Rabbi Neal's Weekly Commentary

Copyright 2013 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Acharei Mot- Kedoshim

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself. . . ” (Vayikra/ Leviticus 19:18)

Greetings from the relatively calm Hudson Valley.

As I write this, the city of Boston is on lock-down as the police search for one of the suspects in Monday’s terrible Boston Marathon bombing. The images from the Bay State greatly sadden me, if for no other reason than I recognize some of the areas now filled with armed police. (I lived in the Boston area for several years before coming to Poughkeepsie.)  It’s almost impossible for me to understand how a soul can be twisted and deformed to the point of terrorism. Leaving a homemade bomb in the middle of families and bystanders is an act beyond moral comprehension or ability to imagine.

Violence and cruelty have always been part of the human experience, but they are not the whole of the human experience. Love is also definitive of humanity; one need only think of the utterly brave and selfless responders (both professionals and ordinary folks) who rushed towards the explosions in Boston and Texas, ready to give of themselves to save and comfort the injured and frightened. We read in this week’s Torah portion that an aspect of kedusha, or holiness, is to love our neighbors as ourselves. As Rabbi Joe Potasnik of the New York Board of Rabbis pointed out earlier this week, our “neighbor” may be the person nearby who all of a sudden needs our love and compassion, though we have never met before.

Rabbi Akiva famously taught that “love your neighbor as yourself” is the great principle of the Torah, but its application requires effort and reflection. The Torah Temimah, an anthology of rabbinic references to Torah verses, notes two separate texts from the Talmud where “love your neighbor” is used to clarify that the execution of criminals is to be done in the swiftest way possible. In other words, love does not set aside the demands of justice, but guides us in the application of justice. This, to me, is quite profound: the Talmud recognize that even a criminal deserving of death is, in a very real sense, our neighbor, and not exempted from our moral obligations and sensibilities. We do not call for bloody retribution, but for justice, tempered not by mercy, as such, but by a concern for retaining our own humanity in the face of cruelty and murder.

If the Boston bomber is taken alive, let him be tried and punished fairly, precisely to show him, the world and ourselves we are never who our enemies say we are. Love- for the stranger, the neighbor and even the one deserving of severe punishment- will be our redemption, and is, I believe, stronger than any bomb or weapon. The love demanded by the Torah is neither foolish nor naive; it is, instead, our light and guidance in navigating a sometimes cruel and painful world.

With prayers for a Shabbat of healing and hope,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Copyright Neal Joseph Loevinger 2010

Torah Portion: Achrei-Mot/ Kedoshim

This week’s double portion has three distinct themes (and a few other laws mixed in): first, the laws of Yom Kippur. Second, laws of sex and family life. Third, ethical and social principles. The parsha ends by returning to the topic of sex and family life.

Greetings on a beautiful spring day!

The portion Kedoshim begins with the general injunction to be “holy,” or kadosh:

“You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy, , , ” (Vayikra/ Leviticus 19:1)

This verse has mountains of commentary heaped upon it, which we’ll climb another time, but for now it’s enough to note that some see the idea of “holiness” as related to separation from sin and the practices of the nations that surrounded ancient Israel. This reading is supported by a passage towards the end of the next chapter:

“You shall not follow the practices of the nation that I am driving out before you. . . . You shall be holy to Me, for I the Lord am holy, and I have set you apart from other peoples to be Mine.” (Vayikra 20:23-26)

Verse 23, above, about not “following the practices” of other nations, was interpreted by the ancient rabbis as a general principle that Jews should not adopt or copy the cultural or religious practices of other nations. That’s why some groups of Jews adopt distinctive dress, for example- adopting modern styles might be seen as following a foreign culture.

Most of us- at least, the likely readers of this commentary- consciously choose to “live in two civilizations,” to quote Mordecai Kaplan, and we’re perfectly comfortable dressing, talking, working, singing and going about our daily lives as Americans, Canadians, etc. Yet it’s equally true that most committed Jews have a notion of Jewish authenticity, or at least a vague sense that not every Jewish practice is adaptable to changing cultural norms. A funny example from last December occurred when we somehow ended up with a few (kosher) Christmas cookies mixed in with the cakes at the Shabbat oneg [refreshments]. Even though they came from the bakery that I myself supervise, quite a few congregants had the emotional reaction that Christmas cookies (little stars with silver sprinkles) just can’t be kosher and don’t belong on a synagogue table.

Scholars and historians write books upon books discussing how Judaism adapts- or rejects- input from the general culture- it’s not a simple subject. Yet it’s worth considering that many of the practices most familiar to North American Jews- especially relating to clergy and synagogue services- are direct and conscious adoptions of non-Jewish customs. These include special robes for clergy; the leading role that rabbis play in worship; standing for the Shma; and choirs and instruments during religious services. I bring up these examples neither to advocate nor condemn, but merely to point out that what’s “traditional” to one congregation may be seen as distastefully inauthentic in another. Not every innovation works to further basic Jewish ideals, and Judaism has to be something that connects Jews to our history as well as Jews in other cultures- yet who among us objects to singing Adon Olam to the “traditional melody,” which was once a German beer-hall song?

I offer no simple resolution, but instead an opportunity to learn more; one cannot determine one’s own criteria for Jewish authenticity without information on the background and meaning of prayers and practices. A Judaism which is not somehow set apart is not Judaism; a Judaism which is only set apart has no ability to engage and raise up the culture around it. In between those extremes we try to discern a balance between tradition and change, which is not a Conservative slogan but the perpetual endeavor of our people.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

P.S.- I started thinking about this issue a few weeks ago, during Pesach, when I adapted an old Southern folk melody to a piece of Hallel [the Psalms of praise sung during holidays]. If you want to hear Jerry Garcia sing The Sweet Sunny South, click the link; if you want to hear how I adapted it to pitchu li, sha’arey tzedek. . . (Ps. 118), you’ll have to come to our minyan on Rosh Hodesh or another holiday.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Kedoshim

Kedoshim has many ethical and religious principles but one of the most
universal is respect for the elderly:

“You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you
shall fear your God: I am the Lord.”
(Vayikra/Leviticus 19:32)

Our friend Rashi explains that this verse seems to teach the same
thing twice but actually clarifies its application: the use of the
word “zaken” in the second clause means that we should honor the
elderly who have acquired wisdom, and not necessarily any senior
sinner. “Zaken” means both “elderly” and “beard” (not unrelated
meanings, obviously, at least, when one considers Bronze age
lifespans) but has a context in the Torah which leads Rashi to
conclude that it means those who have wisdom.

We might also take Rashi’s point in a slightly broader way: we are to
honor the elderly because they are presumed to have wisdom. This
means, in practical terms (again, according to Rashi) not sitting in
an elder’s customary place, not contradicting them or taking their
turn to speak. I don’t think Rashi means to limit the way we honor the
elderly by these examples, but rather intends them as the kinds of
behaviors which are paradigmatic of honoring.

Honoring the aged isn’t just good manners; it’s a core mitzvah of
Judaism which stands in stark contrast to the the youth obsessed
culture of contemporary America. We assume that young is “cool” and
the latest styles are worthy of the biggest news, but Judaism teaches
humility literally “in the face of” age [p’nai zaken] and the wisdom
it may impart. To put it another way, to honor the aged is to practice
the discipline of service and to train ourselves in humility,
precisely when it might be easiest to be arrogant and condescending.
It is to remind ourselves that every human being owes gratitude to
those who came before, and we are all, indeed, one human family.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Sukkot

This week’s parsha study is a bit too long, I suppose, and yet not
long enough, for the themes of loss and renewal are ones to
which I have given much reflection in past year. I offer this week’s
teaching to you on the occasion of the first yahrzeit of my mother,
zichrona l’vracha; the year since her passing has taught me
much Torah which I would have preferred not to learn.

With that: Kedoshim. The overall theme of the Torah portion
Kedoshim parsha might be described as spiritually centered
ethical sensitivity, including respect for one’s body:

“You shall not make cuts in your flesh for a person [who died].
You shall not incise any mark on yourselves. I am the Lord.”
(Vayikra/ Leviticus 19:28)

Most traditional and modern Torah commentators see the first
prohibition in the context of other religious traditions. Rashi, for
example, says that the Amorites cut themselves when a relative
died. Our Conservative Etz Hayyim commentary, in the historical
notes, says that “pagan priests gashed themselves as they
called upon their gods to answer their prayers.” (Cf.1 Kings
18:28)

OK, so far, so good- the Torah doesn’t want the Israelites to copy
a painful or destructive religious practice from their neighbors,
and in fact this verse continues to inform a traditional Jewish
disapproval of marking or mutilating the body. (Yes, this may
include tattoos, so please see the footnotes for an internet
reference.)

Yet I think there may be an understanding of this verse which
goes beyond distinguishing between Israelite and non-Israelite
religion. Picking up on Rashi’s comment that there were people
who made cuts in their bodies when a relative died, perhaps we
might ask: what does causing oneself pain have to do with grief,
and why is this so problematic from a Jewish perspective?

Emotional pain, like physical pain, can sometimes be
overwhelming, and when it is, the resulting state can be a kind of
internal numbness or emptiness. For example, on many
occasions I’ve heard people say that they couldn’t really
remember what happened at the funeral of a loved one- their
memory was bleary because they felt so shut down with grief
and loss at the time. Most people who go through such periods
experience this numbness or emptiness as a temporary state,
and soon resume their normal interactions and daily affairs.

Sometimes, when these emotions of emptiness or numbness
are profound or persistent, people may do self-destructive things
(addictions, sexual acting-out, risky behaviors, directing anger or
negativity at others) simply to feel anything at all. When one is
deeply disconnected from ordinary joy, then pain becomes a
tragic way to feel alive, as it were.

This idea- that pain is a way to feel alive when nothing else
seems to work- was expressed marvelously by the late Johnny
Cash, in his cover of the song “Hurt,” recorded in 2002. This
song, about drug addiction and grief, begins with a powerful
description of one who literally cuts himself (with a needle):

“I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real . . . ”

To me, this puts our verse in a new light: the Torah is warning us
that indeed, sometimes the pain of loss is so great that the
human heart can empty out or just shut down, and when that
happens, a person is in spiritual and physical danger. I think the
Torah’s perspective is very realistic; Judaism does not deny the
reality of loss, or attempt to gloss it over, but instead bids us to
be aware of what might happen at life’s darkest times. This kind
of loss is not limited to the death of loved ones, but we might
understand grief after death as emblematic of being
overwhelmed by emotional pain.

The question then follows: how do we apply this insight more
generally? For me, the answer lies in Judaism’s emphasis on
committing ourselves to community. Rather giving in to the
temptation of self-seclusion in painful times, Judaism invites us
to make a minyan with others, in order to draw strength from
others and receive the compassion of those further along the
path of healing.

Furthermore, if we join together in prayer, learning, and
engaging in acts of loving-kindness, as part of a spiritual
community, then we are also more likely to see beyond our own
pain to recognizing hurt in others. We can then offer our love and
support, and rediscover our own capacities for giving and
empathy; giving to others draws us out and sets us right. Pain
often makes a person focus on themselves; Judaism
challenges a person to shift that focus to the wider world. In
healing the world, we sense the possibility of healing ourselves;
in loving others, we are offered the hope of overcoming loss, and
reclaiming the gift of life.

Seen this way, “you shall not make cuts in your flesh” becomes
both a warning and an affirmation: a warning about what can
happen when we become isolated in grief, loss and pain, and
an affirmation that we need not add self-inflicted wounds to the
hurts which life will inevitably inflict. We can- with great effort,
self-awareness, the love of friends and the grace of God- choose
life.

shabbat shalom,

rnjl

PS- These thoughts about Torah are offered from a rabbi’s
perspective on grief and healing; there are times when
professional help is more appropriate than rabbinic reflections.

PPS- as usual, you can read the entire text of this week’s Torah
portion and haftarah here:

http://learn.jtsa.edu/topics/parashah/index.shtml

PPPS- Since I know that this verse raises the question of Jews
and tattoos, here’s a link to a good article about it, written by a
Conservative rabbi:

http://www.myjewishlearning.com/daily_life/TheBody/
Adorning_the_Body/Tattoo.htm

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Kedoshim

This d’var Torah was originally distributed by Kolel: The Adult Center for Jewish Learning during the year 5760 and can be found in its archives.

OVERVIEW

Kedoshim literally means “holy things,” and this parasha is a list of behaviours that are either holy or not holy. These laws are both ethical and religious, and sometimes both, as in the prohibitions against certain kinds of incest. Other famous laws in this section include the prohibition against putting a “stumbling block” before the blind, and the commandment to “love your fellow human as yourself.” Israel is commanded to be holy just as Israel’s God is Holy.

IN FOCUS

“God spoke to Moshe, saying: ‘Speak to the entire Israelite community, and say to them: “You must be holy, for I, Y-H your God am Holy.” ‘ ” (Leviticus 19:1-2)

PSHAT

Holiness is understood here as related to, or as a function of, Israel’s relationship with God. Note also its inclusiveness; holiness is something that is every Israelite’s responsibility and potential.

DRASH

The verses quoted above set off a lively discussion among the classic commentators, who want to know what holiness is, where it comes from, why every single Israelite is commanded to strive for it, and why God’s Holiness is the concept that introduces this whole section of Torah.

Rashi thinks that kadosh, which we translate as “holy,” means “separate,” and he sees this verse as the link between the previous parasha, which details sexual prohibitions, and this one. Thus, for Rashi, the crucial idea is that holiness is achieved by separating oneself from sexual immorality- he says (based on an earlier midrashic comment) that these following verses are so important that a big part of the Torah “hangs” on them, which is why every single Israelite had to be instructed and included.

Ramban on the other hand, sees kedusha, or holiness, in more general terms. As I understand his comments, he agrees with Rashi that holiness is linked to the idea of separation. However, he thinks that the issue here is not separating from sin- after all, you wouldn’t need a separate verse to tell you that!- but separating from things that are not “sinful,” per se, but bad in excess. Just as God embodies everything that is good and worthy, so we too should strive for an overall worthiness of character. Ramban gives the example of someone who can have sex with a permitted partner, or eat permitted foods- but does so in a way that bespeaks immaturity and coarseness of character.

This person (in Ramban’s example)- who does not live in a “holy” way, but isn’t an evil person either- is unenlightened or unspiritual, just living a kind of mere physical existence without awareness of spiritual virtues. Thus, for Ramban, this verse in the Torah is telling us to live our lives as gracefully and as consciously as we can- not just going through the motions of religious rituals and rules but striving for spiritual awareness and refinement of character.

The Or HaChaim (R. Chaim Ben Attar, an 18th century Moroccan commentator) writes a long exposition of this verse, most of which is similar to Ramban’s approach. Yet at the end of his comments, he offers an entirely different interpretation, based on the Zohar: “kedoshim ti’hiyu” [be holy!] is an invitation to become like the angels, who are called “kedoshim,” or “holy beings.” According to this midrash, before the Israelites built the Mishkan, [portable Sanctuary], the angels used to create a “dwelling place” for God in the heavens- but now that the Israelites have created such a “dwelling place,” they are like the Heavenly Hosts, with God’s Presence at the centre of their assembly.

I don’t think this midrash is proposing that that God literally “dwelled” in any one place; I read this as metaphoric language describing human spiritual potential. It is our “job,” as it were, to make God’s Presence felt in this world- when we do that, we ourselves become holy beings. We can either have God’s Presence in the centre of our “camp,” or we can have something else.

All the commentators agree on one idea: holiness is a function of how we act in the world.

This point was articulated beautifully by Rabbi Sidney Greenberg, one of the great Jewish preachers of our age. R. Greenberg sees holiness as linked to all of the ethical principles in this entire section of Leviticus. Thus he writes:

Holiness. . . is accessible to all. Nor is holiness achieved by turning one’s back on society and the world. It is achieved in the midst of daily living. Holiness is not something apart from life, it is a part of life.

The Bible then proceeds to teach us that holiness is not an abstract or mystical idea; it is meant to be a principle which regulates our daily lives. How is holiness attained? By honoring parents, observing the Sabbath, doing kindness to the needy, paying wages promptly, dealing honestly in business, refraining from talebearing, loving one’s neighbor, showing cordiality to the stranger, and acting justly.

Holiness is the crucial dimension of daily living.