Kedoshim: Differences

We separate things milk and meat.   Sometimes, however, they come together, like in a cow.  The animal itself is meat while what it produces is milk.  Still, when we ingest them, as Jews we make distinctions between the two.  One is life-giving and the other represents death.

We also separate light from darkness (God actually first does this in the opening verses in Genesis).  Traditionally we state that a new day begins once the sun has set.  Unlike most other cultures that say that a day begins at midnight, we think otherwise.

Jews are oriented toward drawing lines of distinction between the holy and profane.  Think, for example, of Havdalah, the ending ceremony of Shabbat.  

The word itself - l’havdil- is often used in Hebrew when we want to be absolutely sure that lines are not blurred, or God forbid, crossed. Think also of the words “tamey” and “tahor” (they indicate acceptable parameters of what is spiritually safe and unsafe).

Did you know that there is a law, which forbids a man from dressing in clothes like a woman?  A woman is likewise forbidden from dressing as a man.  Lines must be maintained.

The Psalms indicate, “The heavens are the realm of God while the earth is the domain of humankind.”  As if referring to the Tower of Babel and the great sin that occurred there we are warned not to blur the differences between God and man.

The Torah also states elsewhere that we are not permitted to mix wool and linen fibers (19:19).  The first comes from an animal and the second from the earth.  Again, distinctions.

The word “kodesh” means “holy.”  It has an earlier, root meaning, though.  “Kodesh” means “other.”  Put another way, “kodesh” is something that needs to be kept separate from all else.

Thought: Does God want us to be “kodesh?”  If so, how?  Are there problems or obstacles with being “kodesh?”

                                Ideas for Thought and Discussion

Kedoshim in the same of this parasha.  According to what we read in the Torah we are to be “kodesh.”  Why?  You may want to look at 19:2.

Torah says you shall “fear” your parents.  Why does it not say “love” them?

“Do not hate your kinsmen in your heart.” 19:17  Instead of despising them we are supposed to tell them what they are doing wrong.  How difficult is this mitzvah?  What do most people do?

Ki Tissa: Sin is Real

"Sin" makes us squirm.  The word itself makes people uncomfortable.  Perhaps that is why we hear - and say- the word so infrequently.  If someone uses the word "sin" in general conversation the reaction is either to label them a "fundamentalist Bible thumper" or smirk.
While sin may be forgiven (the good part) it is by definition wrong, it is evil (the hard part).  It is difficult to get comfortable with such dichotomies.
Most folks would rather dismiss evil as "misplaced " or "misguided" or plain bad judgment.  That is why we will often hear people like Hitler described as "sick."  When someone is sick there is a cure.  It is in a sense, forgivable because there is a remedy.  Sometimes it can be made better by drugs or psychotherapy.  Evil, on the other hand, implicitly holds that there are no mitigating circumstances or meaningful excuses.
We have developed a certain sophistication which allows us to avoid calling anything sinful.
I have heard that Eskimos have many different words for snow; as many as seventy, I have been told.  Makes sense.  If snow is such an integral part of their lives they have to recognize what different sorts of snow mean and how it can be used.
In English there are not many words for sin (transgression is one that Jews often use.  It sounds cleaner, somehow, doesn't it?)  The lack of synonyms for sin points to our discomfort with the word and idea.  In Hebrew there are several words for sin.  One means a conscious sin.  Another denotes an unwitting sin.  And yet another is a sin where we tried to do the right thing but it came out wrong.   There are more.
Way back in the beginning of time, there is a portrayal of sin, poised and ready to sink its teeth into the flesh of humanity (take a look at Genesis 4:7).  In Judaism there is no such thing as "original sin;" there is only the potential to cause evil.  In no other life form that we know is there that potential.  There is no morality in nature, only in people.  So we learn from his passage that sin does not exist until it is realized by a person.
The Parasha, Ki Tissa, correlates God's commands (mitzvot) with the possibility of rejecting them. "Oh, this people have sinned.  They have sinned a great sin." (32:32).  These are Moses' words as he asked for forgiveness for the evil committed by the Israelites.

Let's be clear: God establishes categories of good (mitzvot) and evil (sin).  Ignoring the mitzvot is wrong and leads to sin.  Humanity has always had a hard time admitting that, because the zeitgeist of every era pushes us to make excuses for sin with any number of sophisticated psychological devices.
In the Talmud, Rav Sheshet occasionally fasted for his sins.  After he completed his self-imposed fast he would pray, "Master of all words, when the Holy Temple existed and we sinned we used to bring a korban (sacrifice).  Its flesh and blood would be our forgiveness.  Now we have no Temple.  It lies in ashes.  We have no korban to bring to You.  So, may it be Your will that my flesh and blood which has resisted food be a korban before You."
What Rav Sheshet understood was that we become better people when we acknowledge and own the pain, suffering and evil we have introduced to the world.  Only then can we rise above it.

The finest people I have met in my life are the ones who take their actions seriously and feel personal pain when they have sinned.  These are the people I choose to be around for they continue to strive for goodness and wholeness.
I once asked a group of children in Hebrew School if it was legal to drive at 56 miles per hour.  They were unanimous in their response, "Yes."  I went on to tell them while they might not be ticketed for driving one mile an hour over the speed limit, the police still have the right to issue a ticket for breaking the law.  Children learn at an early age to excuse bad behavior through rationalization rather than taking personal responsibility.  I know where they got it from.
Inasmuch as we believe there is goodness we must also believe in its opposite.
Reb Menachem Mendel said, "To fear punishment is nothing.  What we must fear is sin."

Shmini :Survival and Eight

This week's Sidra contains the painful elements of surviving a catastrophe.  Aaron mourned the death of his two sons, Nadav and Avihu.  Aaron's response to the horrific event was to fall into a dark quietude.  He was silent.  He did not weep, rip his hair and bemoan his pain.  He remained resolutely silent.

The word the Torah uses to describe Aaron’s affect is “Vayidom.”  The Hafetz Hayim notes that the word is akin to “dumam,” meaning something more than silent.  The word conveys the idea of feeling like a stone.  Aaron’s pain was so great, the Hafetz Hayim implies, that he was beyond reaction.  So overwhelming was his pain that he was stone-like.

Death is like that.  There are times when we weep and tear at our hair and other times when the pain ruins so deep that it transcends reaction.  We are blank, almost unfeeling.

In the Psalm we know as the Ashray, God is depicted as being “erech apayim,” of “long face.”  A ”long face” is one that is responding to the afflictions of life.  God reacts.  What we do makes an impact on the Holy One.

Most people when they are afflicted are similar; their face betrays their emotions.  In those instances we have clue on how to respond to their needs.

People respond to life's challenges in an infinite number of ways.  Each person is unique and their reaction to what life throws at them is also unique.  

Maybe the powerful lesson of this Torah reading is to learn to respect the differences that inhere in us all.  Perhaps if we each were to treat one another with deference and respect for their difference there would be an end to hatred.  

May God help us achieve this goal.


D'var Acher.

Shmini means eight.  That so the name of this week’s Torah portion.  

Why is a week seven days?  Because God created the world in seven days.  Is there any culture, anywhere on earth that does not observe a seven day week?  A more natural or obvious number would be five or ten.  Seven only makes sense coming from the Creation story.  And every place, religion, nationality, and ethnicity on earth observes the same week!

Remember the tale from Genesis: God created a universe that was fully formed and then left mankind with a single task, “to till and tend it.”  In other words, our task began on the eighth day.  Seven are also the days of shivah.  When they are completed we rise up to begin life anew.  This too is the eighth day.

In the mystic tradition it is said that we are now living in the eighth day.  This is humanity’s time and opportunity to perfect the world for us.  God gave us all the necessary tools and then left us to make what we will of our lives and the world.

Our parsha opens with: “It came to pass on the eighth day . . . today, the Lord will appear to you.”  And He has.

He has crafted a world that has all the necessary ingredients to perfect ourselves and help one another achieve that same goal.  God has given us the blueprint for life, Torah.  

Today is the eighth day of creation.  Celebrate Torah.  Let it and you merge.

Tetsaveh: Holy, Holy, Holy

Tetsaveh contains all the elements of kedusha (holiness) that B'nai Israel needed to become a nation standing in awe of the Almighty.

The Kohen Gadol exuded kedusha, holiness.  It emanated from his being, his carriage.  Robed in a great white tunic he appeared almost as an apparition in the glinting sunlight before the people.  Breastplate splayed over his chest there were twelve stones, one representing each tribe.  Then there was the Urim and Tumim, detectors of truth that glowed bright indicating the direction of the Israelite nation.

“You shall be a Holy Nation, a Nation of Kohanim,” declares God in the sacred text.  It was almost as if the very luminescence that radiated out of the Kohen Gadol attached itself to every Jew standing awed before Him. 

Following God’s mitzvot (commandments) leads to inner and external transformation.  When we act in harmony with God we become sparks of His Holy Essence.  Holiness is catching.

 Question: Whom would you call “kodesh”?

At the center of the world rests a rock.  It is where Abraham nearly drove a knife into the heart of Isaac.  That is the same place where Solomon built his Temple to HaKadosh Baruch Hu, God.  We call it the Beit HaMikdash (note the root word, kodesh).  Massive walls of limestone glow a hue of gold in the sunlight around the Kodesh Kodashim (Holy of Holies).  Only the Kohen Gadol could enter that sacred space, and then, only after purifying himself in the quiescent waters of the Mikveh.

 Question: If places can also be holy, how do they become that way?

God’s gift to His people is Shabbat.  As the Torah declares, Shabbat is called Yom Shabbat l’kodsho (The Day of Shabbat to His Holiness).  When we pray we endow the Shabbat with holiness.  We consider who we are and whom we can become.  Further, we study on Shabbat to craft an even greater crown on this day.  We declare Shabbat holy when we make Kiddush (again, there is that root word, kodesh), studying and praying.  Implicit in these actions is when we ignore Shabbat we strip it of kedusha.  “My children are abandoning My holy gift,” the Master weeps when we turn our backs in favor the mundane.  On the other hand, God says, “When you, My children, light the Shabbat wicks, I will provide the sacred fire for the Holy Altar in Jerusalem.”

Thought: The marriage ceremony is called kedushin, See Leviticus 19:23, 36.  Can you guess why?

Kedusha happens whenever we bind ourselves to HaKadosh Baruch Hu.  Another example is kashrut.  When we eat in accord with His wishes we draw closer to Him.

“If you make yourselves holy, distinct, from other peoples, then you belong to Me.  If not, you belong to Nebuchadnezzar and his lot.”  -Sifra 93D