Parashat Aharei Mot—K'doshim

Leviticus 16:1–20:27

The third verse of Parashat K'doshim says, "Ish imo v'aviv tira'u" (One should revere his mother and father) (Lev. 19:3). The same mandate appears twice as the fifth commandment, "Kabed et avikha v'et imekha" (Honor your father and your mother) (Exod. 20:12; Deut. 5:16). Honoring parents was considered a virtue in the Roman world. Parents took care of their children, and children were expected to return the favor when parents grew old. But Rome did not create a legal obligation to care for parents, and a child who refused to do so could not be compelled by the courts.

Unlike the Romans, the rabbis made this rule legally enforceable. The obligation to honor parents appears in the Mishnah in the first chapter of Kiddushin (1:7), regarding marriage law. This may seem like a strange location. When discussing women's exemption from and obligation to mitzvot, the rabbis single out honoring parents for special mention. They say that sons and also daughters are obligated to perform this mitzvah. Why did they mention it separately, given that they subsume almost all other mitzvot under general rules? The answer is that when a woman marries and moves in with her husband's family, she needs to know that her obligations to the parents she left behind do not cease. In addition, the Mishnah implies that she acquires new obligations to her husband's parents. It is she who will be burdened with the responsibility of caring for them. This becomes clear when the Mishnah says elsewhere that a husband may stipulate that his ex-wife continue to care for his parents for a period of time, even after the divorce (Mishnah Gittin 7:6). Surprisingly, both Talmuds later reduce a woman's obligation to her own parents. They say that for so long as she is married, she is exempt from honoring them. It seems that caring for her husband trumps caring for her parents. We thus see that honoring parents has a direct connection to marital law and to women.

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Tazri·a—M'tzora

Leviticus 12:1–15:33

This week's commentary was written by Dr. Alan Cooper, Elaine Ravich Professor of Jewish Studies and provost, JTS
This week's double dose of purity laws is unlikely to top anyone's list of favorite Torah portions. While the laws may be discomfiting and obscure, however, they also are fundamental to an understanding of biblical theology and anthropology, and they convey a message that transcends their particular details.

The priestly author of Leviticus marks the collection of laws in chapters 11–15 as a digression from the book's narrative flow. Next week's Torah portion begins with the words, "The Lord spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron" (16:1), picking up a thread that was dropped following the report of the young priests' demise in chapter 10. The intervening laws concerning dietary restrictions (chap. 11), childbirth (chap. 12), skin eruptions and related afflictions (chaps. 13–14), and bodily emissions (chap. 15) seem to stand outside the story time. In addition to their concern with purity and impurity, what those laws have in common is that they address the essential characteristic of human existence, the fact that we are embodied.

In traditional Jewish thought, embodiment and mortality are the principal factors that distinguish us from God. Unlike God, we must take in sustenance (chap. 11) and reproduce (chap. 12) in order to survive, and we inevitably experience physical corruption (chaps. 14–15) and death. Those are ingredients of our humanity, natural concomitants of our embodiment. We strive to constrain and control them and, once every year on Yom Kippur, we attempt to suppress them altogether in a ritual of disembodiment (Lev. 16:29–34).

Concerning God, in contrast, as the popular synagogue hymn Yigdal declares:

אין לו דמות הגוף ואינו גוף, לא נערך אליו קדושתו

God has no bodily form and is incorporeal; God's holiness is incomparable beyond measure.

Belief in an incorporeal God is the third of Maimonides' Thirteen Principles. In his "Laws of Repentance" (3.7), Maimonides condemns as a heretic anyone who conceives of God as having bodily form. He also devotes the first chapter of his Guide of the Perplexed to refuting the view that the references to the "image" and "likeness" of God in Genesis 1 denote God's physical body. (Ancient Near Eastern evidence, particularly a ninth-century Aramaic royal inscription from Tel Fekheriye, may argue to the contrary, but that is beside the point.)

Maimonides' insistence on God's incorporeality evokes an obvious question: if we rule out the possibility that God has any physical form, what does it mean for us to be "in the image of God" (Gen. 1:27)?  Many commentators have proposed that the "image" connotes some nonmaterial divine quality or attribute that is essential to humanity, perhaps one that distinguishes us from other living creatures. For Maimonides, the distinguishing feature is the intellect, but that is only one of several possibilities.

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Sh'mini

Leviticus 9:1–11:47

In Parashat Sh'mini we read of a great tragedy that befalls the people of Israel on the very day that it celebrates the dedication of the Mishkan, the sanctuary in the desert. Two of Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu, bring an unauthorized offering and, consequently, they are slain by a fire that issues forth from heaven. We are told that when Aaron was informed of his sons' death he said nothing: "And Aaron was silent."

The meaning of silence is of course ambiguous. In the Talmud there is a dispute as to whether, in a case where one party claims that another owes him money and the other party remains silent, we should interpret the silence as being an admission of obligation. Of course, the failure to respond to an accusation may be an act of concession, but it may equally well be means of indicating that the accused feels no need to respond to what he considers a baseless accusation.

Silence may also be an act of contempt. It may be the equivalent of someone saying, "I will not dignify that remark with a reply." Indeed, Proverbs advises us, "Do not answer a fool in his foolishness."

The ambiguity of silence's significance is rooted in its avoidance of dialogue; it indicates that no further discussion is necessary, either because what has been said is obviously correct or because it is clearly baseless. That is, silence may indicate an embrace of what was said previously or it might be its opposite, an act of total disengagement.

There is another type of silence, namely silence in the face of tragedy—the silence of Aaron. What was going on in Aaron's mind as he stood there speechless? It may be, and there is a rabbinic tradition to this effect, that Aaron's silence expressed his acceptance of the Divine decree. As painful, and perhaps inexplicable, as his sons' deaths may have been, Aaron deferred to God's greater wisdom.

However, there are at least two other possibilities. One is that Aaron was furious with God for having taken the lives of his sons, but he was reluctant to express this anger. It may be that he feared that in his rage he would utter some blasphemy. Alternatively, he may have seen such an outburst as pointless in the face of Divine Will.

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Chol MaMoeid Pesah

Exodus 33:12–34:26, Numbers 28:19–25

This week's commentary was written by Rabbi Marc Wolf.

"Remember this day, on which you went free from Egypt, the house of bondage, how the Lord freed you from it with a mighty hand. . . . You go free on this day, in the month of the Spring" (Exod. 13:3b–4).

As we set our tables and prepare for our seders, we cannot help but hear the echoes of our journey from persecution to freedom amplified in the headlines. Our holiday of Hodesh Ha'aviv—the "Month of the Spring"—comes at a time when the ripple effects of what has been dubbed the Arab Spring are just beginning to be felt. The recent 2010 Human Rights Report of the U.S. State Department emphasizes that any retrospective analysis of North Africa and the Middle East must take into account how the landscape has changed dramatically over the past few months. What the report (as flawed as pieces of it are) finds intriguing about the Arab Spring is that the demands for "meaningful political participation, fundamental freedoms, and greater economic opportunity" are driven by overwhelmingly younger citizens who "seek to build sustainable democracies in their countries."

How do we—as a world community and as a people who experienced a similar national awakening—help write the next chapter in this story? And how do we ensure that the course is one of construction and not destruction? The lure of religious fanaticism is strong; and writing a national narrative that sets a course for pluralism is a challenge that can only be met through encouragement and guidance. A vacuum will be filled by what occupies the most space surrounding it.

The story of our national origin that we read at the seder can serve as a relevant guide.

When called to lead the children of Israel from slavery to freedom, Moses's overwhelming concern was not how Pharaoh would respond to his insolence, but rather whether he would be able to convince these slaves that they were a people to be redeemed. Moses never questions the legitimacy of the mission. He recognizes the plight of the Israelites as God does. His reluctance hinges on the questions of his ability to turn these people into a nation. Redeeming slaves is much more than freeing them from shackles. Redemption will only come once the people recognize their position as a nation.

Throughout the narrative, Moses reiterates his concern. "Moses said to God, 'When I come to the Israelites and say to them, "The God of your fathers has sent me to you," and they ask me, "What is His name?" what shall I say to them?'" (Exod. 3:13). Beyond the signs and wonders that God gives Moses to act as his bona fides, God continuously reassures him that the elders and the children of Israel "will listen to you" (Exod. 3:18).

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Tzav

Leviticus 6:1–8:36 - Shabbat HaGadol

Revisiting the Fire Offerings of Israel

Modern commentary and interpretation may ease some discomfort surrounding ancient liturgy.

In a session not long ago with Seminary students on religious services, I was asked about the restoration of a phrase from the siddur (prayerbook) that the Conservative movement had dropped as early as the 1940's.

By way of orientation, I should preface the incident by saying that services at the Seminary are wholly conducted by students, with a modest degree of oversight by the administration. Our synagogue serves students as a training ground for mastering the intricacies of Jewish prayer.

Like learning to play a musical instrument or tennis, praying in Judaism is a skill acquired only through practice. To study the language and history of the liturgy is necessary but not sufficient. Each year a number of students step forward to function as a staff of gabbaim (managers) to recruit and assist their classmates in carrying out the multiple roles that make the drama of a synagogue service. Overall, the responsibility inculcates a sense of self-confidence vital for good leadership, even as it accentuates the participatory character of the Jewish way of worship.

The Fire Offerings of Israel

The question asked of me pertained to the uncommon phrase v'ishei yisrael, usually translated as "the fire offerings of Israel." It appears in every amidah (silent devotion) in the first of the final three benedictions (berakhot), beginning with the word retzeh. The petition pleads for a restoration of the Temple in Jerusalem along with its sacrificial cult.

The literal translation of the full berakhah (benediction) reads as follows:

O Lord our God, favor Your people Israel and their prayers. Restore the sacrificial cult to Your sanctuary and lovingly accept the fire offerings and their prayers with graciousness. May the worship of Your people Israel be ever acceptable to You. May our eyes witness Your compassionate return to Zion. Praised are You, O Lord, who brings back His presence to Zion.

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Vayikra

Leviticus 1:1-5:26

Addressing Our Loved Ones

While God commands Moses, He also calls to him affectionately.

By Rabbi Ismar Schorsch

I never heard my parents address each other by their first names.

They showed their mutual affection, which remained palpable till late in their lives, by using pet names. My father called my mother "Mutti"(from the German word for mother--Mutter) and my mother always called him "Schatzi" (from the German word for treasure--Schatz). As my father aged, he developed the habit of saying "Mutti" to himself audibly and often, without ever intending to attract her attention. Alone in his study, he would emit the sound of her name when he rose from his desk to get another book or just reclined to rest for a moment. She was clearly the anchor of his life.

A Seminary Story
It was only when I came to the Seminary as a student in 1957 that I realized that "Schatzi" was a common name of endearment among Jews from Germany. Adele Ginzberg (affectionately known to students as Mamma Ginzberg) had never called her late renowned husband, Professor Louis Ginzberg, anything but "Schatzi". Seminary lore recounted that whenever she attended his class in Talmud and interrupted with a comment, as was her wont, she would address him unselfconsciously as "Schatzi" much to the students' delight.

This is the manner in which the rabbis handle an evident redundancy in the first verse of our parashah. The book of Leviticus opens with God instructing Moses on the nature of the sacrificial system to be used in the just finished tabernacle: "The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of Meeting, saying...(Leviticus 1:1)."

Our rabbinic ancestors, unlike impatient modern readers, tarry on the "inelegance" of two verbs--"called" and"spoke," where one would have sufficed. Two separate acts are involved, they insist. First, God addresses Moses by name, intimately and affectionately, and only then does the conversation ensue. The force of the verb "va-yikra--and the Lord called" conveys a longstanding relationship. The call is an invitation to resume contact, to begin the dialogue afresh. Moses has done his task exceedingly well. The way God pronounces his name intimates divine satisfaction. We can usually tell what iscoming by how someone initially pronounces our name. The prepositional phrase "to him" suggests that God turns to Moses alone. No one else is privy to what will be said.

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Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei

Exodus 35:1-40:38, Shabbat HaHodesh

Moses assembles the entire Israelite community and again instructs them to observe Shabbat. He asks them to bring their gifts of materials to build the Mishkan; and those who have the skills to come forward to perform the work. The artisans come together under the leadership of Bezalel and Oholiav, they report to Moses that the people are bringing more materials than are necessary. Moses announces that no one should bring any more gifts for the Mishkan.

The Torah describes the making of the cloth walls, roof, planks, and bars of the Mishkan, the curtain for the Holy of Holies, and the screen for the entrance. Bezalel makes the ark and its cover, the table, the menorah, the altars for incense and for burnt offerings, the anointing oil, and the incense.

Moses instructs Aaron’s son Itamar to conduct an accounting of the materials used for the building of the Mishkan. The making of the priestly vestments is described. Once all of the work has been completed, the Mishkan and its furnishing are brought to Moses and he blesses the people who made them. God instructs Moses to set up the Mishkan, to anoint it and its contents, and to consecrate Aaron and his sons. The cloud representing God’s presence fills the Mishkan, lifting up from it when it is time for the Israelites to set out on their journeys.

1. Your Presence Is Requested

Moses could not enter the Tent of Meeting, because the cloud had settled upon it and the Presence of the Lord filled the Tabernacle. (Exodus 40:35)

A.  But another passage (Numbers 7:89) says: “When Moses went into the Tent of Meeting.” There comes a third verse and reconciles (the difference) between them: “Because the cloud had settled upon it.” Hence you may say: as long as the cloud was upon it he was not able to enter; when the cloud departed (Moses) entered and He spoke with him. (Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaki), 1040-1105, France)

B.  Even to the door, because the cloud covered it, and he was not permitted to come into the cloud. Moreover, “the Presence of the Lord filled the Tabernacle,” so how could he enter it? The reason for this was so that Moses should not go in without permission, but instead God would call him and then he was to come into the midst of the cloud just as He had done at Mount Sinai. (Ramban (Rabbi Moses ben Nachman), 1194-1270, Spain)

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