Friday, June 1, 2012

A Thought on the Parsha


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Nasso - Selfish Kedusha and Selfless Kedusha
After the organizing of the camp  with the mishkan at its center – the focus on parshat Bamidbar - this parasha focuses on what it means to be outside the mishkan, to be in the camp, and to continue to orient oneself to God’s presence. This is clearly the concern of the section devoted to the sending out the ritually impure from the camp and it is also the theme of the section dealing with the case of the sotah, the suspected wife. Here we see how discord between husband and wife and the suspicion of infidelity creates a status of tumah, impurity, which then – somewhat ironically – needs to be brought into the Temple.  There it will be resolved, purity will be reestablished, and husband and wife can return to the camp and once again live their lives with the proper orientation towards God’s presence.

The section of nazir continues this theme. It is a possible solution of how to connect to God and a life of kedusha outside of the mishkan. The solution of the nazir is to attempt to recreate the mishkan in the camp, at least for him or herself personally. Like the Kohen Gadol, he or she does not come into contact with the dead, even with his or her closest relatives. He or she not only refrains from intoxicating drink, as do Kohanim, but does not even eat and grapes or mixture of grape products, and – unlike the Kohanim – allows his or her hair to grow wild. These last two extensions ensure that he or she will be cut off from outside society, so that s/he can live in a protected mikdash-reality while outside themikdash.

However, this form of kedusha is not the ideal. First, it is a kedusha of denial, or rejection.  It is not a kedusha that taps into the most creative part of our tzelem E-lohim and seeks to give it expression.  But beyond that, what makes this kedusha so problematic, is that it is a kedusha that is self-serving and self- indulgent. It is all about one’s own spiritual growth and reflects no sense of responsibility to the larger society or to bringing that kedusha into the real world.  This may be why the nazir brings achatat, a sin-offering. The Gemara and rishonim debate whether one should infer from this that the nazir is a sinner, or whether the nazir iskadosh (and the sin is that s/he terminated the nezirut). In fact, he or she is both. The nazir is kadosh, but it is a type of a kedusha that is somewhat sinful, because it is a kedusha that is completely self-serving.
Thus, the nazir’s pursuit of kedusha is not only more restrictive than that of the Kohanim, but, more significantly, lacks the dimension of service that the Kohanim embody. Even the Kohen Gadol, who does not exit the Temple when a relative dies, is present in the Temple so that he can serve the people by doing the avodah and by representing them to God. Kohanim are our representatives in the Beit HaMikdash; the nazirrepresents only himself. It is for this reason that when Amos condemns the people, he distinguishes between the nazir and the navi, the prophet: “and you have made the nazirs drink wine, and you have commanded the prophets – ‘do not prophesy!’"(Amos 2:12).  The nazir is only pure, but does not serve the people.  The worst that can happen to him is that he can be corrupted.  The navi, in contrast, serves a greater function – to admonish and direct the people, so that when one opposes the navi, it is not by corrupting him, but by silencing him and preventing him from doing his duty and his role.

The problematic nature of the nazir is most highlighted in the prohibition of contact with the dead. Coming in contact with the dead, on the one hand transmits the highest form of tumah. At the same time, a person so ritually defiled, and even a corpse itself, is allowed in the camp of the Levites, the closest camp to the mikdash. Dealing with the dead is both a very physical, this-worldly experience, and is the most profound encounter with death and one’s mortality. Hence it is in strong contrast to a pursuit of kedusha and its focus on the spiritual, non-physical realm and in opposition to the immortality of God, the source of all life. On the other hand, dealing with the dead is one of the most profound mitzvot. It is achesed shel emet, a true selfless kindness, and the helping of the ill, the dying, and those who are dead is one of the most significant and weighty mitzvot that one can perform. The two cases of dealing with the dead in the Torah are exactly in the performance of such mitzvot – Moshe’s carrying of the bones of Yosef, and the people who were impure and could not bring the korban pesach, and who became impure because, as Chazal tell us, they had been burying the bodies of Nadav and Aviyhu.

Thus, the nazir’s removing himself from the contact with the dead is the removing of himself from the most basic act of engagement with this world, with people, and with their most human needs and concerns. Chazal could not accept this complete divorcing of oneself from the world, and hence stated that even the Kohen Gadol and even the nazirmust become impure for a met mitzvah, a corpse whom no one is burying. When there is no one else, then no one can forswear his obligation to respond to this profound human need.
It is for this reason that there exists a special category called nezirut Shimshon. This category serves to explain how Shimshon could have been a nazir and nevertheless regularly come in contact with the dead.  Chazal teach that this is a special type of nezirut, known as nezirut Shimshon,and while the other restrictions apply, such a nazir is allowed to become impure to the dead. On the face of it, it is hard to understand why coming in contact with the dead should be allowed to be as an exception.  Why should there not be other options of subdividing the prohibitions? Given the above, however, the explanation is obvious: Shimshon’s nezirut was tied into his leadership of Bnei Yisrael.  As the angel told Shimshon's mother:  “because a nazir to God the child will be from the womb, and he will begin to bring salvation to Israel from the Philistines.” (Shoftim 13:5) A nezirut of Shimshon is a nezirut of being a leader. It is not a self-serving religious pursuit, but a religious leadership. And to lead the people, one needs to be come in contact with the dead, one needs to get one’s hands dirty in the physical world, in the suffering, the losses, and sometimes the wars of the people. One cannot remain completely pure in such circumstances, but this is undoubtedly the highest calling.
This kedusha of the nezirut of Shimshon is thus like the kedusha of the Kohen, a kedusha of kehuna, literally, of service. It is a kedusha of being present in the mikdash, but of serving the people even in when one is in the mikdash. It is a service of bringing the kedusha of the mikdash to the outside world.  It is a kedusha that calls on a person to focus his or her activities outside the mikdash.  Let us remember that even Kohanim only served in the Temple one week out of every twenty-four, and that much of their role was to spread Torah throughout all of Israel: “they will teach Your laws to Jacob and Your teachings to Israel” (Devarim 33:10). 

When we are absent from the mikdash the answer is not to embrace the self-serving kedusha of the nazir.  It is to learn how to be kohanimoutside of the mikdash.  It is to learn how to find in our own lives a sanctity of service. The section of the nazir is fittingly followed by the section of birkhat Kohanim, of the priestly blessing. If our impulse is towards a kedusha of the nazir, we must learn how to transition from that to the kedusha of the Kohen.  In the end, we will be holy not because we have devoted our lives to bring holiness to ourselves, but because we have devoted our lives to bring holiness, to bring God’s blessing, to all of the Jewish people. 
Shabbat Shalom!

Happenings at the Yeshiva


This week students wrapped up their learning and professional classes, as they head off into the final week of yeshiva next week, where will be devoted to chazara and the taking of finals.

We had two special guests this week.  First, on Wednesday, we welcomed Rabbi Chaim Ovadia, rabbi of the Avenue U shul in Brooklyn, to deliver our final yahrtzeit shiur for the year.  This year our lectures were devoted to non-Lithuanian Achronim, and Rabbi Ovadia spoke on Rav Yaakov Chaim Sofer, author of the Kaf HaChayim (what might be called the Sephardi Mishna Brurah), whose yahrtzeit (or "neshama") was a week ago last Wednesday.  Rabbi Ovadia focused on the areas where the Kaf HaChayim addresses women's participation in various rituals - tikkun chatzot, saying berakhot on time-bound mitzvot, wearing tzitzit and the like.   In a number of places the Kaf HaChayim was quite progressive and even actively promoting women's participation (such as tikkun chatzot and the saying of berakhot), whereas in other places he was not so (such as wearing a talit).  Rabbi Ovadia's conclusion was that the rulings did not reflect a particular attitude towards women's participation, but rather the profound impact of kabbalah on the psakim of the Kaf HaChayim, so that when there was a positive Kabbalistic value for women to participate (for example, that it would tap into the feminine nature of the Divine), he would encourage it, and when there was not, he would not be interested in greater inclusion. 

The lecture led to fascinating discussions about the impact of larger society on psak, and more to the point, the impact of Kabbalah on Sephardic psak and the reasons why it would have such an influence.  It was a truly stimulating and horizon expanding lecture!  A special thank you to Rabbi Marc Angel and the Institute for Ideas and Ideals for connecting us with Rabbi Ovadia and helping make this lecture take place.

On Thursday we welcomed, for the second time this year, Rabbi Chaim Rapoport.  Rabbi Rapoport was visiting the States for various scholar-in-residence appearances, and made a special point of visiting YCT to connect with the students and to give some shiurim.  Rabbi Rapoport engaged students in a machshava discussion around the question of halakhot that are challenging to relate to.  Starting with Yom Tov Sheni in particular, but broadening the discussion to other areas, Rabbi Rapoport and the students explored what it means to find new meaning in certain practices when the old meanings no longer speak to us.   In short, a move away from apologetics and towards transvaluing.   The upshot was, that if we believe that halakha as we have it is an expression of God's will, then we can and must explore anew, in every generation, how this adds religious meaning to our lives, even if that meaning is different than what it was in the past.

After this thought provoking discussion, Rabbi Rapoport gave a shiur to students on mezuzah, looking at the legal-conceptual framing of the obligation, moving on to the debate in the Rishonim about whether we should mezuzah functioning as a type of protection (Tosafot), or whether this is a perversion of the idea of mezuzah (Rambam), and ending with an inspection of practical questions and cases that arise in the laws of mezuzah and different types of home and room configurations. 

All in all a week of great learning, great guests and great shiurim!

And, finally, a big Mazal Tov to Shuli Boxer Rieser, Rabbi Weiss' Executive Assistant, and her husband Ari, on the birth of a baby girl Thursday morning.  She'tizku li'gadlah li'Torah li'chuppah u'li'maasim tovim!

Thursday, May 24, 2012

A Thought on Shavuot


A Thought on Shavuot - The Obligations of Tzedek
(an earlier version of this appeared in the 5769 AJWS Chag v'Chesed).

The holiday of Shavuot is generally assumed to commemorate the giving of the Torah, which occurred on the sixth of Sivan. In the Torah, however, Shavuot is only described as an agricultural holiday and occurs not on any particular calendrical date, but at the culmination of seven weeks from the beginning of the harvest season that occurs on the second day of Pesach. Shavuot is chag hakatzir, the holiday of harvest, and is closely linked with Sukkot, chag ha’asif, the holiday of the ingathering of the crops. These are the two holidays on which the Torah commands us to be joyous—v’samachta lifnei Hashem¸ “and you shall be joyous before God” (Deuteronomy 16:11) and v’samachta bi’chagekha, “and you shall be joyous on your festivals” (Deuteronomy 16:14), respectively.

A year of agricultural bounty naturally evokes a sense of joy over one’s accomplishment, security and success. The Torah insists, however, that this joy not be focused merely on oneself, as this could lead to self-satisfaction and arrogance. Rather, the joy is to be directed to God (Deuteronomy 16:11), recognizing that it is only with God’s assistance that we have achieved this success.

However, thanksgiving to God is not the only, nor even the primary, theme of this Festival of the Harvest. As exemplified vividly in the book of Ruth, it was during this time of year that the entire Israelite nation, individually and collectively, provided for the poor who had no land of their own and no crops to harvest. In accordance with the Torah’s mitzvot, which appear immediately in the context of the holiday of Shavuot (Leviticus 23:22), landed farmers left an uncut corner of the field, together with whatever was dropped and forgotten during the harvest, for the poor to reap and glean for themselves.

These two themes—thanksgiving to God and support of the poor—are interconnected, and the Torah states so explicitly, “You shall rejoice before God … you, and the stranger and the orphan and the widow who are in your midst” (Deuteronomy 16:11). If we recognize our material success as coming from God, then we will understand that religious responsibilities attach to that wealth. Just as God is described as caring for the poor and orphan, just as God’s compassion extends to all of God’s creatures, so too, as beneficiaries of God’s beneficence, we must use our means to similarly care for those who are poor and downtrodden.

This framing emphasizes the Jewish value of chesed, the magnanimous act of helping others. There is, however, a more important theme at play here, and that is the value of tzedek, of doing what is just and right toward other members of society. In commanding us to leave the gleanings for the poor, the Torah concludes, “and you shall remember that you were slaves in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 16:12). As slaves, we learned what it meant to be strangers, to be marginalized and vulnerable people in society. As free people, we must create a society that is based on tzedek, on the equal protection of all of its members: “Like a citizen among you shall be the stranger who is dwelling among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 19:34). Now that we have been redeemed and have gone from slaves to free people, from strangers to citizens, we must make sure to not follow in the ways of our past oppressors. This is a basic responsibility of being a citizen: to take responsibility for all of the members of society, its citizens and its strangers, its strong and its weak.

As an expression of tzedek, this obligation relates to how we structure our society, and thus taking care of the poor has always been recognized as a communal responsibility. The Mishnah tractate of Peah is devoted to the agricultural gifts of Shavuot, and it is here that we are introduced to the rabbinic institution of the soup kitchen (tamchoi), for the town’s visiting poor and the charity box (kanon), for the town’s local poor. These rabbinic institutions were thus modeled after the communal, agricultural gifts of Shavuot, and, I believe, these communal gifts later served as a model for the Hebrew Free Loan Societies which began as local, communal institutions.

While as individuals we have largely excelled in acts of chesed and tzedek, there is work that still needs to be done to build and support communal institutions directed towards these goals, institutions in which everyone participates, everyone gives, and everyone in the community is cared for.  We must strive to live up to the demands of tzedek to do everything in our power to ensure that all members of our various communities—religious, local and global—are protected, are given the dignity that they deserve and are empowered so that they can take their rightful place as full, participating members of our community.

A thought on the Parsha


Feel free to download and print this week's Parsha Sheet and share it with your friends and family: 

To Roam without Ever Leaving
This week, when we move from sefer Vayikra to sefer Bamidbar, we are finally moving away from Har Sinai, where Bnei Yisrael have been for almost a year. From the middle of Shemot through the end of Vayikra, they have been encamped at the foot of Har Sinai, having received the Torah, mitzvot and the laws, and then all the laws of the Kohanim, through Kedoshim and Behar Bichukotai. It is only because we lose sight of this that the opening of Behar takes us by surprise. "What does Shmita have to do with Mt. Sinai?" Rashi asks. The answer is obvious - because they are still there, and the parsha is reminding us of that, as it draws to wrap up their experience at Har Sinai.

Now, this experience at the foot of Har Sinai can be likened to the period of the chuppah and the sheva brakhot. The moment of the giving of the Torah was the moment of marriage (nissuim). The intimacy, intensity, and immediacy of the connection and self-revelation that occurred between God and Bnei Yisrael is like the coming together of chatan and kallah, the consummation of the betrothal (kiddushin). In addition to the intensity of the love , thebrit is actualized and the full obligations of the relationship are accepted -the mitzvot and the laws - with the sefer habrit, the book of the covenant that Moshe presents the Children of Israel (see Shemot 24:7), serving as the ketuvah, with all its reciprocal obligations.

Now, however, as we move to Bamidbar, it is time to move away from the chuppah, and to move on with our lives. The question will be - how has our life changed and how will we move forward? The Torah tells us that when we camp elsewhere, the encampment must always be with the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, in the center. Even when we break camp and move forward, the Mishkan must move in the center. As the Torah says in Terumah - "and I will dwell in their midst" (Shemot 25:8). Even when we depart Har Sinai, when we are distant from the immediacy of the Shekhina, we must always encamp around the Mishkan - we must orient our lives towards God and God's presence. And when we move - it is in the context of our relationship to God - "by the command of God they encamped, and by the command of God they moved." (Bamidbar 9:23).  Thus, no matter how geographically distant we are, we will not lose our way if we continue to orient ourselves to God, to encamp, literally or by orientation, around the Mishkan. The remainder of Bamidbar is the working out of this challenge - can Bnei Yisrael depart from Har Sinai, and continue to keep God in their midst, continue to orient themselves towards God's presence? We know this is not trivial, for when one is physically distant, it is easy to lose one’s way and to forget what is central and essential in one's life.

This is also the challenge that presents itself in an actual marriage.  As a couple moves from the chuppah and the sheva brakhot and begins to move forward and continue with their life, how will they orient themselves towards one another? Sometimes one spouse will need to travel geographically, or will need to involve him or herself in career, education, or other demands or pursuits. This is a necessary part of life. We must move from Har Sinai. But if we have worked on the relationship, and continue to work on the relationship, then wherever and whenever one travels, the other will always be their center, and all that we pursue will be with the other in mind. John Donne put it best in his "Valediction: Forbidding Mourning":

Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two:
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do;

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like the other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

As we enter into the chag of Shavuot, the day we celebrate the giving of the Torah and the beginning of the marriage between ourselves and God, let us take a moment to pause and ask ourselves how we keep God and the Torah at the center of our lives.  How do we remain encamped around the Mishkan, so  that wherever and however far we doth roam, God and Torah will be our center, allowing us to make our circle just and end where we had begun.