I’ve Fallen But I CAN Get Up Again!: Acharei Mot/Kedoshim (Leviticus 16:1—20:27)

I’ve Fallen But I CAN Get Up Again!
D’var Torah on Acharei Mot/Kedoshim (Leviticus 16:1—20:27)
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

April 23, 2010 9 Iyar 5770

In honor of Dr. Norman Cohen, my dissertation adviser at HUC-JIR, NYC.

About half way into rabbinic studies at Hebrew Union College I came to understand why I entered the field in the first place. Though the calling came to me gradually, increasing in volume and urgency until I could no longer avoid or run away from it, I did not understand its claim on me until I began to gather material for my rabbinic dissertation. The topic I chose to study was the midrashic material (rabbinic literature from the first millennium) concerning the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem and the consequent reconfiguration of Judaism for a post-destruction time and place. The question I most wanted to know was how the rabbis ensured the continuity of Jewish belief and practice following this catastrophe.

The midrashim I was studying were written long ago and addressed to the Jewish people as a whole, but they also held special meaning for me personally. A second-generation survivor of the Holocaust, my childish belief in God was deeply shaken by what I gradually began to hear from my parents and their friends. From as early as I can remember, I knew of what the Germans had done to us. My relationship with God was always challenged by questions and doubt. Through the years, I learned not to question why God permitted the Holocaust to happen, but rather why people, why humanity allowed it. But I could not, and still cannot, fathom why a compassionate God would not intervene when there was just so much evil on earth, when so much suffering was inflicted upon so many millions of innocent men, women and children.

It was a personal issue I tried to resolve, but I realized that it wasn’t only mine.

Rekindling and rebuilding our faith in God has always been a huge matter for the Jewish people. Our existence and continuity depended on this relationship. That much we’ve always known. What was more challenging was the question of how best to do that—how to preserve ancient laws, practices and customs while integrating and adapting to new places and times. We weren’t always successful. Sometimes we had to leave so much behind that we simply forgot who we were. And where we did manage to hold on to some artifacts or memories, persecution and destruction were not unknown to us. How to pick up the pieces and begin again and again became a continual problem throughout our communities.

A simple Google search on “Jewish Continuity” comes up with about 302,000 entries. Clearly an important topic, we can find one of the earliest “entries” in this week’s Torah reading.

Once again this week we are given a double portion comprising “Acharei Mot” (Leviticus 16:1—18:30) and “Kedoshim” (Lev. 19:1—20:27). Specifically, Acharei Mot (“after the death”) addresses the personal tragedy of Aaron and its bearing upon the larger community. Curiously, the only reference to the terrible loss is the few verses with which the parashah begins: “After the death of Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu….” This is immediately followed by instructions relating to the rituals of Yom Kippur. From this juxtaposition we may learn that the institution of Yom Kippur accomplishes two great feats: First, it enables us to experience atonement and forgiveness. But then, just as importantly, observing and practicing its laws and rituals ensures continuity, the never-ending relationship between humanity and God. Failure is temporary. After a fall we get up, we wipe the dust off and we start again.

For this alone we could say “dayenu!” We’re good! But—remember?—this is a double portion, and so we go on to Kedoshim (“You shall be holy”).

In this portion we are charged with being holy by dint of our relationship with God. “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord, your God, am holy.” However, being Israel—and consequently holy—can’t stop with our relationship with God. It’s also about how we live with one another. Kedoshim (“You shall be holy”) contains a reading that is so important that it gets chanted twice a year: Once during the regular, cyclical reading of the Torah (this week), and once at services on the afternoon of Yom Kippur. It is called “The Holiness Code” and is addressed not only to the priests, but to the whole people. Its beauty and strength are contained in its message that we are all holy! That holiness cannot and must not be confined to the temple compound. Holiness is expressed as much in our relationship with God as through our relationships with the world around us.

Some of the laws included in “The Holiness Code” (Lev. 19) are simple: Don’t lie, don’t cheat. Don’t spread rumors. Do not place a stumbling block before the blind. Don’t withhold a worker’s wages through the night. Some laws are a bit harder to live by: Love your neighbor as yourself. Now that’s tricky, as it means that we must appreciate ourselves as much as others—not more, not less. A hard balance to maintain sometimes. Yet some other laws are even more difficult than that: Do not begrudge your brother in your heart. Not even in your heart!

The idea that holiness can define and inform the way we live, that it can extend beyond the sanctuary into the world at large and turn the ordinary into the extraordinary, is revolutionary. It enables us to take God home with us. Yes, communal worship at the temple is important. Offering sacrifice and prayer are vital not for only for the individual but also for the whole community. But beyond that, what Kedoshim helps us understand is that being a good Jew isn’t only about how many services you attend or how many books of Jewish wisdom you’ve learned. Certainly it’s that, but there’s more: It’s about how you live your life. How you behave with your loved ones; how you conduct your business; how you relate with your community—with the rich and powerful as well as with the weak and needy. Holiness isn’t realized only through Shabbat worship or even by the meticulous observance of the holidays; it can also be a part of our daily and ordinary life, enriching every moment and every day. Making it all count. Making it all matter.

This is the secret of our amazing continuity: That when we fall, we’ve learned to get up again. We start where we left off—trying to bring God and holiness into our lives. Only this time we try not to make the same mistakes we’ve made before. This time we begin again, with thoughts of holiness in our hearts, with deeds of righteousness in our lives.

©Boaz D. Heilman, 2010