Two Minutes of Torah: Kedoshim (Leviticus 19:23-37) - Loving ourselves to love others

‘Love your neighbour as yourself’ (Leviticus 19:18) is such a popular commandment that it has become known as “The Golden Rule”, with versions of it existing across virtually every religious tradition. Hillel, when pressed by a student interested in converting to Judaism, reformulated it as ‘That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow; that is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary; go and learn’ (Talmud Shabbat 31a). Both formulations contain the important concept of treating others in the way that you yourself want to be treated; however, the Biblical verse also contains an important instruction for how we should relate to ourselves. If we are instructed to ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ then it requires us to not just love the other, but also to love ourselves.

The formulation of the commandment therefore possesses within it an important instruction for the way in which we relate to ourselves before we are able to be in relationship with others. We need to be secure in ourselves, positive about ourselves and ultimately love ourselves if we are going to also love others.

While this commandment may be challenging for the way it calls on us to relate to ourselves, it does not require us to stray too far from our comfort zone as it asks us to love our neighbour. In its most literal sense this might refer to the people we live alongside, and in a broader sense it may be members of a shared place or community, but it is likely to be people we share something in common with.

In contrast several verses later we are offered a slightly different commandment, which may be considered far more challenging. ‘And if a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. But the stranger who dwells with you shall be to you as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself…’ (Leviticus 19:33-34). This may seem to be a somewhat harder commandment to follow as it challenges us not just to love ourselves, and not just to love those people who are like us, but it calls us on us to love the ‘other’, the person who is different. We don’t just need to avoid treating them in ways we would not want to be treated, but we need to actually love them.

The progression of Leviticus 19 allows us to engage first with love for ourselves and love for our neighbour, before then requiring us to expand our circle and love the stranger. And just in case there was any doubt about why we should be following this commandment the end of the verse states: ‘…for you were strangers in the land of Egypt; I am Adonai your God’ (Leviticus 19:34). It is our experience of having been strangers which is given as the first reason for following this commandment. And just in case that was insufficient alongside it we are reminded that this instruction comes from Adonai.

And this is not the only time we are commanded to love in our Torah. We are also instructed: ‘Love Adonai your God, with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your might’ (Deuteronomy 6:5). While this instruction appears in a different Book of the Torah, we may already be achieving this through the Leviticus instructions. As each one of us is created in the image of God, with the Divine spark within us, when we love our neighbour and the stranger we also love God. We are challenged to recognise and love the Divine spark in our neighbour and the stranger, but we must also recognise it in ourselves. When we truly love ourselves, we can then love our neighbour, the stranger and ultimately God.

Two Minutes of Torah: Acharei Mot (Leviticus 16:1-17) - The Sounds of Silence

Every Wednesday evening we have been studying the Book of Job in the WLS adult education class (you can join us at 8:30pm when we resume on the 4th May). It has been a wonderful experience to read this fascinating book alongside a great class, always finding new meaning and interpretations within the text. On a weekly basis we have all been struck by the inability of Job’s friends to offer any solace, and their amazing ability to make the situation worse with their ‘words of comfort’. In the light of Job’s complete suffering one is left thinking that it would have been better if the friends had not opened their mouths at all. Silence would have been better than these ‘words of comfort’.
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As children we are often told: “If you can’t say something nice then don’t say anything at all,” and perhaps someone should have shared this pearl of wisdom with Job’s friends. Sometimes there are no words to say; in the face of suffering silence can be the best option.

In this week’s Torah portion Aaron is facing up to the loss of his two sons, Nadav and Avihu, who were consumed by fire when they approached the Tabernacle with strange fire (Leviticus 10:1-2). It is hard to imagine the suffering which Aaron had endured witnessing the death of his sons while serving the God whom he served as High Priest. The first words of the portion demonstrate that this event was still fresh in the mind of Aaron and possibly the community as we read: ‘And Adonai spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron’ (Leviticus 16:1).

God recognises that in the aftermath of the death of one’s children, any words of comfort will be unsatisfactory, and instead God therefore moves immediately to the articulation of a ritual. ‘Aaron shall come into the holy place with a young bullock for a sin-offering and a ram for a burnt-offering’ (Leviticus 16:3). Following from this we are then told about the ritual of the two goats, one to be sacrificed to Adonai and the other to be cast out for Azazel (Leviticus 16:7-8), the ritual for the Yom Kippur sacrifice of atonement.

One may consider God to be rather callous by laying down a ritual, rather than offering Aaron any words of comfort. But on the other hand God’s continued relationship and engagement with Aaron may be symbolic of the fact that God was there for him, with no words offered, because no words would have been sufficient.

People mourn in different ways, and we always need to be conscious of what the individual mourner needs, rather than thinking about what we want to provide as the comforter. For Aaron the ability to move from loss to a task may well have been the best way for him to begin to move on from the death of his sons.

The silence also came from Aaron, who was unable to speak. Immediately after his sons’ death the text tells us: ‘And Aaron was silent’ (Leviticus 10:3); in the aftermath of this tragedy, he was unable to utter any words. It was only when he felt compelled to speak on behalf of his sister (Miriam) who had been afflicted by leprosy, that Aaron spoke to Moses his brother, pleading on her behalf (Leviticus 12:11-12). Through the loss of his sons Aaron lost his speech, but with the return to ritual service, Aaron found a way to continue.

At the end of this chapter we read: ‘And he [Aaron] did as Adonai had commanded Moses’ (Leviticus 16:34). We do not know what Aaron thought, we do not know how he felt, but we do know that after the tragedy he had suffered, he was able to continue with his life. Through the silence and the ritual he found a way to continue.

Two Minutes of Torah: Metzora (Leviticus 14:1-20) - Alms for an Ex-Leper

I am rather fond of the Monty Python boys and their brand of comedy, and while it might sound strange I rather enjoy the way that they make fun of religion and religious sensibilities. It is therefore unsurprising that I particularly enjoy their film the ‘Life of Brian’. While some may consider it sacrilegious, I think it provides a humorous take on what first century Israel might have been like, and how religions developed there. In one of the scenes we watch as lepers beg for money from passers-by and Michael Palin’s character hops around requesting: ‘alms for an ex-leper’. In response to the question who cured you? He explains: ‘Jesus did, sir. I was hopping along, minding my own business. All of a sudden, up he comes. Cures me. One minute I'm a leper with a trade, next minute my livelihood's gone. Not so much as a by your leave. “You're cured mate.”’

The leper in ‘Life of Brian’ draws on the New Testament and the suggestion that Jesus could miraculously cure leprosy. In Matthew 8:1-3 after completing his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus touched a leper, curing him of his disease. To read both the TaNaKh and the New Testament, one would imagine that this was a rather widespread disease in the Biblical period. In this week’s Torah portion we do not read of an individual miraculous cure, instead we read ‘the Torah of the leper in the day of his cleansing’ (Leviticus 14:2).

The leper at this point no longer has the disease of the skin, but this does not automatically mean that he or she is ready to return to the camp; instead there is a purification ritual for the leper. The first part involves: ‘two live pure birds, cedar wood, crimson stuff, and hyssop to be brought for the one to be purified’ (Leviticus 14:4). And after this part of the ritual ‘the one to be purified shall wash those clothes, shave off all hair, and bathe in water – and then shall be pure’ (Leviticus 14:8).

However, although this then permitted entry into the camp, the person was still forbidden from entering his or her tent for seven days; and on the eighth day a further sacrificial ritual was required involving lambs and flour. At the conclusion ‘the priest shall offer the burnt offering and the meal offering on the altar; the priest shall make expiation for that person, who shall then be pure’ (Leviticus 14:20).

In the discussion of these rituals there is no suggestion of a miracle leading to the cure of leprosy and the person’s purification. But with the sacrifices involved one might consider a deeper understanding of what was actually happening. Perhaps we can liken the first ritual involving birds and the shaving of hair to a medical procedure, which was intended to ensure that the disease had been removed from the body. After this course of treatment, there was then a further ritual, which involved the lambs and the offering of a sacrifice, marking the conclusion and successful recovery from the disease.

Implicit in the inclusion of a sacrifice at the end of the treatment is an acknowledgement of thanks to God for the cure and the recovery. While we may no longer offer sacrifices, there is something powerful about a ritual which marks the end of an illness and a return to full health. We say a prayer for healing for those members of our community who are suffering or ill, but we do not recite a prayer to celebrate their recovery from illness. The Birkat HaGomel (on page 241 in the MRJ Siddur) is a prayer which is traditionally recited after a life-threatening experience, offering an opportunity to thank God for survival. And perhaps we need to supplement this with a prayer for recovery from illness, which may not have been life-threatening, but is equally worthy of note and prayer.

It is also worth noting that the leper was not rushed back from his or her sick bed, and went through an eight day process before being permitted to assume a full role back in the society. In part this may have been due to the societal concerns about the transmission of the disease, but it also meant that the ex-leper had an opportunity to readjust and reacclimatise back into society. Perhaps if the leper in the ‘Life of Brian’ had been allowed this ritual, rather than receiving a miraculous cure, he might have adjusted better upon his return to health and society.

Two Minutes of Torah: Tazria (Leviticus 13:47-59) - Sick Clothing

As we continue through the book of Leviticus, this week we break from the focus on sacrifices and move to the subject of impurity, skin disease and bodily discharges. Often the Jewish calendar allows us to combine the Torah portions of Tazria and Metzora, so that in one single Shabbat we are able to read both of these passages. However this year, as we add an additional month for the Jewish leap year, we have a fortnight in which to read all about purification after childbirth, leprosy, more leprosy and purification required after human discharges. As you can imagine these are not my favourite Torah portions.

When discussing the disease of tzaraat, or leprosy as it is commonly translated, one of the interesting features is the fact that the disease afflicts both a person’s skin and a person’s clothing: ‘The garment also where the disease of leprosy is, whether it is a woollen garment, or a linen garment’ (Leviticus 13:47). The disease is not even limited to bodies or clothing, as it is possible for the walls of a house to be affected by leprosy as well (Leviticus 14:34-45).

The fact that leprosy could affect houses and clothing suggests that it could not have been limited to leprosy (Hansen’s disease) as we know it today (a fact backed up by Encyclopaedia Judaica).

One of the most famous cases of leprosy in the Tanakh affected Moses’ sister Miriam, she was struck down after Aaron and she had been talking about Moses’ Cushite wife. The text tells us: ‘Miriam had become leprous, white as snow; and Aaron looked upon Miriam, and, behold, she was leprous’ (Numbers 12:10). In this context leprosy appears as a punishment for Miriam, directly caused by God. This idea appears to be supported by building leprosy, as it states: ‘When you come to the land of Canaan, which I give to you for a possession, and I put the disease of leprosy in a house of the land of your possession’ (Leviticus 14:34).

If we view leprosy as a punishment from God, then it may be understandable for a person to be afflicted with it, but it seems stranger for clothes and buildings to suffer as well.

In the ancient world when the garment was diseased the priest shut up the garment for seven days, and then checked if the disease had spread (Leviticus 13:50-51). Today if we found a garment with the ‘disease’ I imagine we would throw it straight in the washing machine, and then consider it fully cleansed.

For us today the idea of diseased garments need no longer apply to a disease that is ‘reddish or greenish in the garment’ (Leviticus 13:49). Instead we may consider garments to be diseased based on the way that they are made. Clothes created by underage workers might be considered diseased. Garments which are made by people in unsafe conditions may be considered afflicted. And outfits which use harmful chemicals may be considered leprous.

In our modern world perhaps we need to look for the disease before we buy the item of clothing, viewing it as something which needs to be eradicated through our shopping rituals, rather than a seven day purification ritual. If we use our purses and wallets to demonstrate our displeasure with certain practices in the fashion industry, perhaps we can then purify our garments of the leprous disease.

Two Minutes of Torah: Shemini (Leviticus 10:1-15) - The Dangers of Sacred Space

I have a very complicated relationship with the Kotel (the Western Wall in Jerusalem). When I was in Jerusalem for my gap year, and a friend in England was seriously ill, I went to the Kotel to pray and to place a note in the wall, asking for her recovery. I believed that there was a special significance to that place and that a prayer placed in the cracks of that wall could make a difference. Later that same year I returned to the Kotel on Shavuot with a group of Reform and Conservative Jews, so that we could celebrate the festival in an egalitarian community. As we stood there we were shouted at, had stones thrown at us, and required the protection of the police to ensure our safety.

I feel a connection to the Kotel as part of the support wall of the plaza upon which the Temple once stood. But at the same time I do not like the fact that it has essentially become a Haredi synagogue, in which my Jewish practice is not welcome. This relationship is further complicated by the fact that I also feel uneasy with the tension which exists between the Jewish and Muslim communities in relation to the sacred space of the Temple Mount.

Sacred space holds a power over us on a theoretical level, but as we read in the Torah it may also be dangerous. When Moses approached the burning bush, encountering God for the first time, he was told: ‘Do not come any closer; take off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground’ (Exodus 3:5). Precautions had to be taken before stepping onto the sacred ground.

In the wilderness, the Tabernacle represented portable sacred space, and it too was a dangerous place to enter. ‘Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire in it, and put incense on it, and offered strange fire before Adonai, which God commanded them not. And there went out fire from Adonai, and devoured them, and they died before Adonai’ (Leviticus 10:1-2). The text does not explain exactly what the brothers did, but the strange fire which they brought to the Tabernacle led to their death.

Some have suggested that it was the nature of the fire which caused the punishment, while others have proposed that they were somehow in an unfit state to approach the Tabernacle with an offering for God. The text is not clear; however, it does clarify that whatever they did, it was not commanded by God. They behaved in a way which God had not requested, and their punishment was to be consumed by the very substance they had brought to the Tabernacle – fire.

Nadav and Avihu were consumed, literally by the fire, but perhaps also metaphorically by their devotion to the sacred space of the Tabernacle. As Priests they were among the select group of people serving in the Tabernacle, and yet this was not sufficient, they had to find a way to be close to the sacred space, even when God did not require it. They did not worship in the way which had been commanded, and instead they brought strange fire to God, fire which then consumed and killed them.

The passion and zeal which is often expressed around the Kotel and the Temple Mount may be considered the strange fire of our generation. People treat the place in a way which God never commanded, and I would imagine that God does not welcome it. This strange fire of today, just like the strange fire of Nadav and Avihu, is dangerous, with the power to consume and destroy us. We must be careful that we are not consumed by the idea of a sacred space or holy ground. As a Jewish people we have survived for almost two thousand years without a Temple, and we have found ways of bringing God into our midst and into our communities without requiring one specific concrete structure. Our survival is testimony to the fact that we have learned the lessons of Nadav and Avihu.