Prohibition of Consuming Blood: Of the Dead, AND of the Living

I wrote this before the Boston Massacre and the events in West, Texas and MIT this week. It is my response to the "scandal" involving Rabbi Michael Broyde that I learned of last Shabbos, and which was all the rage on the internet before the Boston Marathon. My sermon this week will address these issues.
Condolences to the Stern family on account of their tragedy this week.

Acharei Mot - Kedoshim

by Rabbi Avi Billet

William Faulkner was a master of writing single sentences that span an entire page. Though they run on and on, the sentences could not be marked as "run-on" by a grammar teacher. It is a unique skill possessed by the loquacious, which marvels readers.

            

The longest sentence I am aware of in the Torah has 34 words in it (Shmot 32:1). The Torah certainly doesn't hold its breath in making a point. And sometimes takes several sentences to do so. But sometimes one has to wonder why the Torah goes on and on about something which could otherwise be expressed in much fewer words.

            

Towards the end of Vayikra 17, the Torah tells us (as it does in Bereishit 9, Vayikra 3, 7, 19 and Devarim 12) not to eat blood. Were I to write such a commandment, I would write once "You may not eat blood of humans or animals." Pretty clear.

            

But the Torah does not do this. In addition to writing about it 5 times, in three different books, the Torah says the following in our parsha:

"If any person, whether of the family of Israel or a proselyte who joins them, eats any blood, I will direct My anger against the person who eats blood and cut him off [spiritually] from among his people. This is because the life-force of the flesh is in the blood; and I therefore gave it to you to be [placed] on the altar to atone for your lives. It is the blood that atones for a life, and I therefore told the Israelites, 'Let none of you eat blood.' A proselyte who joins you shall [likewise] not eat blood. If any man, whether of the family of Israel or a proselyte who joins them, traps an animal or bird that may be eaten and spills its blood, he must cover [the blood] with earth.  [All this] is because every living creature has its blood associated with its life-force. Tell the Israelites not to eat any blood, since the life-force of all flesh is in its blood. Whoever eats it shall be cut off [spiritually]."         (Vayikra 17:10-14)

Not only is the prohibition very clear, but the other factors thrown in essentially amount to the same idea: "A Jewish person may not eat blood."

Perhaps the message behind the over-and-over element of these instructions is reflective of another prohibition we have in our double parsha – Vayikra 19:16, "Do not stand idly over the blood of your neighbor."

All of these images of blood remind me of the excited pronouncement by the great swordsman Inigo Montoya who, on the verge of storming the castle and avenging the death of his father, exclaimed, "There will be blood tonight!"

We live in a time when we can have a more complete understanding and appreciation of what a book that transcribes one's every deed might look like. We can call it the Internet.

I once participated in a conference where a Reform rabbi was presenting material for High Holiday sermons (he was quite knowledgeable) and he kept on referring to his own "teshuvah process" and how it helped him develop some of the ideas he was sharing. Someone in the room asked, "What are you referring to?" and he said that as a young rabbi he had made a terrible mistake and was unfaithful in his marriage. One time. And kept the secret for 20 years – at which point, it came out.

He said, "Google my name – this story is the first one that will come up. And I have to live with that." He had traveled to the deepest and darkest places in his soul, his marriage and family fell apart, and he had to put his life back together.

Hearing all this, I was struck by a flood of contradictory feelings. At first judgmental, and then forgiving. "You wicked person. Have you no soul? How could you! And you're a rabbi!" was followed by, "You have gone through so much, hiding your secret, being outed, losing everything, and your personal teshuvah. Perhaps God has forgiven you. Why can't I?"

The experience is still haunting because I am not sure which feeling is correct. Or are both proper?

In our life experiences, we will always find people who make errors. No one is perfect. "To err is human, to forgive – divine" said Alexander Pope. And he was on to something.

Perhaps the blood references in our double parsha are reminding us not to look to skewer someone when we don't like what they've done. We can't stand by idly when blood is being spilled – even the blood of the guilty. And we may not look to exact the vengeance Inigo Montoya was looking to have with his father's killer.

There are cases where we can draw a line and say there's no going back. I personally have no sympathy for terrorists, deliberate murderers, thieves, or those who commit forceful crimes of a sexual nature. Immoral crimes between consenting adults is a different story – they make a very poor choice, have their own demons to deal with, and will certainly pay for their crimes in their families and communities and with God. And the same is true of other examples of poor judgment, particularly when a crime has been committed. 

And I certainly hope the same is true when no crime has been committed. That forgiveness from humans will be more readily sought.

Do all "misdeeds" warrant everyone else to skewer the guilty and seek their blood over and over and over again? If that were the case, many in our community would not be able to pass muster. No one is perfect. We all bend corners and rules when we can. Perhaps the Torah is saying that when blood is spilled, it is its own punishment. But then we are required to cover the blood and move on to the next story. A life which has seen a dark side of mistakes and poor choices has its own recovery to go through.

But we may not devour, eat and consume the blood. We don't stand idly by while blood is spilled. We make room for a teshuva process and hope that we can all merit to achieve what Alexander Pope declared to be a divine trait – to forgive and move on.