Parashat Kedoshim, Leviticus 19:1-20:27

The gray haired elder is a fragile treasure, often not appreciated until he or she is gone.

I have noticed recently that it is impossible to simply run into the drugstore and just pick up an item. Last time I ran out of shampoo it took me half an hour to figure out what to buy. There is shampoo for long hair, short hair, curly hair, straight hair, frizzy hair, coloured hair, damaged hair and so on. Then there are conditioners that produce a number of different results. This is before you even get to the "product," the stuff you put on your clean hair to keep it shiny, curly, tangle free, blonder, darker, redder, softer, staying in place, looking like you just got out of bed, and so on. My grandparents just used soap on their hair and seemed to manage quite well.

They may have been the exception. Our concern with hair has a long history. Poets use it as a measure of beauty. Fairy tales have been written about golden locks, ebony black hair, and hair so long and strong, a suitor could use it to climb to your window. What conditioner does one use for that? Legend tells us that King David was known for the beauty of his red hair. Samson's uncut hair was the source of his strength. The Song of Songs, which we just read on Pesach, has numerous descriptions of the beauty of both lovers' hair: …His locks are curled and black as a raven. (Song 5:11), Your hair is like a flock of goats streaming down from Gilead. (Song 6:5) Not quite how we'd word it today, but the sentiment comes through nonetheless.

For most of history we have tried some amazing concoctions to style and colour our hair; items that go beyond a simple flint knife to trim it. In places as diverse as ancient Greece and pre-revolutionary France, we have braced our hair with branches and wire cages. Some famous early Hollywood platinum blondes ended up wearing wigs because bleaching their locks caused their hair to fall out.

It seems the only time it was fashionable to let our hair alone was in the late 1960s. Interestingly, this month marks the fortieth anniversary of the Broadway debut of Hair.

Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair.

Hair, lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado

How times have changed! Those who once reveled in letting their hair grow wild and naturally, a la Samson, are now keeping the shampoo and colouring companies solvent.

Hair is one of the easiest ways to change how we look. Last fall, Time Magazine ran an article called The Gray Wars. "To dye or not to dye. That is the question in the latest feminist debate over aging and authenticity." In a poll looking at attitudes towards gray or white hair, a large majority viewed such hair as a disadvantage socially and politically. The only time it was viewed as an advantage, by 59% of those polled, was for candidates running for office. Even then it was viewed negatively on specific individuals. (Time Magazine, Sept. 10, 2007, pp. 71-3)

The Torah also weighs in on the issue of hair. Parashat Kedoshim instructs us: You shall not round off the side-growth on your head, or destroy the side-growth of your beard. (Leviticus 19:27) In early June we will read about Sotah, the woman accused of adultery whose hair is uncovered as part of the ceremony determining her innocence or guilt (Numbers 5:18), and in the same portion we will be told about the Nazirite, forbidden to cut his hair (Numbers 6:5).

If our Israelite ancestors had been asked about colouring hair, the Time Magazine poll would have had dramatically different results: Gray hair is a crown of glory. (Proverbs 16:31) This attitude is clearly reflected in this week's parasha: You shall rise before the aged... (Leviticus 19:32) Actually, the older translation of lifnei seiva takum, is much clearer: You shall rise before the hoary head. The word seiva is the same one found in Proverbs translated as gray hair.

A midrash teaches that Abraham was the first individual to show signs of aging:

Rabbi Yehudah ben Shimon said: Abraham asked for old age, pleading before the Eternal: "Sovereign of the Universe! When a man and his son enter a town, people don't know whom to honor! But if You crown the father with the appearance of old age, they will know whom to honour." The Holy One Who is Blessed said to him: "...You have asked well and it shall begin with you." From the beginning of Genesis until here, old age is not mentioned, but when Abraham arose the appearance of old age was granted to him: And Abraham was old, well stricken in age (Genesis 24:1).

Genesis Rabbah 65:9, based on the Soncino translation

There are actually two parts to the verse in Kedoshim: You shall rise before the aged (seiva) and show deference to the old (zaken). This caused quite a discussion in the Talmud. What is the difference between the seiva, the gray haired individual, and the zaken, the elderly person?

Rabbi Yose the Galilean said: Zaken means only one who has acquired wisdom… Issi ben Yehuda said: You shall rise before the aged implies any aged person.

Talmud, Kiddushin, 32b

Two different qualities are at work here. Zaken implies wisdom and leadership. The Talmud relates this to God's instruction to Moses in Numbers 11:16: Gather for Me seventy of Israel's elders (ziknei) of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting… Seiva is anyone who falls into the senior citizen category.

While in most cultures there is respect for the life experience that goes with aging, our modern culture differs. One year after Hair debuted on Broadway, the term "ageism" was coined by gerontologist Robert Neil Butler. Today, the generation that told us not to trust anyone over thirty is still fighting to maintain its youth. Those of us who are fussing with the hair dye can learn something from those who stopped doing so long ago according to two articles in the American Sociological Review:

“The good news is that with age comes happiness,” said study author Yang Yang, a University of Chicago sociologist. “Life gets better in one's perception as one ages.” …A certain amount of distress in old age is inevitable, including aches, pains and deaths of loved ones and friends. But older people generally have learned to be more content with what they have than younger adults, Dr. Yang said.
…A separate University of Chicago study found that about 75 per cent of people aged 57 to 85 engage in one or more social activities at least every week. Those include socializing with neighbours, attending religious services, volunteering or going to group meetings. Those in their 80s were twice as likely as those in their 50s to do at least one of these activities.

The oldest Americans are also the happiest, research finds, Lindsay Tanner, Associated Press, April 18, 2008

How interesting that contentment is treasured more than that elusive emotion happiness. Interesting as well are the activities that help achieve contentment, the rituals and ethical behavior described in Kedoshim which are integral to socializing, volunteering and ritual activity.

There is much else we can learn from seiva. I believe it was Margaret Mead who said that the elderly, grandparents in particular, teach us history. Years ago I worked with advanced Alzheimer patients. I learned more in conversation with these individuals than from any book or documentary. Some sang the lullabies that comforted them as children. Others recounted the golden days of the Yiddish Theater in New York. When they shared their memories, you felt as though you were sitting next to them at the theater, watching The Yiddish King Lear while munching on a half sour pickle.

The seiva, the gray haired elder is a fragile treasure, often not appreciated until he or she is gone. This is something which strikes more deeply each year as we observe Yom Hashoah, Holocaust Memorial Day. I recently had the privilege of hearing a survivor recount her story to an adult Jewish Information Class that I am teaching. Many survivors volunteer their time to speak to groups of all ages and all faiths, making sure the Shoah (Holocaust) is not forgotten. Each story is unique, with personal details not found in books. The survivors who teach us now were children during the Holocaust. They are the last teachers of the greatest tragedy of our time. Learning from these individuals brings a new understanding to lifne seiva takum, You shall rise before the aged. (Note: The USC Shoah Foundation Institute under the guidance of Steven Spielberg has created a video archive preserving the accounts of survivors. Unfortunately, genocide is still a problem in the modern world and the institute continues its important work by collecting eyewitness accounts from a more recent tragedy: the Rwandan genocide.)

The best-seller is wrong. Kindergarten was not the place I learned everything I need to know. I am still learning on a daily basis from those with greater wisdom and more life experience; the record of their accomplishments deeply etched in their faces, surrounded by a beautiful halo of gray or white hair.

They shall bear fruit even in old age (b'seiva)
They shall be fresh and fragrant

Psalms 92:15

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Shabbat Pesach Seventh Day, Exodus 13:17-15:26, Numbers 28:9-25

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Karen Teasdale.

It is a short road from gnawing on the bread of affliction to suggesting to others "let them eat cake."

Every year I am amazed with the growing array of kosher for Passover products: muffins, bagels, pasta, even pizza. This is ha-lahma anya, the bread of affliction? Even traditional matzah ain't what it used to be, now that you can choose wheat, rye or spelt matzah. Then, of course, there's shmura matzah, the traditionally watched and hand-baked item that reflects the bread of poverty in looks but not in price.

Matzah is as elemental a symbol of the staff of life as can be found: just flour and water, minus the fermentation. We are told that during the Exodus there was no time to let the bread rise; hence we omit the fermentation or leavening agent. Perhaps leaving out this one item is another symbol of leaving Egypt behind, since scholars believe that fermentation was discovered in Egypt making it the birthplace of bread and beer.

Bread was used to pay the workers' wages in ancient Egypt. Those who toiled received grain or simple loaves of bread made from flour and water. In contrast, the rulers dined on bread that contained honey, fruit and nuts. The difference between the haves and have-nots was abundantly clear in the edifices built for the rulers. Pharaonic tombs contained food to sustain the occupant in the afterlife. These tombs contained more wealth and foodstuff than a worker could ever dream of having. What could be more symbolic of a hardened heart, than the food placed in tombs by a worker who could never hope to consume such delicacies?

Bread's relationship to wages is found in English is well. Bread used to be a common slang expression for money, probably derived from the Cockney rhyming slang expression "bread and honey" which rhymes with "money." Fans of old gangster movies will recall dialogue where bank robber would demand the "dough."

While the Torah does remind us that man does not live on bread alone (Deuteronomy 8:3), the Hebrew language appears to have an unusual association with the word for bread. Lechem, the Hebrew word for bread, is the same root as lochem, to do battle. What is the common element? Dr Joseph Lewin offers an intriguing possibility:

What can you say about a culture that uses the same root lamed, het, mem) — for both bread and war, milhama? Do lehem and milhama really come from the same root? It's a good question, and to answer it one must invoke a third use of the root. It seems that laham means not only "he did battle" and "he ate bread" but also "he joined together."

Using this third meaning, Ludwig Koehler, in his 1953 Dictionary of the Hebrew Old Testament, opines that our root originally had the connotation of "to be closely packed together" and that that meaning is the common denominator. In war, says Koehler, soldiers often engage in hand-to-hand combat in close quarters. Voilà for war, milhama. Bread, he adds, suggesting perhaps that it is considered highly nutritious, is "compact food." Voilà for bread, lehem.

Joseph Lewin, A Hebrew Lesson (l-h-m), Jewish Heritage Online Magazine

Another connection between bread and battle has nothing to do with grammar and everything to do with food fights. People go to war over food and sources of food. The silent film classic Battleship Potemkin begins with a group of sailors rebelling when they are fed maggot-infested meat. Or think of the words attributed to Marie Antoinette when told the peasants had no bread: Let them eat cake.

Significant as it may be as a Pesach symbol bread (albeit in its unleavened form) is in the background on this last Shabbat of the festival. The battle between the God of Israel and the god of Egypt is the focal point.

The Torah constantly points out that Pharaoh's hard was hardened – he stubbornly ignored the suffering around him. This is part of the battle between God and Egypt's ruler.

When the king of Egypt was told that the people had fled, Pharaoh and his courtiers had a change of heart about the people and said, "What is this we have done, releasing Israel from our service?" He ordered his chariot and took his men with him; he took six hundred of his picked chariots, and the rest of the chariots of Egypt, with officers in all of them. The Lord stiffened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he gave chase to the Israelites. As the Israelites were departing defiantly, boldly, the Egyptians gave chase to them, and all the chariot horses of Pharaoh, his horsemen, and his warriors overtook them encamped by the sea, near Pi-hahiroth, before Baal-zephon.

(Exodus 14:5-9)

Adding to the battle imagery is the fact that our ancestors are armed (Exodus 13:18) as they make their way out of Egypt and find themselves at the Sea of Reeds with Pharaoh and a cast of thousands giving chase. We all know how the story ends, we cross the Sea of Reeds, Pharaoh and his army drown, and we sing a song of victory to God our Redeemer.

But before we take the plunge a strange thing happens: Pharaoh is not the only one with a change of heart! Our ancestors saw Pharaoh and his troops approaching and they too had a change of heart. The text tells us that they thought they had made a fatal mistake; better to have stayed in Egypt under the yoke of the king. The term describing Pharaoh's approach is faro hikriv, Pharaoh drew near. The root is k-r-v, the same word as korban, sacrifice and often used to indicate drawing close to God. This is the understanding of the Midrash:

What is meant by "Pharaoh drew near"? He brought Israel close to the repentance they showed. Rabbi Berachiah said: Pharaoh's drawing near was better for Israel than a hundred fasts and prayers.

Exodus Rabbah 21:5

As if to stress the importance of this point, Itturei Torah, a collection of Hassidic teachings and Mussar, comments that it takes Pharaoh to bring Israel to repentance.

What is going on here? Pharaoh serves as a reminder of suffering; and that changes the people's will. They turn to God to find the strength to cross the sea and sing triumphantly to the God who redeemed them.

Yet at this moment of our great joy, our rabbinic ancestors wanted to make sure that our hearts would not be hardened and that we would never forget the tragic cost of this freedom: The countless Egyptians who died in the plagues and at the Sea of Reeds. To help us remember the lives lost, the Talmudic sages imagined how this event played out in the heavenly court:

In that hour the ministering angels wished to utter the song of praise before the Holy One, Who is Blessed, but God rebuked them, saying: My handiwork (the Egyptians) is drowning in the sea and you want to sing before me!

Talmud, Sanhedrin 39b

Throughout the festival of Pesach there are constant reminders to prevent us from developing a hardened heart. Remembering the suffering of the Egyptians is the reason we spill the drops of wine when recounting the plagues at the Seder; our joy is diminished by their suffering. For the very same reason we abbreviate the Hallel (Psalms of Praise) that we sing at services on the last days of Pesach. As we read this portion at the end of Pesach, we are reminded that our rejoicing must be tempered.

We were saved at the Sea of Reeds, the symbol par excellence of Redemption. But our redemption is incomplete. What we lacked when we stepped onto dry land, what we oftentimes still lack, is the awareness of the suffering of others. Even worse is the knowledge that others suffer and we do nothing. It is a short road from gnawing on the bread of affliction to suggesting to others "let them eat cake." It is the path of the hardened heart.

On the seventh day of Pesach, as we watch the Sea of Reeds recede in the distance, we know that a long journey still awaits us. Pesach is the beginning of redemption; this is as far as God takes us. Spiritually, this is as far as God can take us; the rest of the journey is on our own. Full redemption can only be achieved when we no longer need to be reminded of the suffering of others. When our heart is open to the suffering of others, and when we act to correct the injustices causing that pain, then all of us will truly be redeemed.

Chag sameach,
Shabbat shalom,
MS

Parashat Acharei Mot, Leviticus 16:1-18:30; Shabbat HaGadol

In memory of Rosalyn White, beloved mother of Myra White and Adrienne Rosen, much loved Bubbe to Alana and Sally. We miss you so much.

The modern scapegoat represents the denial of sin.

One of the challenges of dealing with the text of the Torah in English is that every translation is an interpretation. In these weekly studies I rely on the New Jewish Publication Society (NJPS) translation of the Torah which refers to God as "He," and the divine name as "Lord." The Torah: A Woman's Commentary tackles the issue of gender neutral language by always writing the divine name in Hebrew, allowing the reader to read it as Adonai, Hashem or "Lord."

As sensitive as we liberal Jews are to our language of prayer and study, we have it easy in comparison to the pioneers of Bible translation, who had to set the standards of translation for their descendants. And indeed, we have been greatly influenced by these pioneers. Why else would we think that Eve ate an apple? Or that things start "in the beginning," not "with the beginning" or "when God began to create?"

One of the greatest influences on the English language has been the King James translation of the Bible, responsible for our automatically saying "in the beginning." This translation, known for the beauty of its language, is not the first translation into English. That accomplishment is credited to William Tyndale, a 16th century Protestant reformer who was the first individual to translate the text from the original Hebrew into English. It is thanks to Tyndale that we say "let there be light," and "Am I my brother's keeper?" Tyndale is believed to have created English words when necessary to help in the translation. One such word is "scapegoat" referring directly to a ceremony described in this week's parashah, Acharei Mot:

Aaron shall take the two he-goats and let them stand before the Lord at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting; and he shall place lots upon the two goats, one marked for the Lord and the other marked for Azazel. Aaron shall bring forward the goat designated by lot for the Lord, which he is to offer as a sin offering; while the goat designated by lot for Azazel shall be left standing alive before the Lord, to make expiation with it and to send it off to the wilderness for Azazel.

…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. Thus the goat shall carry on it all their iniquities to an inaccessible region; and the goat shall be set free in the wilderness.

Leviticus 16:7-10, 21-22

While today a "scapegoat" is a person who bears the blame for others, for Tyndale this was the joining of two words (e)scape and goat – referring to the animal in the ritual that had the people's sin transferred to it and was set free for Azazel.

Jewish commentators didn't have it any easier just because they were dealing with the original Hebrew. It's not necessarily the ritual that bothered them (though it could be challenging to our modern sensibilities). What "got their goat" was the term Azazel. Since this word only appears in Leviticus 16, how is it to be understood?

The Talmud (Yoma 67b) describes Azazel as being "a hard and rough country" (Soncino translation), based on the word az meaning "strong" or "fierce." David Kimchi (12th century) explains it as being the mountain to which the goat was sent in the wilderness. Another interpretation is that it is a contraction of two words (goat) and azal (to go away), related to a description found in the Mishna (Yoma 6:2). From this one can see the development of the "scapegoat." Ibn Ezra relates it to "goat demons" mentioned in Leviticus 17:7. Baruch Levine points out that Azazel was the name given "to the demonic ruler of the wilderness."

The Torah: A Women's Commentary summarizes it best:

This is the name of the wilderness beyond the boundaries of settled life; most likely it originated as the name of a demon, Azazel in this case is best imagined as the antithesis of the Tabernacle/sanctuary, a place of disorder devoid of the relevant priestly distinctions. By carrying Israel's impurities to such a wilderness, the scapegoat effectively conveys the chaotic aspects of human life back to the place of origin.

The Torah: A Women's Commentary, p. 682

Most interesting are the commentaries relating the two goats to Biblical figures. Nachmanides, drawing on Midrash Bereshit Rabbah (65:10), through the use of puns identifies Esau as the goat that is sent away and Jacob as the one that remains. How so? Esau is described as hairy (sa'ir) which is a pun on another word for goat se'ir. This goat carries the Israelites' iniquities avonotam, punned as avonot tam, avonot meaning sins and tam meaning a person of integrity. Who is described as being tam? Jacob (Genesis 25:27). Take it a step further. Remember Jacob's disguise to fool daddy into thinking he was big brother Esau? Goatskin (Genesis 27:16).

Fast forward to late Saturday night, where, after noshing on kosher for Passover Tam Tams, we will be singing Had Gadya, One Little Goat. This ditty has been invested with allegorical meaning by Jewish commentators. Most popularly, we are told that the goat represents the people of Israel and all the other actors in the saga (except, of course, for God) represent nations throughout history that tried to destroy the Jewish people.

Yet more often than not, it is the scapegoat that has been associated with Jews. How ironic that this animal, symbolic of the cleansing of Israel's sins, has been associated with the Jewish people historically being burdened with the sins of others. Alas, we still see this in the world today.

In Leviticus the ritual with the two goats represents the public acknowledgment and acceptance of sins: the animal designated for Azazel symbolically bears them away. The modern scapegoat represents the denial of sin. We readily accept that this happens to our community on a global level. But let's get personal here. Let's face it; it is part of human nature to make excuses when we fall short of expectations. How often do we as individuals shift blame to others instead of accepting responsibility for our own actions?

So here we are on the Shabbat HaGadol, the Shabbat before Pesach, preparing to recount and relive the story of our deliverance from slavery to freedom. With that precious freedom come obligations, including the responsibility of owning up to our mistakes, shortcomings and transgressions. Pesach is sounding more and more like Yom Kippur! Let's not forget that hametz (leaven), prohibited on Pesach, is symbolically taken to be the yester hara' (inclination to evil). So Pesach, half a year after Yom Kippur, is another occasion to right wrongs. Consider this: there is nothing more liberating than 'fessing up to our sins. Pesach is a spring cleaning for the soul, an opportunity to fix the mess we have made. What are we waiting for?

Shabbat shalom.
Chag kasher ve-sameach,
MS

Parashat Metsora, Leviticus 14:1-15:33

Illness and healing sensitizes the individual to the extraordinary aspects of daily life.

About 18 months ago, Spain banned some fashion models for being too thin. Two months ago, the Spanish government went ahead with a project to take body scans of 10,000 women. The end result will be clothing that takes into account the variety of women’s shapes and sizes. Think of that: shirts that will fit across the shoulders and chest, as well as having the right sleeve length; pants that are proportional at the waist and hips, as well as having the proper inseam; clothes that no longer appear to be cut for teenage boys. There are those who say that fashion designers make clothes for a particular ideal form. I know I do not fit that ideal, nor do any other women I know.

Designers are not the only ones who have been concerned with the human form. No doubt the most famous example of an ideal body would be Leonardo Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man. Based on the writings of the 1st cent BCE Roman architect, Vitruvius, Da Vinci created a drawing of what Vitruvius considered the ideal proportions of the (male) human figure. It is a picture of a man standing at attention, with his arms and legs widespread. This image appears superimposed within a circle and a square. Apparently, Da Vinci viewed the human body as a microcosm of the universe, and the symmetry of the body was extrapolated to the order of the universe.

The relationship between the body and the universe would make sense to the kohanim (priests) of Leviticus. However, their concern was not the symmetry of the body but the proper functioning of the body in an orderly fashion. Any deviation from that would have to be brought back into orderliness. Reading Leviticus you might think that the kohanim view cleanliness as next to godliness. Not so, to the priestly mind orderliness is next to godliness.

One of the daily blessings found in the siddur speaks of the wonder that is the human body. Taken from the Talmud (Berachot 60b), the blessing asher yatsar (Who has created) draws our attention to our biological complexity and the wonder of how everything functions properly:

Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the world, who formed humans with wisdom and created a system of ducts and conduits in them. It is well-known before your throne of glory that if one of these should burst or one of these get blocked, it would be impossible to survive and stand before You. Blessed are You, Adonai, who heals all creatures, doing wonders.

(Translation from My People's Prayer Book, vol 5, p. 108, 110,
Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman, ed., )

While this blessing is centuries old, the appreciation of the human body found in the asher yatsar appears to be so much more advanced than what we read in this week’s parashah Metsora. The name of the parashah refers to an individual with a skin ailment. In this parashah it is the priest who examines individuals with unusual conditions such as skin afflictions or particular discharges. Part of the priestly expertise is determining when an individual must be quarantined due to a skin affliction and when an individual can return to the community. Not surprisingly for the third book of the Torah, reintroduction into the community is accompanied by a ritual. As was stated last week, the priest is a purifier, not a healer.

The ritual is quite elaborate.

…the priest shall order two live clean birds, cedar wood, crimson stuff, and hyssop to be brought for him who is to be cleansed. The priest shall order one of the birds slaughtered over fresh water in an earthen vessel; and he shall take the live bird, along with the cedar wood, the crimson stuff, and the hyssop, and dip them together with the live bird in the blood of the bird that was slaughtered over the fresh water. He shall then sprinkle it seven times on him who is to be cleansed of the eruption and cleanse him; and he shall set the live bird free in the open country.

(Leviticus 14:4-7)

That's not all. The individual undergoing this rite must wash his clothes, shave his hair, bathe and sit outside his tent for seven days. To quote my favorite late night commercial: "But wait! There's more!"

On the eighth day he brings two lambs as an offering, as well as a meal offering. Once the animal is sacrificed: The priest shall take some of the blood of the guilt offering, and the priest shall put it on the ridge of the right ear of him who is being cleansed, and on the thumb of his right hand, and on the big toe of his right foot.

(Leviticus 14:14)

This process is repeated with oil as well.

If all this sounds familiar, you're right. The ritual with the two birds is reminiscent of the scapegoat ritual in Leviticus 16, where one animal is slaughtered and the other is set free. The bathing and sitting at the entrance to the tent are part of the ordination ceremony for the priest found in Leviticus chapter 8. The greatest similarity appears in the description of what is done with the ram of ordination.

On the eighth day Moses took some of its blood and put it on the ridge of Aaron's right ear, and on the thumb of his right hand, and on the big toe of his right foot. Moses then brought forward the sons of Aaron, and put some of the blood on the ridges of their right ears, and on the thumbs of their right hands, and on the big toes of their right feet; and the rest of the blood Moses dashed against every side of the altar.

(Leviticus 8:22-24)

Much has been written about the significance of placing the blood on various parts of the priest's body. This is a discussion for another day. What is interesting is the similarity between the ritual for priests and that for folks with skin afflictions. What gives?

Two thoughts: First of all, the priest was the conduit between the people and God. It was a powerful symbol to have the priest welcome an individual back into the community. Think of the pain of being shunned by your own kin. What could be more comforting than having God's representative bring you back into the communal embrace? If the priest says welcome back, how could anyone turn their back on you?

Second, there is a spiritual component to illness and healing that we often ignore. The blessing of asher yatsar is a spiritual affirmation of our physical being. When we say a mi shebeirach, a prayer for healing, we ask for a physical and spiritual recovery. The ceremony for the metsora mimics the ordination ceremony because both have a spiritual aspect to them. The priest ritually serves in an area that is the threshold between the human and the Divine. The metsora, because of his or her personal experience, has glimpsed this threshold as well. Illness and healing sensitizes the individual to the extraordinary aspects of daily life. Anyone who has been ill, or has undergone surgery or extensive treatment will tell you: Things are different afterwards. It may not all be rosy, or warm and fuzzy, but there is a heightened awareness and appreciation of things. If you could find an ancient priest he would tell you that the experience of holiness is similar. It may not be sunshine and music, but it changes your awareness and appreciation of everything.

Far from being an eternal outcast, the metsora is the closest an individual can come to being priestly. Needless to say, we don't want illness and suffering to be the major component of our experience of holiness. But some trouble is inevitable in everyone's life. Experiencing such difficulty may make one feel as lonely as the metsora shunned by the community. When this occurs, let us remember that we are only a step away from the threshold where we encounter holiness.

Shabbat shalom,
MS

Parashat Tazria, Leviticus 12:1-13:59; Shabbat HaChodesh, Ex. 12:1-20

Ritual impurity is not a value judgment.

Things ain't what they used to be: How often we employ this lament! Life was simpler and better when we were young. The world is more complex, and somehow more dangerous. In many regards, though it really is a good thing that "things ain't what they used to be." I know; I too miss the candy bars that were cheaper and bigger, the films that were creative and original, and time that moved at a more leisurely pace. On the other hand, I am rather partial to the fact that housing has improved, transportation is better, and there really is much to be said for indoor plumbing and running water. Given a choice between much that existed in the "good old days" and what we have today, I'm happy to be living in our day and age.

For one thing, back in the "good old days" a lot of people I know would not have made it to whatever age they are now. We are able to treat an astounding array of complex physical problems that were beyond our ability and imagination way back when. We also view many things as routine which at one time were not. Like the fact that most women who give birth get to hold their babies and watch them grow. In the golden days of yore up to 25% of women only reached the threshold of motherhood, succumbing to what was known as "childbed fever."

Thing changed slowly but significantly. In 1843, an overachieving New Englander named Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. published a report entitled The Contagiousness of Puerperal Fever, in which he argued that the source of this deadly disease among new mothers was actually being carried from patient to patient by their caregivers. Among his recommendations were that physicians clean their instruments and burn their clothes after a fatal delivery. He actually termed this a moral obligation on the part of the doctor.

Four years later and half a world away, Ignaz Philipp Semmelweis of Vienna, concerned with the same obstetrical problem, reached a similar conclusion and mandated that doctors in his wards wash their hands in a chlorinated lime solution before treating each patient. Both men were largely ignored at that time, despite the results of their innovations. Holmes, in fact, was taken to task by a well-known obstetrician of his day who remarked that "Doctors are gentlemen, and gentlemen's hands are clean." It was only thanks to Louis Pasteur's germ theory of disease that the practice of antiseptic cleanliness developed by Semmelweis began to be practiced.

Until these pathfinders came along, there was a strong possibility that the joy of bringing a new life into the world would be followed by its opposite: the death of either infant or mother. Is it any wonder then, that the ideas of birth and death were often intertwined?

This congruence is evident in this week's parasha, Tazria, which deals with a woman after childbirth and the offerings she is to bring as part of the purification ritual. Subsequently, it goes on to detail a number of skin ailments that are to be brought to the attention of the kohen (priest), as well as the actions the priest must take at this point. The kohen is not a healer but a purifier. Not surprisingly, purification is the focus of Tazria, and it is also the focus of next week's portion, Metsora.

What is the problem with impurity? It represents the opposite of holiness. There is a balance between the holiness of life and the impurity of death.

Biblical religion regarded the dead as impure in the extreme and forbade priests from participating in funerary rites. In the commentary it is maintained that this prohibition was aimed at preventing a cult of the dead from becoming part of Israelite worship. To the extent that a higher form of religious expression is served by avoiding the cult of the dead, the devotion of kohanim [priests] to the ancient purity restrictions has contributed significantly to this goal.

Baruch Levine, Leviticus, Jewish Publication Society Commentary, p. 221

But what does all this have to do with mothers and newborn infants? Isn't the birth process perceived as the opposite of death?

…in the Israelite mind, blood was the archsymbol of life. Its oozing from the body was no longer the work of demons [a worldwide view], but it was certainly the sign of death. In particular, the loss of seed in vaginal blood was associated with the loss of life. Thus it was that Israel - alone among the peoples - restricted impurity solely to those physical conditions involving the loss of vaginal blood and semen, the forces of life, and to scale disease, which visually manifested the approach of death.

Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus, Anchor Bible p. 767

So to summarize this rather graphic parashah: Impurity results from contact with the dead. Skin afflictions, translated misleadingly into English as "leprosy" in Leviticus, make one look dead. Genital fluids are generative matter and represent the loss of potential life.

Now let's get back to mother and child. Even in the good old days, commentaries made a symbolic connection between birth and death: "The Torah states that a woman is in a state of impurity for seven days after birth. Similarly, there is a seven-day period of mourning for the dead. All is counted by the number seven." (Yaakov ben Yitzchak Ashkenazi, Tzenah Urenah 2:589)

This Shabbat is also designated as Shabbat HaChodesh (Sabbath of the New Month), which is the first Shabbat of the month of Nisan, when we observe Pesach. The additional Torah reading is Exodus 12:1-20, dealing with the Paschal sacrifice. Here too, in a different context, we see the importance of blood and its association with both life and death. When the paschal lamb was sacrificed, its blood was placed on the doorposts and lintels of the houses of the Israelites. (Exodus 12:7) This was a sign to protect their inhabitants from Divine wrath: And the blood on the houses where you are staying shall be a sign for you: when I see the blood I will pass over you, so that no plague will destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt. (Exodus 12:13)

Nonetheless, our modern sensibility is generally uncomfortable with the idea that a new mother is somehow "impure." In answer, we need to remind ourselves that ritual impurity is not a value judgment.

Just as ritual "holiness" may be transmitted by contact (6:11) so too defilement. Both the tamei [ritually impure] and the kadosh [holy] emit a sort of energy. As with modern asepsis, so with ancient ritual: positive measures are needed to overcome defilement. In contrast, ritual purity is a neutral state and is not transmissible. A bandage is no longer sterile if it falls on the floor, yet it does not transmit its former sterility to the spot on which it falls.

W. Gunther Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary, revised edition, p. 723

As was pointed out last week, the book of Leviticus is focused on order and having everything in its proper place. Even things that are natural can be considered to be outside the ideal order: blood in the body is fine, outside the body it’s problematic. Skin diseases and certain bodily discharges are not so good either. We are somewhat sensitive to this as well. Gruesome films depend on blood, ooze, guts and what-not to bring about a reaction in us. Judging from the amount of money they make, it works.

The levitical mindset is concerned with bringing about the proper reaction, which just can't happen when certain factors are not in their proper places. The sanctity and holiness of the mishkan, God's abode, must be protected; and proper precautions are necessary to do so. Just as bad things can happen if an operation takes place in an unsterile environment, bad things can happen if God's abode is not ritually pure. Tazria instructs the reader on the protocols for situations that are out of the ordinary; among the protocols are ways of correcting things that are out of place. The time of blood purification for the new mother is an example of this. Blood plays a role in the purification of priests and of those with skin afflictions as well, although in the latter case the blood has a different source.

Tazria encourages us to contemplate blood and its deep connection to life. Here, and in numerous other parts of Leviticus, the connection is deeply symbolic. We may struggle with the symbolism, but surely we understand the basic physical connection. Having said that, consider the importance of blood and how a simple blood donation on your part can be pivotal in pikuach nefesh (saving a life). Once Shabbat is over, how about doing your part to turn symbolism into reality?

Shabbat shalom,
MS