Parashat Chukat, Numbers 19:1-22:1

This Parasha has been generously sponsored by Linda Halton in loving memory of her parents, William and Freda Brayer.

We are each given the opportunity to take an active role in Jewish life and especially in Jewish spiritual life.

The 1964 musical Fiddler on the Roof introduced a Jewish concept to a world-wide audience: "Tradition!" More accurately, the play introduced a Jewish perspective on the origins of customs and rituals:

You may ask, "How did this tradition get started?" I'll tell you! I don't know. But it's a tradition...

Fiddler on the Roof, Act 1, book by Joseph Stein

Actually, the "I don't know" part has a technical term: mi-Sinai (from Mount Sinai). This refers to something so ingrained in Judaism, we believe it was always so. Halachah le-Moshe mi-Sinai is used to indicate laws that are traditionally considered basic to Judaism. Mi-Sinaitunes refers to melodies that are so deeply ingrained in Judaism, it is as though they too were part of the Revelation at Sinai. The great Aleinu sung on the High Holy Days is an example of this.

It is always interesting to find out that traditions we think of as being as old as civilization are not so. Take the diamond engagement ring. There is a complex etiquette concerning the meaning of the ring and its value. Books on marriage (and salespeople at jewelry stores) will tell you that a gentleman has to set aside a certain percentage of his yearly salary to purchase this item in order to prove his devotion to his basherte (intended). According to proponents of this custom, less than 3 months salary and his intentions may be called into question. Yet the whole notion that "a diamond is forever" is really a clever ad campaign created for one of the world's leading diamond interests in the 1930's. Arguably, this is one of the most successful ad campaigns in history.

There are a number of things within Judaism that are more recent than we think. The Bar-Mitzvah is a prime example of this, dating back to medieval times . So, when in the 1922 Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan held a Bat-Mitzvah ceremony for his daughter Judith, it was considered by many to be an innovation, although according to Professor Howard Tzvi Adelman, there were earlier examples of a ceremony for females in the Ukrainian city of Lvov (1902) , and even in 19^th century Baghdad:

And also the daughter on the day that she enters the obligation of the commandments, even though they don't usually make for her a seudah (festive meal), nevertheless that day will be one of happiness. She should wear Sabbath clothing and if she is able to do so she should wear new clothing and bless the Shehecheyanu prayer and be ready for her entry to the yoke of the commandments.

Ben Ish Chai, translation: Howard Tzvi Adelman)

Although the ceremonies in Baghdad, Lvov, and New York, were not quite the same as today's Bat-Mitzvah, they were innovative. Then again, as the Bar-Mitzvah ceremony itself proves, innovation is a Jewish tradition.

The latest iteration of this lifecycle ceremony is the adult Bat-Mitzvah. Somewhat less common, though probably older, is the adult Bar-Mitzvah, which was immortalized in the 1960's sitcom The Dick van Dyke Show, episode #149, Buddy Sorrell-Man and Boy.

I recently had the pleasure of attending an adult Bat-Mitzvah ceremony at Congregation Darchei Noam in Toronto. A group of nineteen women immersed themselves in Jewish study for two years. Many could not read Hebrew a couple of years ago. Yet they all confidently led an incredibly moving service. It was my privilege to have been one of their teachers.

Some of these women were raised at time when girls and women did not receive a Jewish education; they dedicated their efforts to their mothers and grandmothers. Some honoured fathers who, a la Buddy Sorrell, did not have an opportunity to celebrate a Bar-Mitzvah in their youth. Each woman went through the course of study for herself, in order to be able to participate more fully in the life of the community.

We are each given the opportunity to take an active role in Jewish life and especially in Jewish spiritual life. There is a difference between being led and being empowered. A most dramatic example of this is found in Parashat Chukat. At the very beginning of the parashah we find out that Miriam has died and the people are without water. (Numbers 20:1-2) Panic ensues and God instructs Moses to gather the people, talk to a rock, and water will miraculously come forth. Moses, frustrated with the people, hits the rock instead, an action that will come back to haunt him. The place where this occurred is remembered as being the "Waters of Contention (Mei Merivah)."

Though everything went wrong there, the people learned a lesson. This becomes evident later on in the portion when once again the people complain of a lack of water and are gathered together:

And from there to Beer, which is the well where the Lord said to Moses, "Assemble the people that I may give them water." Then Israel sang this song:
Spring up, O well—sing to it—
The well which the chieftains dug,
Which the nobles of the people started
With maces, with their own staffs.

Numbers 21:16-18

From passive observers waiting for Moses to do things for them, the people now eagerly participate in this event.

Water is a symbol of spirituality. Remember Hagar who lost all hope once her water ran out in the wilderness (Genesis 21:14-18)? Remember the fervent joy and belief at the Sea of Reeds, when Miriam led the women in song (Exodus 15:19-20)? Miriam had so much to do with water. (Her very name, "bitter sea," cries out for midrashic interpretation, which will have to wait for another occasion.) The Talmud and Rashi take note of the connection between the death of Miriam and the lack of water. According to Taanit 9a, it was due to Miriam's merit that the children of Israel had water through all the years of wandering. This source of water is the legendary Miriam's Well.

The craving for water is more than a physical desire and attests to Miriam's spiritual leadership. No wonder that as soon as she dies, we are told that the people were without water. They had lost a particular spiritual access. Moses was unable to give it to them. He struck the rock, a physical act, instead of speaking to the rock and coaxing the water out in a nurturing manner. But the lesson was not lost on Israel. They had reached a point where they would either remain who they were, or take responsibility for their own spirituality. And so they sang to the well.

It certainly wasn't easy for our ancestors in the wilderness. It couldn't have been easy for the nineteen adult B'not Mitzvah on that recent Shabbat in Toronto, but the opportunities are there if we are open to them. It goes beyond thirsting for those spiritual waters. That is only the first step. The thirst must be quenched. Chukat teaches that we don't have to wait for the glass of water to be offered to us. We can each take it upon ourselves to joyfully draw waters from the wells of salvation (Isaiah 12:3).

Shabbat shalom,
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