Priestly Holiness and its Strange Ingredients

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

At the beginning of Parshat Emor, Moshe is instructed to inform the Kohanim a few important rules for them to follow in order to maintain their “taharah” – their purity that allows them to serve the general Jewish society’s spiritual needs.

                

They may not come in contact or within a certain distance of a corpse, unless it is one of his close relatives – mother, father, son, daughter, brother, and never-married sister. The status of his wife makes for an interesting halakhic discussion (based on how 21:4 is to be understood), but certainly in the absence of a Temple a Kohen will typically participate in such a funeral.

Irrelevance is Relative

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

Last week I was privileged to teach a class about Mikveh to a group of non-Orthodox Jews. The first ten minutes of the class focused on the concepts of "tumah" and "taharah" and how every single-word or two-word "translation" of each of these words does not do justice to the discussion. Neither people or animals are "unclean," or "contaminated," or "impure."  They can be "tameh" or be in a status of "tumah" (or be "tahor" or in a status of "taharah"). This does not reflect a hygiene issue even in the slightest.

In discussing the concept of "tumah" – which I define as a "spiritual status which bars something or someone from participating in a holy act" – the question was raised as to how much tumah plays a role in our lives today. Without the Temple in Jerusalem, which contained the system and formula for getting rid of tumah – as well as the major source for the need to do such - much of the tumah discussions are irrelevant today.

We do remove tumah with water when we ritually wash our hands and when we go to the mikveh. However, without the Red Heifer (Bamidbar 19), everyone of us is "tameh" in some manner.

            

This leads us to our parsha, which opens with a tumah warning that is still largely practiced today, even in the absence of the Temple in Jerusalem. Kohanim are not to become tameh through contact with (or certain proximity to) dead bodies, with the exception of a close relative, as per the Torah's allowance.

            

When I was a senior in high school, Rav Dovid Lifshitz zt"l's wife passed away, and her funeral was actually held in the yeshiva's beis medrash. A couple of the rebbeim, who were Kohanim, took all the Kohen students to a different building and had the morning classes with them until the funeral was over. I recall going to the teachers' lounge during lunch and seeing one of the non-observant Jewish teachers who had a Priestly last name. I asked him a couple of questions about something we had been learning, and then he lowered his voice to a serious tone and asked me, "Is the funeral still going on?" I told him it was. He said, "I probably shouldn't be in the building. Right?"

            

The Midrash Rabba 26:6 quotes the verse in Tehillim 19:10 that says "Fear of God is pure, enduring forever." Rabbi Levi taught, "From the fear that Aharon reserved for God, he merited that this section in the Torah was given to him and his descendants until the end of time – and never becomes irrelevant. This refers to the section about how to deal with a dead body, as it says 'God said to Moshe to tell the Kohanim, the sons of Aharon…'"

            

A few paragraphs earlier (26:3) the Midrash recounted the fact that in the times of King David, little children knew how to understand and explain all the facets of the laws of tumah and taharah. I would equate this notion (on a limited scale) to some of the laws of kosher with which our children these days are largely familiar.

            

My two year old can distinguish between a dairy and meat dish. He understands that when I say a treat in the supermarket he has his eye on is "not kosher," there is nothing to discuss because we don't eat that.

            

When you are living and breathing a reality, kids soak it up from the moment they have any conscious notion of understanding.

            

Over the last couple of months, I have read a number of articles (see here and here) as well as a book review, that address the never overstated concern over "what we're doing to keep our kids interested in remaining observant Jews." It is easy to create form-fitting robots who go through the motions of washing and bentching and davening in shul, but are we reaching the neshama (soul)? Is there depth to the commitment? Will an unanswerable question prop itself up one day and shatter everything?

            

Do we even know what our goals ought to be in this matter of a lifestyle we call "observance?" How do we reconcile the fact that over half of the counted commandments in the Torah do, in fact, have no relevance to our lives in the Temple's absence?

            

This is why I think classes like the mikveh class, which revisit an old topic for some, but a new one for others, is such a healthy task to undertake:

We need to look at everything with a fresh eye. We need to question the role of tumah and taharah in our lives, and we need to understand why we still run from eating animals that are in the tameh category.

            

We need to recognize that the more we expose children to the truths of our Jewish lives from a younger age, the more aptly they will pick it up and "get it." And they will hopefully understand that a single bad experience or a specific unscrupulous individual need not be the cause for rejecting all of the Torah.  

            

And finally, we must treasure the kohanim, the last ones to carry the remnant of this ritual on a daily basis. A true testament to their "fear of God" is how much kohanim who bless the people take pride in their role and take extra care not to put themselves in a position that may compromise their ability to fulfill their mitzvah of blessing the people.

            

May we all merit to have a commitment and dedication to our Judaism as the kohanim (for the most part) have to their role in the Jewish community – a role that has somehow survived (in modified form) through two Temple destructions and thousands of years of exile.

Precautionary Measures

Parshat Emor

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The description of the lighting of the Menorah appears three times in the Torah: in Parshat Tetzaveh (Shmot 27:20-21), in our parsha (24:2-3), and at the beginning of Parshat B'haalotkha (Bamidbar 8:2-4). The contexts are different – the creation of the priestly clothing, one of the Torah's presentations of the holidays, and as a precdent to the purification process of the Levites, respectively.

The B'haalotkha passage is different in that it describes how Aharon will conduct himself "when lighting the candles." The other two passages are very similar to one another, containing a few subtle differences that might even be missed at first glance.

In reference to the candles, Parshat Tetzaveh begins with Moshe being told that "Aharon and his sons will set it up," while in Emor, Moshe is told that "Aharon will set it up." Two questions emerge: Why does God refer to the candles in the singular ("it"), when seven candles need to be set up? Why are Aharon's sons left out in our parsha's instruction?

Regarding the singular form of "setting it up" the Torah Temimah implies from a midrashic passage that it could come to pass that different kohanim could be responsible for different candles. The seven candles could even be lit individually before being inserted into the menorah. As such, Aharon's family were responsible for the set-up of one of the seven candles.

Incredibly, a seemingly inconsequential word presented in the singular form ("אותו - oto") teaches us that for some religious rites, they need not be confined to a single person. There is much room in Jewish life for shared responsibility. For example, no job that is filled by volunteers in a synagogue should be held exclusively by any individual for any lengthy period of time (salaried individuals are a different story). Gabbais, baalei tefillah, Torah readers should be changed around on a regular basis. This is a context where "spreading the wealth" is a good thing. The more that people feel this sense of responsibility, the more they feel involved and significant, the less they will come to despise those who "hog" all the honors.

This seems to contradict our second question. Why are Aharon's sons included in Tetzaveh, but left out of setting up the candles in Parshat Emor? If we're sharing the wealth of serving God, Aharon's sons should certainly be included!

The Meshekh Chokhmah looks at the context of Emor and says that once we're talking about the holidays, which was a special time for the kohen gadol (based on Yerushalmi Chagiga 2:4), it is appropriate to mention the kohen gadol's exclusive role with respect to setting up the menorah.

I think, however, that there is a practical reason Aharon's sons were removed from the clearance list of setting up the menorah. Since the advent of Parshat Tetzaveh, two of Aharon's sons have entered an arena which was actually exclusive to their father, and they paid heavily for their impertinence, losing their lives in the process.

The Baal Haturim suggests (24:3) that Aharon would not allow Elazar or Itamar to enter the sanctuary alone, out of his concern that they would meet a similar fate to their deceased brothers. Once he was there with them, he would obviously have first rights in setting up the menorah.

There is a time and place for everything. Two of Aharon's sons had taken advantage of their right to enter the sanctuary, and applied it to an activity that was out of the confines of the services they could perform: the burning of ketoret. Collective punishment is not always a good idea, but when lives are at stake, as was the case with Aharon's sons, it is sometimes a necessity.

Life consists of peaks, valleys and stops everywhere in between. Sometimes we learn from mistakes to never repeat them, and sometimes precautions are put into place to avoid the problem altogether in the future. Sometimes, out of context, the precautions may even seem silly. Think kitniyos on Pesach, some elements of muktzeh, certain strictures in kashrus supervision, and even some of the laws of yichud.

The people who put these rules in place were not dummies – they knew exactly what they were doing. And we need to understand the rules in context, to realize how much insight into human nature and human psychology they really had. The precautionary rules were put into place to prevent us from violating laws that, from a Torah perspective, should be inviolable.

The Eighth Day

This article appears in the Jewish Star

Parshat Emor

“A newborn ox, lamb or goat remains with its mother for seven days. Then, after the eighth day, it shall be acceptable as sacrifice for a fire offering to G-d.” (Vayikra 22:27) A similar verse in Shmot 22:29 says that “on the eighth day, you shall give it to me.”

The difference is that the Shmot passage refers to setting the animal aside for G-d, while our verse refers to the actual offering of the animal. (Chizkuni)

What is the significance of the eighth day that changes the baby animal from being unacceptable to being acceptable to G-d?

Ibn Ezra compares the animal’s eighth day of life (the day of “m’ruba,” when a quarter-month has passed) to that of a human baby – just as the baby may now be circumcised so may an animal be brought as an offering.

In a lengthy exposition of this verse, Targum Yonatan explains the significance of the quarter-month in that a seven day waiting period proves the animal’s viability as it assures us the animal is not a “nefel” – the halakhic category of a stillborn, which would obviously be unfit to be a korban. (Rabbi Shimon Ben Gamliel – Shabbat 135b. For a human, the “nefel” status is removed at thirty days.)

As a mohel, one Torah thought I hear a lot at brisses is that the eighth day is “l’maalah min hateva” – above nature, or supernatural. Through circumcision, we elevate ourselves and our bodies to G-d, by removing something natural to help attain a spiritual level previously unreachable.

But some of the commentaries have different thoughts on the subject.

Chizkuni notes how a Zav, metzora and one who comes in contact with a corpse come out of their tumah (spiritual impurity) on the eighth day – the day after a seven-day waiting period.

Baal Haturim examines how each day of beginning of the animal’s life parallels the days of creation. One who sacrifices an animal on its first day will be viewed as sacrificing to the heavens and earth (created on the first day), on the fourth day as if to the luminaries, etc. The animal must experience its seventh day (parallel to Shabbos) for the one sacrificing it to remember that G-d created the world, and that it is to Him that we are sacrificing on the eighth day.

Whether outside of nature, a new life post-removal from the camp, or a reminder that, first and foremost, G-d created the world in seven days, we can begin to understand how the animal’s status is changed on day eight when it is finally worthy to be a korban – an offering that helps a person come closer to G-d.

In the first mishnah of Avot 4, ben Zoma reminds us of the verse in Tehillim 119:99 which says “Mikol m’lamdai hiskalti.” We can learn from any one who teaches us and should accept the truth from whatever source it may come.

In Thornton Wilder’s novel “The Eighth Day,” a character describes his generation at the turning of the 20th century as the Eighth Day. “Man is not an end, but a beginning. We are at the beginning of the second week. We are children of the eighth day.” In other words, the eighth day represents progress. It is when G-d’s initial input into the world is set, and humans take a stab at what their G-d-given gifts can create, what they can invent, what they can put together to foment advancement in civilization.

We can look at all that is natural and supernatural in the world, and it is very easy for us to fall back on it all and say, “It’s all G-d. It’s always been G-d. It will always be G-d. There is nothing else.”

But we are on this earth for a purpose, and our first job is to discover that purpose. If G-d created the world in six days and rested on the seventh, we are meant to emulate Him through our own creativity for six days, as we too rest on the seventh. But the progress of human development and creativity begins on the eighth day. It is the day when we take action, when we perfect the world under G-d through the actions we take to get closer to him.

When we circumcise our sons, when we take the animal that is now over a week old, we take action and turn a being that has not yet accomplished much to a point of spiritual fullness that could not have been accomplished without our input. This is the turning point of the eighth day, a day of action and a day that looks toward a brighter tomorrow.