Karet: Guilty/Innocent or by Choice?

Parshat Tzav (and pre-Pesach)

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Whenever I come across the word "v'nikhr'ta" (and he/she/they will be cut off from the Jewish people) in the Torah, I marvel over where such a notion stands in the 21^st century world that defines how we live. While once upon a time people really cared about what the Torah says, I find more and more that people care about what others think of what they do.

          
The concept of "karet" can be simply summarized in this manner: there are two positive commandments in Torah that are so important that people who opt of them are considered to have opted out of the entire religion. They are bris milah (circumcision) and the korban pesach (the Paschal Lamb).

          
Along similar lines, there are negative commandments so important that should one violate them, one is also "opting out of Judaism." [I do recognize that "opting out" is not the same as "being cut off spiritually from one's people" (the literal meaning of the term). But I do think the "opt out" is a little more appealing than the excision.]

          
Karet is a punishment placed, like a price on one's head, in theory. God tries you and convicts you, and He'll get you in the way He feels is right, in the proper way and in the right time.

          
In Vayikra 7:20-21, the Torah presents some of the rules related to how individuals would go about eating the peace offerings they had brought. "But if any person eats the flesh of a peace sacrifice to God while still in a state of spiritual impurity, his soul will be cut off from his people. Any person who comes in contact with human (spiritual) impurity, or with an impure mammal or other impure creature, and then eats the flesh of a peace offering to God, shall have his soul cut off from his people."

          
The concepts of spiritual impurity and purity (tumah and taharah) are largely monitored by each individual. I know when I am tameh because I know where I have been and what I have done. You know when you are tameh for your own reasons. This status is something others "might" be aware of, but it does not have to be something which becomes public knowledge. Obviously nothing is beyond God, so as He is the one who imposes the "karet," He is the one keeping tabs on our personal status.

          
I wonder if a person would really push the envelope. Knowing of one's own "tumah status," was there a person who said, "I don't care about karet. I want to partake of the meat of the peace offering?"  Could such a decision transpire and be acted upon?

          
In these days when people are preparing for the holiday of Pesach (Passover), I marvel over how many people pay so much attention to the karet concerns of this holiday. Shmot 12:15,19 speaks of how those who eat Chametz during the holiday will get karet – they are opting out of being a part of this people. People who ignore the karet warning about Shabbos (Shmot 31:14) sometimes are more strict about "doing Passover right" than those who observe the Shabbos on a weekly basis.

          
In the final analysis, each person will decide what they want to focus on, and what they want to ignore – this is, after all, America Land of the Free. I imagine that the full-scale commitment people have to Passover is more closely related to the family-oriented nature of the Seder and the meal, and the "keeping of tradition" that creeps its way into the conscience a few times a year.

          
Maybe there is something to the karet warning. Maybe there is not. The idealist in me says people on the fringes are concerned about it, but the realist in me is a little more skeptical because I honestly don't think people who are less observant scrutinize the Torah all that much, or at least not to the finest details.

          
At the same time, I wonder even about the more observant. For example, people take a lot more stringencies on themselves than necessary during this holiday (particularly with regard to what is permitted and forbidden to be eaten), more as a result of blindly following instructions that are meant to "avoid problems" than they are meant to educate.

          
Rabbi Moshe Feinstein clearly states in Orach Chaim III:63 that peanuts should not be prohibited on Pesach. But if people have accepted not to eat them, then that should be followed. Jewish Action (OU's magazine) featured an article (Spring 2010) about "kitniyos" entitled "Curious About Kitniyot?" in which the authors recycled Rabbi Feinstein's ruling, concluding that "Today, in deference to those who accept peanuts as kitniyot, one is unlikely to find a certified kosher-for-Pesach peanut product."

          
Rabbi Feinstein's analysis is fascinating and a real education.

          
Like those who may or may not have eaten the peace offering in a state of spiritual impurity (though in that case at the risk of karet), I wonder how many people will consider Rabbi Feinstein's ruling and enjoy the PB&J Matzah sandwich – where a guilty conscience (at most), and certainly not karet, is all that's at stake.

On the Subject of Metzitzah

As a mohel, the topic of metzitzah has been coming up a lot lately, particularly in light of the news story making its rounds out of New York in recent weeks.

In order to share the information I have available, which mostly reflect the point of view I subscribe to in this matter, I created a "Metzitzah page" on my bris website.

There are links to article, blog posts, news items, pdf files, and all kinds of goodies, sure to entertain you for at least a half hour. Enjoy!

A Name Reflects Character

Parshat Vayikra

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The third book of the Torah begins with Moshe being called by God from the Ohel Moed (Tent of Meeting, a.k.a the Mishkan/Tabernacle). While for us readers it is not unique for Moshe to be called, there is something strikingly odd about Moshe being the only one who is called.

Were there no other prophets? Were there no other people worthy of being present in the Ohel Moed? Why is Moshe alone the one who is called?

The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 1:1,3) seeks to create an image for us of who this man Moshe is and why his unique experience is different from everyone else.

In the Torah and in the Exodus narrative, there are a number of times when Moshe is compared to an angel. When God referred to the angel who took the Jews out of Egypt in Bamidbar 20, for example, the reference is obviously to Moshe.

Rabbi Tanchum is quoted in the Midrash as saying "It is the way of the world that a burden which is difficult for one person to carry can be more easily carried by two; one which is difficult for two people will be much easier for four people, and so on. Or perhaps, a burden that is difficult for 600,000 adult males would be very easy for one. This is indeed the case because the people said in Devarim 5:22 that "should we continue to hear His voice, we will die." Whereas Moshe had no such problem.

Who is this man Moshe? What about him, aside from his appointment as leader, makes us understand him to be a naturally special person?

In this time of year, pre Pesach, there is a lot of talk and focus on the beginning of the story of the exodus – particularly from the birth of the baby we call Moshe. But the funny thing is, he was never "baby Moshe!" The name "Moshe" was given to him only upon his return to Pharaoh's daughter, who had found him and spared his life when she found the basket he occupied, after having spent his "nursing years" with his real mother.

So what was his name until he became known as Moshe? The Midrash on our parsha continues its narrative listing all of Moshe's names, and the qualities each name either exhibited or represented in the personality of the person who became the model leader of Israel of all time.

He had ten names: Yered, Chever, Yekutiel, Avigdor, Avi Socho,  Avi Zanoach, Toviah, Shmaya ben Netanel, Hasofer, Halevi. Each name is derived from a different verse in the Bible or just a summary of his experience (see the midrash).

"Yered"  (Divrei Hayamim I 4:18) comes from the word to bring down, and it was either his name because he brought the Torah down from Sinai, or because he brought the divine presence down, to rest amongst the people. Rabbi Simone says the word "Yered" refers to the act of ruling (based on Kings I:4). It also comes from the word meaning to "rebel." His adopted mother allowed him to survive because she rebelled against her father's wishes.

"Avigdor" – because the Israelite nation had many shepherds, and he was the 'father' of them all.

"Chever" – because he linked ('chiber') the children to their father in heaven.

"Avi Socho" – because he was the father of the prophets ('soch' means to delve in prophesy).

"Yekutiel" – he made the sons yearn for their father in heaven (kaveh)

"Avi Zanoach" – he was the father of those who discouraged everyone to pursue idolatry.

"Toviah" – because when he was born, they saw he was good (Tov).

"Shmaya" - because God heard his prayers.

"Ben Netanel" – he was the son who received the Torah from God, from hand to hand.

"Hasofer" – because he was the scribe (or "counter") of Israel..

"Halevi" – because he was a Levite

Our parsha begins with God "Calling Moshe" because God said, "Of all your names, I will call you by the name the daughter of Pharaoh gave you." In a fitting tribute, the midrash says, God told Pharaoh's daughter, "Moshe was not your son, and yet you considered him your son. So too, you are not My daughter, and yet you are called Batya – My daughter [lit. "daughter of God"]."

Every person carries different names, nicknames, roles, and titles in our lifetimes. Son, Father, Grandfather, Daughter, Mother, Grandmother, Brother, Sister, Employee, Boss, Neighbor, Friend

May we all find the name that fits us best, that reflects most accurately and fully who we are. And even if that name comes upon us from the most remote individual or experience, may it serve to indicate to all who encounter us what the essence of our soul really is.

A "Chok" With a Reason

Parshat Parah

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The calendar this year has us reading "Parshat Parah" (Bamidbar 19, which speaks of the Red Heifer) in the week following our reading of the tale of the Golden Calf (in Ki Tissa - last week's parsha). Is there a connection?

One might say there need not be a connection, simply because Parshat Parah is the next in line of the "4 Parshas" that round out this time of year. As the Aruch Hashulchan puts it (685:1), "[we read Parah] because the burning of the heifer was done close to the month of Nissan in order that people could participate in the Paschal Lamb in purity."

And yet, there is a connection between the two, as pointed out by Rashi in Bamidbar 19:22. There Rashi writes that the "Red Heifer is a parable to the son of a maid who soiled the palace of the king. They say, 'Let his mother come and clean up his mess!' So does the cow come and atone for the calf."

The source Rashi is quoting is the Medrash Tanchuma (8) on the parsha, when Rabbi Aivo explains why of all sacrifices which are generally male animals, the Red Heifer is a female.

The midrash recounts a tale of Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai and a "stranger" who confronted him saying the ritual of the cow makes no sense. Rabbi Yochanan asked him, "What do you when a person has been contained by an evil spirit?" The stranger described a low-key form of an exorcism in which something is put on fire below the person and water is sprinkled to get the evil spirit out.

Rabbi Yochanan was flabbergasted: "Listen to what you are saying!" In other words, each method is equally strange to an outsider. Rabbi Yochanan explained to his students after the non-Jew left, "It is not the dead who brings on tumah, and it is not the heifer who purifies. Rather it is God who made rules and laws and decrees and we are not to disregard or break them."

The Red Heifer is therefore a mitzvah that serves the purpose of relieving us of a status of spiritual impurity, both of which (mitzvah and spiritual purity/impurity) are made up notions created by God for His reasons.

But there's a problem. Both the midrash and, subsequently, Rashi imply that the Red Heifer came about to atone for the sin of the Golden Calf. But it is Rashi himself who says that one of the mitzvot that was taught to the people at Marah, even before the giving of the Torah, and certainly before the Golden Calf incident, was the mitzvah of Parah Adumah (Shmot 15:25)!

How do we reconcile Rashi saying that Parah Adumah was taught before the Torah was given with his suggesting that the Parah Adumah serves as an atonement for the Golden Calf?

Some suggest that there is an editor's mistake in the Rashi, because the Talmud includes "Kibud Av" – honoring one's parents – as one of the commandments discussed in Marah. Perhaps Rashi had written the abbreviation for Kibud Av (Kaf Alef), which was mistaken to read "Peh Alef," and was thus transcribed as "Parah Adumah." [The Kaf and Peh are easily mistakable, particularly in some styles of handwriting.]

Others reject such a notion, arguing that in Marah the people were taught "Chok u'mishpat" – a statute and a judgment – and Parah Adumah is the classic example of a Chok.

And so, our question remains.

As a parent, have you ever decided that a punishment or (as we call them) a "loss of privilege," or maybe just a decision/consequence your children did not like was in order? And then, you found out that something else that you had been unaware of had also taken place and you then included the new item in the "reason" for your choice of action? I certainly have. [And may have been the recipient of such as a child as well!]

Making the Parah Adumah atone for the Golden Calf is called "poetry in motion," because it fits so nicely into the narrative of what transpired after Parah Adumah was first taught to the people.

More importantly, at this time of year leading into Pesach, perhaps the lesson of Parah Adumah can be one of a re-commitment to the Torah "just because." The Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai tale reminds us that we don't need to be such geniuses. Not everything we see or do has to make complete sense. There are some things about the Torah and about Judaism that are hard to explain rationally, and may even leave us with questions. Do we therefore throw all of Judaism under the bus because of one question?

I have met too many people who have found one contradiction, or one thing that bothers them so much that all of Judaism is therefore rejected. This is an unfortunate consequence of intellectual dishonesty, frustration, or apathetic curiosity. "Seek and ye shall find" is not meant to be a throwaway line. Judaism has many approaches and answers to different questions.

The Parah Adumah teaches us that if at first something is taught "just because," eventually we will find that its purpose actually makes a whole lot of sense when it comes to atone for a major faux pas that almost destroyed our nation.

We seek reasons to help ourselves appreciate our religion better. And if the reasons we find don't work for us, our job is to keep seeking.

And we shall find!

Too Strict About Shabbos?

Ki Seesaw

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The Jewish movements that changed the face of Jewry in the 19th and 20th centuries raised serious concerns about the nature of the Torah and how it stands the test of time. Many of the mitzvot of the Torah, for example, are not applicable in our day and age – highlighted by the lack of a Temple in Jerusalem.

Some mitzvot are simply not observed – the mitzvah of the eved ivri (Jewish indentured servant), amah ivriya (Jewess maidservant), yibum (levirate marriage), for example – because our society has evolved in such a way that these are quite strange.

We also have a difficult time swallowing the nature of the mitzvah to wipe out Amalek. While there are enemies of the Jewish people who exhibit Amalek-like qualities, this does not make them Amalekites. As such, I, for one, am glad that we cannot identify true Amalekites and are not subject to the mitzvah of destroying them.

There is a passage in Ki Tisa which is difficult to explain to the modern Jew, and to a world that shies away from the notion that we have the right to administer a capital punishment. To be sure, the Torah makes capital punishment very difficult to administer. The Torah also did not create a prison system. Punishment was carried out immediately, to serve as a deterrent, and was practiced at minimum expense, quickly, with no attention paid to a concern of "causing undue pain and suffering." It was done as humanely as possible – very forward thinking for its time

While capital punishment is much easier to understand when someone has committed murder, how do we understand it in the context of – "Six days you shall work, the seventh day is the Sabbath – it is holy to God. Whoever does 'melakha' on this day will be put to death" (Shmot 31:15)?

The Torah even describes a case when an individual who gathered wood on the Sabbath was put to death. (Bamidbar 15:32-36)

Of course, this is not something we pay any attention to now – in the sense that we would never ever put someone who does "melakha" on the Sabbath to death. We might, however, explain – as we do for all laws in the Torah that carry a death punishment in their depiction (i.e. hitting or cursing one's parents (see Shmot 21:15,17)), that these are very serious offenses, not to be taken lightly.

Beyond that, however, I think it is important to understand two points: where the Torah is coming from in advancing this rule, and why it is not our place to judge the Torah.

I would suggest that the Sabbath, being one of the "Ten Commandments" and being the model of God's rest from the work of Creation, is our best example of how we can imitate our Father in Heaven. He created for six days, and rested on the seventh. In this sense, neglecting the Sabbath serves as a denial of His role in creating the universe. A Jewish person who snubs God's existence in this way is like a person who smugly rebels against a king in his own court, at the king's celebration of his kingdom. [I understand people do not feel this way – but this is a very simple argument of where the Torah may be coming from.]

I don't feel we can judge the Torah as being immoral for suggesting a capital punishment for this offense, because morality is defined differently in every generation. This point was articulated brilliantly by Rabbi Norman Lamm in a sermon he delivered on March 21, 1970, entitled "In Defense of Samuel."

Addressing Shmuel the Prophet's right to kill Agag, king of Amalek in Samuel I 15:33, Rabbi Lamm suggested there are absolute moral principles, but there are also "moral insights that develop slowly in the history of the human family as a result of various individual insights, until by consensus…they are recognized as binding moral judgments."

In his homiletical elaboration, he raises historical developments of the practices of polygamy and slavery of old, as well as the draft board (this was during the Vietnam War) and the penal system of our society today, the former two having been defined in more modern times as being morally reprehensible, and the latter two are subject to scrutiny in our evolving society. Are we to therefore judge great otherwise moral people of ages past for having practiced these activities in a time and place when our contemporary moral sensitivity did not yet exist, and when the common consensus was that these activities were moral?

"Quite possibly, flogging a man once and for all and letting him free thereafter is more humane than taking 15 of the best years of his life and throwing him into jail with other criminals, there only to compound his injury by making it permanent."

I do a lot of work, and participate in many education opportunities that cater to non-observant Jews. Many people simply do not have the education, the ability, the know-how, or the wherewithal to change old habits, or to commit to the Sabbath the way many of us are committed.

This does not take away from their commitment to being Jewish, or their desire to represent the Jewish people and to take the proverbial bullet for our People.

I hope that all Jews can engage themselves in a step by step process – even if it is a many-years-long process – to reconnect with the Sabbath. Start with Friday night, turn off the phone and computer, light the candles, enjoy a meal and relax. You may extend your "vacation" into Saturday over time, and I am sure your life will be enriched from it.

Enjoy the Sabbath. Enjoy a taste of the World to Come.

Take For You

Parshat Tetzaveh

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There are four times in the Torah when the people are instructed to "take" an item or material for a purpose which is then described, using the Hebrew word "v'yikchu" (with a shva under the vav) – meaning, "and they will take."

Two of the instances appear at the beginning of last week's parsha and this week's parsha. "They will take 'terumah' to Me." (25:2) "Command the people, and they will take to you pure olive oil to light and raise a candle forever." (27:20). (This is repeated in Emor, Vayikra 24:2).

The other two instances are in Bamidbar 19:2, "Tell the Israelites and they will take to you an unblemished Red Heifer;" and Shmot 12:3, "They will take for them each a lamb for every house."

In three cases, the people are told to bring the items either to Moshe or for themselves, while the Terumah commandment is the sole difference, when they are told to bring the donation to God.

The idea of taking something to God in the context of the Mishkan is quite understandable. What is the purpose of the entire edifice, if not to become a Sanctuary for God's presence to rest on Earth?

On the other side, it is curious that the instructions for taking the oil and heifer are formulated in the same way, "V'yikchu ei'lekha" – to "and they will take to you." To Moshe? Why?

Ramban says the oil is to be brought to Moshe so he could be sure it is perfectly pure oil – that it follows halakhic specifications. Chizkuni says there is a practical reason involved – because he is the first one to enter the Mishkan, he will be the first one who needs the light to see in that windowless sanctuary.

The gemara, in the other hand, offers a different perspective, painting a contrast between Moshe's "needs" and God's non-needs. "Bring them to you, and not to Me, for I do not need their light." (Menachos 86b) In other words, while God does not need their light, you, Moshe, and the Jewish people, need the light of the Menorah.

Moshe is also told that the people should take to him the Red Heifer, which Rashi points out will always be called "the cow [ritual] that Moshe performed or instructed in the wilderness." Similar to the gemara, the Midrash Vayikra Rabba 30 says, "Is the [heifer] for Me? It is for you, to purify [the people]."

Moshe personally needs the light, and Moshe needs to provide the light. This is one of the two main components of Moshe's job, of Moshe's role as a "guide, advisor, leader" for the Jewish people.

With the red cow ritual, Moshe after whom the Red Heifer ritual is named, is not supposed to be doing a job the people can do for themselves, but he nonetheless serves as the conduit that brings about taharah to the people - the achievement of spiritual purity.

In this sense, Moshe is more like the "spiritual guide" who is meant to bring the people to live a life of purity. In the event that they have strayed, he is to guide them on the path that brings them back to purity.

Oil and heifer are brought to Moshe himself – to him, but for the people. Both items first come to him because he needs to tap into his innermost being, to utilize these raw materials in order to be able to achieve his maximum potential as a leader.

Moshe's job essentially serves two functions: As the source of light, he is meant to bring enlightenment, to help people find all the answers. At the same time, Moshe's other role as spiritual leader was to be the source of purity – to help people tap into the essence of their souls.

This double job is discussed by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik in his essay "Engaging the Heart and Teaching the Mind," which appears in "Reflections of the Rav Volume II." He spoke about the differences between the spiritual guide who takes care of only the spiritual side of one's experience, while the other leader or guide actually shows people how to live.

In order to achieve either end, a spiritual end or a life-goal, we need to take something – a lamb, some oil, or a red heifer, and appreciate the value of the freedom, light or symbol of purity it evokes. We take it for ourselves because it is not God who needs it, but we who need these symbols to help us connect to God. Rabbi Norman Lamm said in a sermon on this parsha in the 1960s, "The Torah, with all its difficulties and demands and disciplines, is a gift by God to man, and our observance of the Torah is no gift by us to God."

In other words, it is all for us, to help us refine who we are, to aim to perfect our ways, so we can aim to achieve the completeness that comes from living an enlightened existence and a pure existence in the service of God and in the perfecting of Man.