I always hate being given the "honor" of opening the ark. "Can't the rabbi or cantor just do it," I ask myself. But I always say yes. I don't want to seem standoffish.
What I find is that sometimes the most successful synagogues actually make work for their congregants to keep them involved. Ark openers, english readings, people to undress the Torah, and people to hold it are actually not so crucial to the flow of the service. And often, the service would seem smoother without these people. So why involve them in these tasks?
The reason is that the more you involve people the more buy-in you have from the community. A great example of this comes up in today's daf (or more precisely the daf quotes a piece of a very long Mishnah from Tamid 4:3). In essence here's the summary of the Mishnah.
There was a definite procedure to offer up the daily Tamid sacrifice in the Temple. To accomplish all the steps of offering the sacrifice, the texts mandate that no less than 9 priests become involved (although there is room for more). Here's the breakdown:
5 priests dealt with the animal (most holding sections of the animal that were cut up)
1 priest dealt with the entrails
2 priests dealt with the two kinds of grain offerings that happen along with the sacrifice
1 priest dealt with the wine offering that happen along with the sacrifice
And then of course there are:
1 priest who slaughters the animal
1 priest who throws the blood on the altar
1 priest who cleans up the ash
Although it's clear that we could have had less than 13 people involved in the sacrifice, I think it's telling that the Talmud mandates this number. Like the ark opener, the task is easily done by someone else (why can't the same person deal with the wine and later clean up the ashes?). However, getting these priests involved is good for everyone. It keeps them invested and feeling like they matter.
Perhaps I shouldn't be so down on ark openers after all?
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Repetitive for a Reason (Menachot 44a)
Ever wonder why the line "I am the Lord your God" repeats itself in Numbers 15:41:
The Rabbis have come up with something brilliant. We begin the Shema with a statement of monotheism and (with the help of this Midrash) we end the third paragraph of the Shema with the same statement. "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the LORD your God" has become a bookend to the prayer that reminds us just how ONE God really is.
I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the LORD your God.’Here's an interesting story that seeks to answer the question (translation Soncino). Even though it's not relevant I'm going the whole text because it's really THAT good:
It was taught: R. Nathan said, There is not a single precept in the Torah, even the lightest, whose reward is not enjoyed in this world; and as to its reward in the future world I know not how great it is. Go and learn this from the precept of tzitzit. Once a man, who was very scrupulous about the precept of tzitzit, heard of a certain harlot in one of the towns by the sea who accepted four hundred gold [denars] for her hire. He sent her four hundred gold [denars] and appointed a day with her. When the day arrived he came and waited at her door, and her maid came and told her, ‘That man who sent you four hundred gold [denars] is here and waiting at the door’; to which she replied ‘Let him come in’. When he came in she prepared for him seven beds, six of silver and one of gold; and between one bed and the other there were steps of silver, but the last were of gold. She then went up to the top bed and lay down upon it naked. He too went up after her in his desire to sit naked with her, when all of a sudden the four fringes [of his garment] struck him across the face; whereupon he slipped off and sat upon the ground. She also slipped off and sat upon the ground and said, ‘By the Roman Capitol, I spear I will not leave you alone until you tell me what blemish you saw in me. ‘By the Temple’, he replied, ‘I swear I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you are; but there is one precept which the Lord our God has commanded us, it is called tzitzit, and with regard to it the expression ‘I am the Lord your God’ is twice written (In Numbers 15:41), signifying, I am He who will exact punishment in the future, and I am He who will give reward in the future. Now [the tzitzit] appeared to me as four witnesses [testifying against me]’.
She said, ‘I will not leave you until you tell me your name, the name of your town, the name of your teacher, the name of your school in which you study the Torah’. He wrote all this down and handed it to her. Thereupon she arose and divided her estate into three parts; one third for the government, one third to be distributed among the poor, and one third she took with her in her hand; the bed clothes, however, she retained. She then came to the Beth Hamidrash of R. Hiyya, and said to him, ‘Master, give instructions about me that they make me a proselyte’. ‘My daughter’, he replied; ‘perhaps you have set your eyes on one of the disciples?’ She thereupon took out the script and handed it to him. ‘Go’, said he ‘and enjoy your acquisition’. Those very bed-clothes which she had spread for him for an illicit purpose she now spread out for him lawfully. This is the reward [of the precept] in this world; and as for its reward in the future world I know not how great it is.The story speaks for itself and is a great example of humor in the bible (I mean come on! His tzitzit come to life and start hitting him!). However, in addition there is a theological message. We are reminded twice that Adonai is "our God" at the end of the Veahavtah (Numbers 15:41) as a further connection to the Shema. If God is really ONE then God is responsible for both the good and the bad in the world.
The Rabbis have come up with something brilliant. We begin the Shema with a statement of monotheism and (with the help of this Midrash) we end the third paragraph of the Shema with the same statement. "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the LORD your God" has become a bookend to the prayer that reminds us just how ONE God really is.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Dealing with difficult texts: an acharei mot sermon
Et Zachar Lo Tishkav Mishkavei Ishah, To’evah Hi
Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination (Leviticus 18:22)
Each year, rabbis around the country cringe when they reach Leviticus 18 in the yearly Torah cycle. There’s so much great stuff in the Torah, commandments to love our neighbor as ourselves, reminders to value the poor, widow and orphan, acts of courage and admissions of faith. But what do we do with a text like Leviticus 18:22, that speaks so harshly about the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgendered community? How do we make peace with a text that says so explicitly “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination”? And then goes on a few chapters later to say that we should stone them for their actions?
Leviticus 18:22 is not the only difficult text we Jews must face. It’s not the only text that fears the other, that calls the actions of people in our community an abomination. The Torah is filled with troubling notions and idea with which we must wrestle. In truth, there are dozens of ways to look at difficult texts. Using Leviticus 18:22 as a jumping off point, I want to explore four of these in tonight’s sermon.
The first approach to difficult texts is to skip them. Texts like Leviticus 18:22 have silenced millions around the world. Perhaps we can fight back by silencing it. Since no rabbi can cover a whole portion in his sermon and Reform congregations only choose a part of the portion each week to read aloud, it’s actually quite easy to avoid this troubling passage altogether. With such great stuff in this week’s potion like the first Yom Kippur there’s no lack of other things to discuss.
In fact, there is a long tradition in the Reform movement of replacing troubling texts. A few generations ago, the esteemed scholar Jacob Petekowski published a short essay where he outlined the characteristics of Reform prayer. In it, he explained that one may remove all notions of resurrection, angelology, yearning for the third Temple, and most importantly hateful and xenophobic notions. Its for this reason that the Reform movement has decided to change the traditional Yom Kippur afternoon Torah reading from Leviticus 18 which equates homosexuality with incest, and bestiality to Leviticus 19 which speaks of justice and holiness.
The next approach to dealing with difficult texts is to tell their story. Each text has a context and each has something of value to teach. Take our upcoming Passover haggadah. Personally, I struggle with one particular passage in a traditional haggadah where we implore God to “Pour out your wrath on the nations that do not know you.” True, today it seems odd to curse our neighbors simply because they do not believe in God. However, let’s tell the story of this text.
Our haggadah is a tapestry of text and history that were inserted into the Passover seder over time. This particular text came about during the time of the crusades, when the Jewish people were oppressed and powerless. When they implored God to “pour out your wrath” what they were actually doing was demanding a bit of control and power in a world where they lacked it. We may not agree with the message of this prayer in our haggadah but we can certainly identify with the emotions. We have all felt powerless, fearful, and angry. Each time we read this troubling text in the Haggadah we are reminded that these feelings are only natural and that our story is not unique. We fail to stand alone. Our story is intertwined with our ancestors. We have a long tradition of powerless and anger to fall back on.
The story of Levitucs 18:22 is no less powerful. Scholars have pointed out that the prohibition against homosexuality comes directly after the prohibition for child sacrifice to the demon God, Moloch. Somehow, the two were intertwined in the minds of our Biblical authors. Moloch and the cultures who worshiped him were scary to our ancestors. Because some scholars think that homosexuality was involved in the cult worship of Moloch, it seems only natural that our Bible would prohibit it. How could they have ever imagined that nearly 3,000 years later monogamous love between two men could be normative? When we read the word “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination” we are reminded of the fear and defensiveness of our ancestors as they sought to distance themselves from the strange and dangerous cult around them. To many of us in this room, we understand what it’s like to protect our children from what we see as dangerous. Leviticus 18:22 reminds us that we are not alone in this fear.
The third approach to troubling texts are to reinterpret them. At face value “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination” seems troubling, but what happens if we look closely at what the words mean? Rabbi Steven Greenberg, the first openly gay Orthodox rabbi in America teaches that one may deal with this difficult text by narrowly defining a single word “tishkav” to “lie down with.” In his book, “Wrestling with God and Men” Greenberg points out that the word “to lie down” is often associated with violence. The word appears in a number of rape scenes in the Bible and is hardly ever used as a part of a loving and mutual relationship. For this reason, Greenberg sees our Leviticus 18:22 text not as a blanket statement against homosexuality but as prohibition against abuses of power in relationships. “Do not lie with a male” becomes “Do not lie FORCEFULLY with a male” and becomes immediately less troubling.
The final approach is to use the troubling text as a mnemonic for social change. Today the GLBT community does not have equal rights. While religions, races, and sexes are protected from workplace discrimination, the GLBT community is not offered these same protections. One may be fired based solely on their sexual preference. Furthermore, gay and lesbian couples are not afforded the same fiscal, medical, and family protections as other couples. It’s harder from them to adopt children and harder for them to visit their loved one in a hospital. If we are all created “b’tzelem elohim” in the image of God, how can some of us have right while others lack them?
Each year, when we read Leviticus 18:22, no matter what we are doing, we are forced for even a short time to engage the issue of the rights of the GLBT community. We are snapped out of our complacency and our comfort and forced to engage our texts, our traditions and our world. Today, it is our silence that is the to’evah, the abomination and each year we read our troubling texts to remind of us of this.
In truth, there are merits and flaws to all of these approaches. Some tug at our heartstrings. Some are highly consistent. And some very empowering. However, some ignore the 3,000 years of textual and legal development since these text were written. Some come off as idealistic. And some fail to engage at all with the issues at hand. However, each method is highly personal and its impossible to say which is right.
Whether or not you find our Leviticus 18:22 text as difficult as I do is up to you. However, my hope for us all is that when we find texts that are troubling we can develop a method that that helps us come to terms with it. Then, whether we ignore it, expand it, reinterpret it, use it to empower us, or employ any other method we choose, we can add our voice into the 3,000 year conversation that has surrounded this particular text and make them just a little less troubling for all of us.
Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination (Leviticus 18:22)
Each year, rabbis around the country cringe when they reach Leviticus 18 in the yearly Torah cycle. There’s so much great stuff in the Torah, commandments to love our neighbor as ourselves, reminders to value the poor, widow and orphan, acts of courage and admissions of faith. But what do we do with a text like Leviticus 18:22, that speaks so harshly about the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgendered community? How do we make peace with a text that says so explicitly “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination”? And then goes on a few chapters later to say that we should stone them for their actions?
Leviticus 18:22 is not the only difficult text we Jews must face. It’s not the only text that fears the other, that calls the actions of people in our community an abomination. The Torah is filled with troubling notions and idea with which we must wrestle. In truth, there are dozens of ways to look at difficult texts. Using Leviticus 18:22 as a jumping off point, I want to explore four of these in tonight’s sermon.
The first approach to difficult texts is to skip them. Texts like Leviticus 18:22 have silenced millions around the world. Perhaps we can fight back by silencing it. Since no rabbi can cover a whole portion in his sermon and Reform congregations only choose a part of the portion each week to read aloud, it’s actually quite easy to avoid this troubling passage altogether. With such great stuff in this week’s potion like the first Yom Kippur there’s no lack of other things to discuss.
In fact, there is a long tradition in the Reform movement of replacing troubling texts. A few generations ago, the esteemed scholar Jacob Petekowski published a short essay where he outlined the characteristics of Reform prayer. In it, he explained that one may remove all notions of resurrection, angelology, yearning for the third Temple, and most importantly hateful and xenophobic notions. Its for this reason that the Reform movement has decided to change the traditional Yom Kippur afternoon Torah reading from Leviticus 18 which equates homosexuality with incest, and bestiality to Leviticus 19 which speaks of justice and holiness.
The next approach to dealing with difficult texts is to tell their story. Each text has a context and each has something of value to teach. Take our upcoming Passover haggadah. Personally, I struggle with one particular passage in a traditional haggadah where we implore God to “Pour out your wrath on the nations that do not know you.” True, today it seems odd to curse our neighbors simply because they do not believe in God. However, let’s tell the story of this text.
Our haggadah is a tapestry of text and history that were inserted into the Passover seder over time. This particular text came about during the time of the crusades, when the Jewish people were oppressed and powerless. When they implored God to “pour out your wrath” what they were actually doing was demanding a bit of control and power in a world where they lacked it. We may not agree with the message of this prayer in our haggadah but we can certainly identify with the emotions. We have all felt powerless, fearful, and angry. Each time we read this troubling text in the Haggadah we are reminded that these feelings are only natural and that our story is not unique. We fail to stand alone. Our story is intertwined with our ancestors. We have a long tradition of powerless and anger to fall back on.
The story of Levitucs 18:22 is no less powerful. Scholars have pointed out that the prohibition against homosexuality comes directly after the prohibition for child sacrifice to the demon God, Moloch. Somehow, the two were intertwined in the minds of our Biblical authors. Moloch and the cultures who worshiped him were scary to our ancestors. Because some scholars think that homosexuality was involved in the cult worship of Moloch, it seems only natural that our Bible would prohibit it. How could they have ever imagined that nearly 3,000 years later monogamous love between two men could be normative? When we read the word “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination” we are reminded of the fear and defensiveness of our ancestors as they sought to distance themselves from the strange and dangerous cult around them. To many of us in this room, we understand what it’s like to protect our children from what we see as dangerous. Leviticus 18:22 reminds us that we are not alone in this fear.
The third approach to troubling texts are to reinterpret them. At face value “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is an abomination” seems troubling, but what happens if we look closely at what the words mean? Rabbi Steven Greenberg, the first openly gay Orthodox rabbi in America teaches that one may deal with this difficult text by narrowly defining a single word “tishkav” to “lie down with.” In his book, “Wrestling with God and Men” Greenberg points out that the word “to lie down” is often associated with violence. The word appears in a number of rape scenes in the Bible and is hardly ever used as a part of a loving and mutual relationship. For this reason, Greenberg sees our Leviticus 18:22 text not as a blanket statement against homosexuality but as prohibition against abuses of power in relationships. “Do not lie with a male” becomes “Do not lie FORCEFULLY with a male” and becomes immediately less troubling.
The final approach is to use the troubling text as a mnemonic for social change. Today the GLBT community does not have equal rights. While religions, races, and sexes are protected from workplace discrimination, the GLBT community is not offered these same protections. One may be fired based solely on their sexual preference. Furthermore, gay and lesbian couples are not afforded the same fiscal, medical, and family protections as other couples. It’s harder from them to adopt children and harder for them to visit their loved one in a hospital. If we are all created “b’tzelem elohim” in the image of God, how can some of us have right while others lack them?
Each year, when we read Leviticus 18:22, no matter what we are doing, we are forced for even a short time to engage the issue of the rights of the GLBT community. We are snapped out of our complacency and our comfort and forced to engage our texts, our traditions and our world. Today, it is our silence that is the to’evah, the abomination and each year we read our troubling texts to remind of us of this.
In truth, there are merits and flaws to all of these approaches. Some tug at our heartstrings. Some are highly consistent. And some very empowering. However, some ignore the 3,000 years of textual and legal development since these text were written. Some come off as idealistic. And some fail to engage at all with the issues at hand. However, each method is highly personal and its impossible to say which is right.
Whether or not you find our Leviticus 18:22 text as difficult as I do is up to you. However, my hope for us all is that when we find texts that are troubling we can develop a method that that helps us come to terms with it. Then, whether we ignore it, expand it, reinterpret it, use it to empower us, or employ any other method we choose, we can add our voice into the 3,000 year conversation that has surrounded this particular text and make them just a little less troubling for all of us.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Metzora Sermon: Making Reform Halachic Decision
One thing I’ve always loved about Nathan Englander’s writing is his use of tragedy and irony. Here’s a great example from his novel, The Ministry of Special Cases. Taking place in Argentina in 1976, the novel tells the story of one family during the countries “dirty war” when 30,000 students disappeared and were murdered at the hands of the government. In it, Englander tells the story of Kaddish Poznan, an outsider who makes his money wiping clean the tombstones of prostitutes and gangsters. One day on the job, Kaddish takes his son Pato with him. In a moment of distraction, Kaddish slips and chisels his son’s ring finger along with the gravestone. After a brief visit to the emergency room, he disposes of the severed finger, embarrassed about his slip up.
While this encounter seems inconsequential, it will come up later. After the government kidnaps Pato, Kaddish approaches his rabbi seeking closure. However, when he asks his rabbi to make his son a grave the rabbi responds, “You can’t dig a grave without something to put in it. Beyond Jewish law, it’s basic logic. A grave must hold something if it has to be a grave. Otherwise it’s just a hole filled in.” When Kaddish pleads with the rabbi the leader responds, “To have a funeral, to dig a grave, one would need something to put in it. Not even a whole body. Even a finger is enough.” In an ironic twist of fate, Kaddish’s slip up is the exact thing that would have led to his closure. However, without this finger his wound would always remain open. As the scene comes to a close, the rabbi holds Kaddish in his arms, brushing his hair with his hand as Kaddish bemoans disposing of the finger in the hospital trash can.
I’m not sure if Englander realized it but this tragedy appears in a similar vein in rabbinic discussions about this week’s Torah portion. After spending time in isolation away from the camp, the Metzora or person afflicted with the biblical ailment, Tzra’at must undergo a series of purification rituals. The Torah explains each of these in detail but in essence they boil down to the sacrifice of a bird, and the release of another dipped in the first’s blood, the laundering of clothes, the shaving of the metzora’s head, and the immersion in a ritual bath. After waiting a few days, he again shave his head, and get’s ready to slaughter three animals. However after the first of these three is slaughtered the metzora must first undergo a strange ritual. The priest takes some of the blood of the first offering and dabs it on his right ear, right thumb, and right big toe. Only then can the metzora continue with the rest of the ritual and be fully cleared to continue his life in the camp.
Simple enough! But the rabbis ask an interesting question: what happens if the metzora lacks either a right earlobe, right thumb, or right big toe? What does that mean for him? According to our classical commentators, failure to finish the purification process means one cannot be cleared to have marital relations with their spouse. If you are childless it means you remain childless. No matter what, it means losing an important part of an intimate relationship. Because of these high stakes, the rabbis naturally disagreed on the answer.
Imagine you’re in a study hall during the time of our Mishnah and this question gets asked. From one end of the hall comes the booming voice of Rabbi Meir . “If has no right thumb, earlobe, or big toe he can never attain purification.” Rabbi Meir is like Englander’s rabbi. Just as a Jewish burial needs a body (or body part) the metzora ritual needs these three elements. No thumb, no ear, no toe, no entry into the camp. The answer may be painful, but it is also elegantly simple and conisistant.
However, just as it was tragic for a grieving father like Kaddish, so too is a simple answer like this painful for the metzora and his family. Therefore, Rabbi Eliezer jumps in “He may daub the blood on the spot where these appendages uses to be.” For Eliezer, the answer is not to condemn the metzora but to accommodate him. Whether Eliezer means to daub the air or the stub is not clear. What is clear is that he informs us that we should act “as if” these appendages are there. For Kaddish this answer means digging an empty grave for his son and marking it with a tombstone. It means reaching outside of the law and embracing the idea that in a person’s time of need sometimes what seems absurd is actually the best answer for them.
However, no sooner does Rabbi Eliezer finish than Rabbi Shimon jumps in, “If he substitutes the left ear, thumb, or big toe, it is sufficient.” For Shimon its not about the ritual but about the meaning associated with the ritual. Meir demanded that one must have each of the right appendages. Eliezer was able to suspend disbelief. But for Shimon the letter of the law was less important than the spirit. If Shimon was the rabbis who talked to Kaddish he would not have answered him with a simple yes or no as Meir and Eliezer would have when asked if he could dig an empty grave. Rather, he would have asked, “what can we bury that will give you closure?”
The wonderful thing about this Mishnaic discussion is it gives us three paradigms to deal with difficult questions in our Jewish life. Will we demand a standard as Meir has? Will we overlook a difficult situation and pretend that everything is alright such as Eliezer has? Or will we find a close approximation like Rabbi Shimon did?
In every situation we will have make these choices and most of the time there is no right answer. A person needs to say Kaddish and you do not have a minyan. Do you not say it? Do you do it even with only five people? Do you have an alternative like Psalm 23 that do you instead?
A parent of another faith background asks for an Aliyah during their child’s bar mitzvah. Do you allow them to bless the Torah? Do you refuse? Do you dispense with the blessing for that particular aliyah and give them an alternative that shys away from the themes of chosenness and divine election?
A grieving Kaddish Poznan wants to bury his son who has disappeared. Do you say no? Do you allow him to dig an empty grave? Do you permit him to bury his son’s book or favorite shirt?
There is a time to be Meir, a time to be Eliezer, and a time to be Shimon. In fact, I’m not sure that anyone can privilege one approach over the other. They are simply manifestations of different priorities. Do you privilege the individual’s story or the continuity of law? Creativity or consistency?
We can’t predict how we will act in a given situation. Would I have let Kaddish dig an empty grave for his son? Would my answer change if he was standing, weeping in front of me? What I do know is that at that point in the story I would have been his priest. I would have been his gateway back into the community, back into wholeness. There may be no right answer in this situation and others like it, but there is something more important. Whether I side with rabbis Meir, Eliezer, or Shimon, it is crucial to be present in my decision and deliver it with love, honesty, and commitment. And whether good news or bad news I must emulate Kaddish’s rabbi and hold him, whoever he might be, even after my answer seeps in.
While this encounter seems inconsequential, it will come up later. After the government kidnaps Pato, Kaddish approaches his rabbi seeking closure. However, when he asks his rabbi to make his son a grave the rabbi responds, “You can’t dig a grave without something to put in it. Beyond Jewish law, it’s basic logic. A grave must hold something if it has to be a grave. Otherwise it’s just a hole filled in.” When Kaddish pleads with the rabbi the leader responds, “To have a funeral, to dig a grave, one would need something to put in it. Not even a whole body. Even a finger is enough.” In an ironic twist of fate, Kaddish’s slip up is the exact thing that would have led to his closure. However, without this finger his wound would always remain open. As the scene comes to a close, the rabbi holds Kaddish in his arms, brushing his hair with his hand as Kaddish bemoans disposing of the finger in the hospital trash can.
I’m not sure if Englander realized it but this tragedy appears in a similar vein in rabbinic discussions about this week’s Torah portion. After spending time in isolation away from the camp, the Metzora or person afflicted with the biblical ailment, Tzra’at must undergo a series of purification rituals. The Torah explains each of these in detail but in essence they boil down to the sacrifice of a bird, and the release of another dipped in the first’s blood, the laundering of clothes, the shaving of the metzora’s head, and the immersion in a ritual bath. After waiting a few days, he again shave his head, and get’s ready to slaughter three animals. However after the first of these three is slaughtered the metzora must first undergo a strange ritual. The priest takes some of the blood of the first offering and dabs it on his right ear, right thumb, and right big toe. Only then can the metzora continue with the rest of the ritual and be fully cleared to continue his life in the camp.
Simple enough! But the rabbis ask an interesting question: what happens if the metzora lacks either a right earlobe, right thumb, or right big toe? What does that mean for him? According to our classical commentators, failure to finish the purification process means one cannot be cleared to have marital relations with their spouse. If you are childless it means you remain childless. No matter what, it means losing an important part of an intimate relationship. Because of these high stakes, the rabbis naturally disagreed on the answer.
Imagine you’re in a study hall during the time of our Mishnah and this question gets asked. From one end of the hall comes the booming voice of Rabbi Meir . “If has no right thumb, earlobe, or big toe he can never attain purification.” Rabbi Meir is like Englander’s rabbi. Just as a Jewish burial needs a body (or body part) the metzora ritual needs these three elements. No thumb, no ear, no toe, no entry into the camp. The answer may be painful, but it is also elegantly simple and conisistant.
However, just as it was tragic for a grieving father like Kaddish, so too is a simple answer like this painful for the metzora and his family. Therefore, Rabbi Eliezer jumps in “He may daub the blood on the spot where these appendages uses to be.” For Eliezer, the answer is not to condemn the metzora but to accommodate him. Whether Eliezer means to daub the air or the stub is not clear. What is clear is that he informs us that we should act “as if” these appendages are there. For Kaddish this answer means digging an empty grave for his son and marking it with a tombstone. It means reaching outside of the law and embracing the idea that in a person’s time of need sometimes what seems absurd is actually the best answer for them.
However, no sooner does Rabbi Eliezer finish than Rabbi Shimon jumps in, “If he substitutes the left ear, thumb, or big toe, it is sufficient.” For Shimon its not about the ritual but about the meaning associated with the ritual. Meir demanded that one must have each of the right appendages. Eliezer was able to suspend disbelief. But for Shimon the letter of the law was less important than the spirit. If Shimon was the rabbis who talked to Kaddish he would not have answered him with a simple yes or no as Meir and Eliezer would have when asked if he could dig an empty grave. Rather, he would have asked, “what can we bury that will give you closure?”
The wonderful thing about this Mishnaic discussion is it gives us three paradigms to deal with difficult questions in our Jewish life. Will we demand a standard as Meir has? Will we overlook a difficult situation and pretend that everything is alright such as Eliezer has? Or will we find a close approximation like Rabbi Shimon did?
In every situation we will have make these choices and most of the time there is no right answer. A person needs to say Kaddish and you do not have a minyan. Do you not say it? Do you do it even with only five people? Do you have an alternative like Psalm 23 that do you instead?
A parent of another faith background asks for an Aliyah during their child’s bar mitzvah. Do you allow them to bless the Torah? Do you refuse? Do you dispense with the blessing for that particular aliyah and give them an alternative that shys away from the themes of chosenness and divine election?
A grieving Kaddish Poznan wants to bury his son who has disappeared. Do you say no? Do you allow him to dig an empty grave? Do you permit him to bury his son’s book or favorite shirt?
There is a time to be Meir, a time to be Eliezer, and a time to be Shimon. In fact, I’m not sure that anyone can privilege one approach over the other. They are simply manifestations of different priorities. Do you privilege the individual’s story or the continuity of law? Creativity or consistency?
We can’t predict how we will act in a given situation. Would I have let Kaddish dig an empty grave for his son? Would my answer change if he was standing, weeping in front of me? What I do know is that at that point in the story I would have been his priest. I would have been his gateway back into the community, back into wholeness. There may be no right answer in this situation and others like it, but there is something more important. Whether I side with rabbis Meir, Eliezer, or Shimon, it is crucial to be present in my decision and deliver it with love, honesty, and commitment. And whether good news or bad news I must emulate Kaddish’s rabbi and hold him, whoever he might be, even after my answer seeps in.
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