Wednesday, May 6, 2009

"Parshat Emor"

The Disqualified Kohen (Leviticus 21:16-22)

Questions by Joel Cohen

We consider ourselves a spiritual people, a people who look out for the downtrodden among us, a people who are obliged to judge each other by their character -- not by wealth or physical process. Still, when it comes to the kohen serving in the Temple, the Bible clearly looks down and disqualifies the unfortunate.
What is this about? Well, the parsha quotes God’s specific instruction to Moses that a descendant of Aaron who is blemished, or blind, or lame, or having a nose with no bridge, or having one limb longer than the other, or with a broken leg or arm, or with abnormally long eyebrows, or with a membrane on his eye, or a blemished eye, or a dry skin eruption, or moist skin eruption, or crushed testicles, “shall not come near to offer the food of his God.” Nor may he eat from the offering as might a non-disqualified kohen. For, if he were to do so, he would “desecrate My sacred offerings, for I am God, Who sanctifies them.”
So, here, we have God Himself telling us that those unfortunate individuals among us, as enumerated above, who have done nothing sinful leading to or causing the infirmities, are disqualified from service in the Temple. Given this challenging Biblical instruction by God, how does God expect us, the rank and file among His followers, to treat the downtrodden or the deformed better than He is willing to? Aren’t we supposed to try to emulate His ways?

Rabbi Adam Mintz
Joel---your question this week is a troubling and difficult one. It is also a question for which most of the medieval explanations will not satisfy our twenty-first century sensitivities. The classic explanation teaches that the kohen represents the people to God. However, he also represents God to the people. In this second role, it is vital that the kohen be “perfect” without spiritual or physical imperfections. This explanation resonates with a world that considered physical deformities as blemishes and felt that such people could not assume positions of leadership.
However, this view was not limited to the medieval period. As we all know, President Franklin D. Roosevelt had polio as a child and had trouble walking. Yet, whenever he spoke publicly he always stood supporting himself on the podium. This was such a concern that at his last State of the Union Address in early 1945, just months before he died, the speech was limited to eight minutes because the doctors determined that he could only stand for that period of time. It is a very recent phenomenon that we do not discriminate or think less of people with physical deformities.
But---Joel---does this really answer your question? The Torah is God’s word. Shouldn’t God in His Torah rise above the prejudices of the time and use the blemished kohen as a example for the acceptance of all people regardless of infirmities? Here, the rabbis suggest an insightful answer. They explain that the Torah was written in a language that would be easily understandable to people in every generation. God did not attempt to create a moral and religious code that people would consider unobtainable. The Torah is not in heaven---says Moshe at the end of the Book of Devarim. This is not only in terms of its religious message but also in regard to the practical lessons that it teaches. If the Torah were to have treated blemished kohanim as if they were unblemished, the people might have seen the Torah as being unrelated to the world. So, the Torah is articulated in a manner that people could accept.
I believe that the idea of rephrasing an idea in a language that will be better understood and accepted by the intended audience is an important lesson for all of us in every generation.

Eli Popack
Thank G‑d for the Zohar!

To be honest, this question has bothered me ever since the first time I was taught this section in elementary school. Days before learning this Parshah, one of the children had made a snide comment about handicapped people, and landed our class a lengthy lecture on respecting the true value of a human being, and recognizing that people with handicaps actually possess souls of a higher nature than the rest of us… And then the following week we learned that these "holiest" people were "unfit" to serve in the Temple.

This week I discovered in the Zohar – a text written many centuries before sensitivity towards the disabled became, thankfully, the norm – that my teacher was correct. It is indeed true that the disabled have greater merit than the rest of us; and for precisely this reason they cannot work in the Temple. However, Joel, contrary to what you wrote, they may eat from the sacrifices: "His G‑d's food from the most holy and from the holy ones, he may eat" (Lev. 21:22).

In the words of the classic Kabbalistic text (Zohar, Vayeshev 181a):

Rabbi Shimon opened with the verse: "Only, he shall not go in to the veil, nor come near to the altar, because he has a blemish..." (Lev. 21:23).

...When the moon is rendered defective by the same aspect of the evil serpent, all the souls that are issued at that time, although they were all pure and sacred, are flawed. Since they emerged at a defective time, their bodies are crushed, and the souls suffer pains and afflictions wherever they reach. The Holy One, blessed be He, cares for and loves those who are broken, although their souls are sad instead of joyous.

…These righteous are the constant companions of the moon and have the identical defects.... And "G‑d is near to them who are of a broken heart" (Psalms 34:19)—that is, to those who suffer from the same defect as the moon, those who are always near her. "And He saves such as are of a contrite spirit" (ibid.), by giving them a portion of the life …because they who suffered with her shall also be renewed with her."

...Those defects from which the righteous suffer are called "sufferings of love," because they are caused by love and not by the man himself…Happy is their portion in this world and in the world to come...

The third Lubavitcher Rebbe explains this passage of the Zohar in Derech Mitzvotecha, his tract on the inner meanings of the mitzvot. The following is my humble understanding of his dissertation:

G‑d created the world following a very complex plan. He wanted a world where there would be opposition to Him, and that we should overcome the opposition and reveal the truth—that G‑d is all and all is G‑d.

Ambushing is a classic battle tactic: allow the enemy small advances, and even victories, only so that they eventually fall in your hands, completely vanquished. There is a price to pay for this, but within the pain of these losses lies the potential for the ultimate victory.

In order to allow for ultimate victory, G‑d created a situation where the opposition – which He Himself created – can make small advances and even expropriate some divine energy. When the enemy lets down its guard, as it were, they are vulnerable and can be vanquished.

The moon represents this very idea: each month suffering losses, steadily waning, until it is reborn at the beginning of the following cycle.

Our souls, each a part of G‑d above, are born within the war room where G‑d's strategic plan was devised and is being monitored. Some souls are born when the figurative moon shines bright, and some are born within the ambush strategy. The latter group is born disabled and challenged, going through the world bearing the burden and pain that the G‑dly energy that they mirror suffers too.

But we all know that the moon doesn't actually shrink or vanish; it only compromises some of its external expression—the light that it emits to benefit us here on planet Earth. Similarly, the "opposition" doesn't affect, or receive from, the essence of the G‑dly energy—it can only take its spoils from G‑d's external manifestations.

The same is true with handicapped individuals: though the external elements of their souls are inhibited and temporarily held captive by "the opposition," internally they are whole, like the moon in the latter half of the cycle. They suffer with G‑d, but they will have a greater part in His ultimate victory for they too bear His wound.

G‑d is present in the entire world, but in the Holy Temple His glory is open and manifest. Since the souls within handicapped bodies are avatars of G‑d's hiddenness, of the temporary victories that the enemy achieves in their attempt to obscure the divine reality, their service in the Temple would be inappropriate.

But the meat of the sacrifices carries holiness that is not revealed. Therefore: "His G‑d's food from the most holy and from the holy ones, he may eat."

2 comments:

lubav said...

Parshas Emor, Leviticus 21-24, focuses on the Cohanim - the sons of Aaron who were to work in the temple. Many Cohanim were excluded from Temple service because of a physical defect: bald, lame, dwarf, left-handed, etc. This would seem unfair in this the era of the Americans with Disabilities Act.

The Temple sacrifices were a vehicle for connecting to the Almighty. Any distraction would lessen that process. We wanted the Cohanim to be invisible. Not that those who worked in the Temple were the "beautiful" people, but rather the "average Joe". Something as simple as a unibrow would shift the focus of this achieved relationship to something else.

The animals, on the other hand, were much more scrutinized. They had to be perfect - a split lip would invalidate the animal. When doing a mitzvah - only the best will do. The connection made to Hashem through the sacrifice was dependant on the intention of the one who offered it. The relationship we have with Hashem is the relationship we make with Hashem.


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JUST A GUY said...

If I am Here, All is Here
October 14, 2006 / 22 Tishrei 5767
by: Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson

Shemini Atzeret, in some regards the conclusion of Sukkot, is in other important respects a holy day all its own. Certainly in the number of sacrifices offered, Shemini Atzeret is distinct. The Midrash suggests that Sukkot is a festival during which sacrifice is offered for all the peoples of the world. At the end of that week of universal concern, God bids the Children of Israel to stay for an extra day to commune with God, like a beloved friend is asked to stay at the party after the other dear guests depart. As we contemplate abiding in God’s presence, some painful questions intrude: are we really good enough to do this? Are we pure enough? Are we holy enough? Has the Torah (and the season of teshuvah) sufficiently gone through us to transform us into someone sufficiently righteous to stand with the Jewish community in purity and holiness? Won't our shortcomings become immediately apparent, and immediately visible?

I've been with that doubt, and one of the things that any observant Jew will attest to is that whatever you're thinking about, you will find staring back at you from the Torah...sometimes in a helpful way. So it was no surprise to me last spring, as we were wallowing in yet another reading about priestly ritual and priestly sacrifice – inspiring to you as it is also to me – that I came across a relevant and troubling passage: “Ish mizeracha l'dorotam asher yiheyeh bo mum, lo yikra lehakriv lechem l'elohav; ki chol ish asher bo mum lo yikrav – No one of your offspring throughout the ages who has a defect – a mum – shall be qualified to offer food to God; no one who has a mum – a defect – shall be qualified."

Now, I have been schooled in the historical method, and my first defense against troubling verses in the Torah is to quarantine them securely behind a historical context, so I began my contemplation using that approach. The Kohen in the Temple is to be a symbol of perfection, and therefore, because the ritual is physical, his perfection must also be physical. And that perfection is understood by the biblical mind as shleimut—as wholeness. Therefore, the Kohen can't be missing any part, because he has to symbolize that wholeness in the presence of God. Indeed, as the Torah goes on to state, “ach el ha-parochet lo yavo'u, v'el ha-mizbeach lo yigash, ki mum bo – One who has a defect shall not enter behind the curtain, nor come near the altar.”

But history doesn't remove the problem here. Are we then saying that you can't draw near to God; you cannot serve on behalf of the community, if you have a mum, a defect? Is there anyone among us who is perfect? Is there anyone here – or anywhere – who doesn't, in fact, manifest not one mum, but many? Is it possible that only those who are perfect are capable of serving God and of serving each other? Certainly, on a literal level, this has not been true in Jewish life. Our father Jacob limped his way into greatness. Moses spoke what are surely history's greatest speeches with a speech impediment. The Talmud is filled with great figures – Nahum ish Gamzo, Rav Sheshet, and others – who, with their physical blemishes, perhaps because of them, went on to attain spiritual greatness. And then, theologically, certain it is that God is the only one who is perfect. Can it be, then, that only God can serve?

The Torah raises this question in the book of Devarim. “Shichet lo? Lo! banav mumam – Is corruption then God's? No, God's children are the ones who are blemished." To which the rabbinic genius turns the verse around: "Af al pi shehem m'laim mumim, kruim banim – even though they are full of blemishes, they are still God's children."

We are, my friends, God's children, blemishes, defects, imperfections, and all, and we cannot afford to allow our shortcomings to prevent us from offering bold leadership, from taking the responsibility that is ours to do what good we can, to glorify Torah as we might. So I'd like to try to offer you a different percolation of that initial verse in Parashat Emor. I'd like you to consider the fact that the one thing a person cannot ever truly have is a defect. A defect is a lack of something. How can you possibly possess that which you lack? What you have when you have a mum is not a lack--you have the perception of lacking something. A mum is only possible if you construe yourself as somehow deficient.

A mum, then, is that lack which makes you feel incomplete. It is the part of some imaginary whole that cannot exist but in your mind. I would like to propose to you, then, that wholeness does not mean physical perfection. Indeed, shleimut is not perfection of any kind. Shleimut means serving God with all your being, with the entirety of who you are, with leaving no part of yourself outside of the divine service--"bechol levav'cha, uvechol nafshecha, uvechol meod'cha." God doesn't demand of us that we apportion ourselves into little pieces, some parts of which are kosher, some parts of which are acceptable, some parts of which may be public, and the rest must be hidden away. It is that hiding which is the mum, and a person with such a mum cannot serve the Holy One, and cannot stand before an imperfect community pretending to be perfect.

One can serve the Eternal only with the wholeness that comes from imperfection; with one's entire being, both positive traits and negative. As Rashi says, "bishnei yitzarecha." You can serve the Lord only if your entire history, your entire life, is brought with you into the divine service. Only if your mind and your heart and your soul are engaged passionately in the works that you do and, as we remind ourselves each Kol Nidrei, so that we can forget for yet another year, only if you bring with you your entire community--not just the saints but the sinners too.

Perhaps then, the wholeness to which the Torah alludes is the willingness to stand in your entirety – warts and all, defects and all – and to offer them to God as a sacred service. Perhaps what the Torah is reminding us, then, is an insistence on a community that includes all of its members – that makes none of them invisible, that asks none of them to step outside. Perhaps only that community is a community fit to offer sacrifice that God will accept.

We are charged, then, with a simple but awesome task:

Bring your entire being to the service of God and your fellow creatures. Leave no part of yourself outside. Leave no piece of yourself invisible. Be passionate in the service you offer as rabbis. The Talmud reminds us, "Ha-Kadosh Barukh Hu liva bei--God wants the heart." Teach the Jews whom you will serve that they, too, are precious, and that each one of them, because of their imperfections, are truly God's children. Teach them not to postpone encountering Torah, living mitzvot, and rejoicing in God's love until the day that they are perfect – such a day will never come. And besides, the Torah was not given to angels. We are all of us blemished; human wholeness does not come from some elusive perfection, but rather from the radical act of taking hold of our imperfections and offering even them. "Bechol derakhekha da'ehu--in all your ways, know God."

It is recorded in Massekhet Sukkah that Hillel has the audacity to speak on God's behalf. I am going to take my cue from him and muster the audacity to mistranslate Hillel. God (if not Hillel) would want it that way. "'Im ani kan, hakol kan. If I am here,' says God, 'all is here.'" Who knows, but that for God to be truly present, our all must also be truly present.

In all things, we can celebrate that presence, and inspire the people whose lives we touch to feel that presence and to share their own.


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