Blaspheming in the Name of the Sacred- The warning of Parshat Tzav

We have seen the enemy and he is us.  So were the immortal words of the great American philosopher Pogo, the satirical cartoon creation of Walt Kelly.  That droll quip speaks to a dark sinister reality about what is happening in the Jewish world, in direct contrast to the warning offered by Parshat Tzav.

God directs Moses to command the priests on what to do and how to do it as they fulfill their sacred responsibilities on behalf of the people Israel.  It is clear that the sacred tasks require special ways of acting.  There is too much at stake; for these are the priest making offerings to God on behalf of God’s people.  The priest learn the strict code to which they must adhere.  Deviating is not acceptable, and the consequences can be severe, as Nadav and Abihu will learn. 

Later on, we learn that the nation itself is a nation of priests.  That we as a nation are similarly charged with a series of behaviors that are required of us to fulfill our responsibilities.  These laws are put forward in Torah and then developed by the rabbis  and shared in the Oral Torah and the great works that expound upon these laws.  Like our priestly class, the nation of Israel is bound to the laws of Torah on how to act in order to fulfil our sacred responsibilities of being a light to the nations. 

That light has been dimming as a result of a move away from our role as faithful servants to  something that embodies a hubris endangering and attacking our core values as a people.  We have moved from the sacred work of Sanctifying God’s name to profaning God’s name, from Kiddush ha-Shem to Hillul ha-Shem. 

At the most recent Rosh Chodesh at the Kotel we witnessed a brutal and tragic display of violence against the Women of the Wall.  We do not agree on how we should engage in ritual.  I respect other approaches to Judaism, even though I do not practice them.  Likewise, there are many who would see my religious practice as unacceptable.  However deep the disagreements may be, there is no justification for the violence perpetrated on the Women at the Kotel.  I would argue that the shouting is an undermining of the special space that is the Kotel and place.  But physical battery is blasphemy, plain and simple.    It curses God’s name and everything that Judaism is supposed to represent.  In the name of the sacred, everything sacred has been trashed, God’s great name was trampled in the mud.  The violent encounter was in violation of all of Jewish Law and culture.  This moment is a tipping point for us as a people. And this is not the only arena where our behavior needs to be critically examined. Tzav, commanded behaviors, require adherence to standards of decency and ethics.  Are we acting as God has directed? 

There is a rise in racism in Israel is an insidious cancer eating away at the very soul of the State.  This racism dehumanizes the non-Jew, whether they be citizens of Israel or Palestinians of the West Bank and Gaza.  The inability to see the other as one with fundament human and civil rights, entitled to dignity and respect, undermines the ideals of both the Jewish State and the Jewish religion. 

The violent racist Kahanists, Otzmah Yehudit, have a new-found acceptance in Israeli politics.  The inclusion of these group dedicated to an extreme racist view, enforced by thuggery, should be unthinkable, but instead of repudiating them and everything they stand for, they are legitimized and welcomed.  There are appeals to the courts seeking redress, but ultimately the Israeli people must speak out unequivocally against this base and baseless hatred.

This issue also confronts American Jewry.  As anti-Semitism is on the rise, American Jews must respond.  The manner in which we move forward will determine if we are no better than those who hate us.  Can we be strong and resolute without resorting to similar tactics as those whose ideas we find dangerous and contemptible? Can we find sufficient security in this extraordinary place and time in our history to battle anti-Semitism and not feel disenfranchised by those contemptible people on the margins of society who seek to do us harm?

The second temple was destroyed, our sages say, due to Sinat Chinam, the baseless internecine warfare that existed within the Jewish people.  Instead of a tolerant society with many different interpretations of Judaism, the People of Israel became a fractious group of competing sects intent on imposing their particular view on everyone, ultimately sacrificing everything.  Can we reclaim the ideals of Klal Yisrael, or is history repeating itself?

Our leaders from across the breadth of our tradition including  Rabbi Nachman the Hasidic master, Rav Kook the founder of religious Zionism, and Rabbi Abraham Heschel an American Prophetic voice,  to name only three, all warned against hatred against others,  no matter how deeply offensive we might find certain practices.  They encouraged us to embrace the best of our tradition so that we may bring forward our values in the world.   Tzav as part of the book of Leviticus, as part of Torah,  lays out the rules for how to act as a  people in sacred service to God.  These rules are based on core values that are central to every expression of Judaism, religious, ethnic, and cultural.  When we violate the values that are at our core, we betray the sacred aspirations of  our tradition. Tzav reminds us of our duties and sacred obligations and admonishes us not to stray.   Tzav demands more of us, we need to take heed and act better. 

The somber and painful message of Adult Purim

A person should drink on Purim until the point where he can’t tell the difference between “Blessed is Mordechai” and “Cursed is Haman. (Talmud – Megillah 7b) “Ad d’lo yada…”

Why do we drink so that we can no longer distinguish between the “Blessed” Mordechai and the “Cursed” Haman?  Perhaps because in this world of Purim where things are turned  upside down, the two men had changed places and toward the end of this story, it is impossible to distinguish between them.  And this serves as a warning for us to take great care in how we act.  The rabbis are admonishing us that underneath this story of triumph and joy lies an ominous message. 

Towards the end of the Megillah, the story takes a dark turn.  Briefly, the Jews are saved, Haman is hanged.  The King grants the Jews permission to annihilate anyone that poses a threat to them, including women and children and to plunder their possessions. Mordechai methodically plans the Jew’s revenge;  and the oppressor becomes the victim as the Jews dominate their enemies.  First in Shushan, the Jews killed 500 men and Haman’s 10 sons, then another 300 were killed, and then across the kingdom the Jews proceeded to kill seventy-five thousand more.  The death and destruction recounted is dreadful.  Jews slaughtering in retribution are as horrible as those actions Haman had planned.  Mordechai accomplishes what Haman had plotted. 

We are admonished to destroy the Amalekite, and Haman is a descendant of Amalek himself. But if we annihilate the enemy, even one who planned to annihilate us, aren’t we just as guilty of murder and bloodshed? It is not only the Amalek who lives as another that should concern us; A piece of Amalek lives inside all of us, call it the yetzer hara, or inclination toward evil.  Our yetzer tov, or inclination toward good, is always in competition with it.  Purim asks which of these will prevail in our lives?  At its core, the destruction of Amalek and the story of Purim are existential questions of our humanity.

And perhaps that is why we drink to oblivion.  Usually, we drink wine as a symbol of our joy.  But drinking to excess is something else entirely.  Heavy drinking is a form of self-medicating.  Drinking until losing rational senses is drinking to forget.  We drink heavily to escape the brutal reality.  Although our people were saved, we committed atrocities- not as a crime of passion,  but a deliberate plot to methodically exterminate tens of thousands of people.  We drink to forget our shame and horror at what we had done. 

To underscore this grave situation, the Gemara on Megillah 7b continues with the bizarre story of Rabba and Rabbi Zeira, where in a drunken stupor, Rabba slaughtered his dear friend Rabbi Zeira.  Otherwise good people can do profoundly terrible things.  This is what can happen when you lose control, when you lose sight of what is right, betray your core and operate in the absence of God (it is noteworthy that Megillat Esther does not mention God). And it is precisely here that the rabbis insert God back into the discussion as Zeira is resurrected after Rabba beseeches God to intervene and set right what Rabba had destroyed. 

When we arise from our stupor, we have a hangover; a brutal headache from the excesses of the night before.  We know that a hangover is an indication of dehydration, a lack of water , which further intensifies the message.  Water is a metaphor for Torah, and maybe it is the lack of Torah that permitted the carnage. 

Megillah Esther warns us to be very careful.  The Megillah  cautions us to not become “like them” and react to extract revenge, sacrificing both them and our humanity.  Megillat Esther challenges us instead to rise up with dignity and respect, embracing the values that have made Judaism the extraordinary gift to the world that it is.  

Purim is a layered complicated story filled with cause for celebration and sorrow and an profound admonitory note to soberly review who we are.