies are built in such a way that we can eat and digest meat. One can eat an unhealthy vegetarian diet if there is too much sugar and too many carbohydrates. One can certainly eat a healthy diet that includes meat, poultry, and fish in moderation. The key is balance.
I have no argument with those who would argue the health of a vegetarian diet. My problem is with another argument I hear too frequently. What right do we have to eat our fellow creatures for food? After all, are we humans not also part of the animal kingdom? Why should we have dominion over any other animals?
I find this argument deeply troubling. True, in the Garden of Eden we were vegetarians. We were also animal-like, “naked and not ashamed.” After we ate from the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, we left the Garden of Eden and raised ourselves above the animal kingdom. To quote Erich Fromm, “What is essential in the existence of man is the fact that he has emerged from the animal kingdom … has transcended nature. Once torn away from nature, he cannot return to it.” (Art of Loving, page 7) Humans are qualitatively different from animals, with rights that the animal kingdom does not have.
Today, there are many who would see humans as mere animals, perhaps with slightly more intelligence and vastly more destructive power. I understand that at the National Zoo in Washington there is a sign before the primate section speaking of the most destructive, dangerous primate on the face of the earth – humanity.
This week in particular we can see the danger in viewing humans as mere animals. Jews and Christians throughout the world are gathering to commemorate Yom HaShoah, holocaust memorial day. It is the day when we recall the deaths of six million Jews, and millions of other human beings, at the hands of the Nazis.
Why were the Nazis so successful? It began by taking away the unique humanity of Jews, and treating them as mere animals. That is why they could herd human beings into boxcars like cattle, ignoring their hunger, cold, and fright. That is why children could be wrested from the arms of parents. (The Torah forbids doing this even to animals.) That is why they Nazis saw the Jews as one may see vermin infesting their residence. They could send Jews to the gas chamber by day and sleep soundly by night, with no more guilt than one would feel dealing with the infestation of unwanted animals.
Humans are qualitatively different from animals. We are created in the image of God. Since we are at a different level of existence, the Torah beginning with Noah permits us to eat animals. Jews, in their quest for holiness, must limit what animals they eat. But to see humanity as no different from animals does not raise up the animal kingdom, it lowers humanity.
PARSHAT SHMINI
(5760)
VEGETARIANISM?
"Speak to the Israelite people thus, These are the creatures that you may eat from among all the land animals."
(Leviticus 11:2)
Should we humans be allowed to eat animals? This week's portion deals with dietary laws - what animals the Israelites were allowed to eat. Mammals, birds, fish, even insects were divided up into permitted and forbidden. It is as if God showed the animal kingdom to His people and said, "Eat this but not this."
People often ask, "What gives us the right to eat animals at all." Certainly, in the Garden of Eden we humans were expected to be vegetarians. God allowed us only fruit and vegetables, with the fruit of one particular tree off limits. (Of course, we ate from it anyway.)
Later in the story of Noah, humans were given reluctant permission to eat meat. However, there is a reminder that animals are living creatures; we are not allowed to eat the blood. The rabbis taught that it is forbidden to eat the limb of a living animal, an example of cruelty to animals. Some would see the permission to eat meat in the Noah story as a divine compromise. When the Messiah comes the lion will lie down with the lamb, even animals will become vegetarian. (As Woody Allen said, "The lion may lie down with the lamb, but lamb will not get much sleep.")
Many use these Biblical arguments to advocate a vegetarian diet. They claim that eating meat is unhealthy, wasteful, or involves treating animals in a cruel way. These are all legitimate arguments for those considering vegetarianism. Non-vegetarians, myself included, will argue that since the Torah explicitly permits the eating of animals, there is no requirement that we become vegetarian.
There is another argument used by some animal rights advocates that is far more troublesome. I call it the "how can we eat our cousins" argument. These people argue that to say we are better than animals is speciesism. We are animals no difference in essence from a chimpanzee, a horse, or a dog. We may be slightly farther along on the evolutionary chain, but we are still mere animals. Eating animals is a kind of cannibalism.
The central lesson of the Bible is that we humans are qualitatively different from animals. We are created in the image of God. We have the ability to make moral choices. We are not bound to simply follow our appetites. Certainly we cannot be cruel to the animal kingdom. Nor can we say that we are mere animals.
Scientists hypothesizes that evolution is a blind force, leading from lower to higher forms of life and eventually to us. Many who challenge evolution from a religious perspective are not bothered by the fact that life evolved gradually. The problem is the underlying assumption that we humans are mere animals.
The Torah is concerned with how we can raise ourselves above the animal and achieve holiness in our lives. That quest for holiness underlies the dietary laws found in this week's portion.