Freedom’s Bell
D’var Torah for B’har/B’chukotai (Leviticus 25:1-27:34)
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
May 7, 2010 23 Iyar 5770
This week we get another double portion: B’har/B’chukotai (Leviticus 25:1-27:34). With this dual set of parshyiot, the book of Leviticus reaches its conclusion, stating—in the first parashah—some of the highest ideals we should strive for; and—in the second—restating the Covenant along with all its consequences, for better (when we follow the Laws of God) or for worse (when we don’t).
For today, I would like to focus on the first of the two parshyiot, B’har (“At the Mountain”—referring, of course to Mount Sinai).
The epoch-defining song “If I Had a Hammer” (composed in 1949 by Pete Seeger and Lee Hays in 1949), refers to a bell—Liberty Bell. Called in the song “the bell of freedom,” this is the bell that according to tradition, on July 8, 1776, called the citizens of Philadelphia to assemble at the State House to hear the reading of the Declaration of Independence.
Inscribed on the Liberty Bell are the words “Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof.” The quote is from Leviticus chapter 25, verse 10, taken straight from our portion of B’har.
This is really the theme of the whole portion: freedom. Actually, also about dignity. For without one, we can also not have the other. And if there is no dignity, then the image of God cannot be seen. These are qualities that we are commanded to extend not only to human beings, but also to animals, and even the earth! On the Jubilee year (every fiftieth year), the land is to lie fallow and given a rest. It is not to be worked; working animals are to be given a rest; and slaves (at least Hebrew slaves—a first step only, but an important one nevertheless—) are to be set free.
The idea that all God’s creations, whether animate or inanimate, deserve a Sabbath is truly revolutionary. We are in control of the earth, but we are not free to despoil it. We may be in charge of our animals (hopefully) but their life is God-given no less than ours is. Thus it isn’t only our life and existence that are consecrated and holy—the whole earth and all its inhabitants are deserving of the same recognition and dignity that we give to ourselves.
I wonder whether we are always mindful of this exalted ideal. When we look at the pollution with which we have filled the air and the oceans; when we view the man-made mountains of trash, or imagine the deep burial grounds of nuclear waste—can we wonder that the consequences are so wide and far reaching? Our insatiable hunger for power and energy have brought us to the brink of disaster time and time again. One only has to look at the oil that has been gushing out into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico for nearly three weeks now by the hundreds of thousands of barrels every day. Sure, it isn’t as bad—yet—as the Exxon Valdez accident of 1989; nor is it anywhere in the vicinity of “the 36 billion gallons of oil spilled by retreating Iraqi forces when they left Kuwait in 1991.”[1] But it is catastrophic, and the scope of the impact of the Deepwater Horizon well blowout is yet to be understood.
The parashah, however, poses a question: What exactly is meant by control? Way back in Genesis, weren’t we given dominion over the earth and all animal life? And if so, how far does our control extend? The Torah understands realities; it even takes into account human nature. In the Torah, dignity and freedom are balanced with control and servitude as an ever-evolving law system tries to define and redefine some middle ground. In B’har, laws referring to land ownership are discussed, as are laws that try to set limits to that eternal curse—slavery—and attempt to control the despicable ways in which we treat some of our fellow human beings.
And still a larger paradox presents itself as the portion comes to an end. Though the theme of B’har is liberty, the parashah ends with a stern warning: “For the Israelites belong to me as servants. They are my servants, whom I brought out of Egypt. I am the LORD your God” (Lev. 25:55). How can we be free if we are to be God’s servants?
The answer to this paradox is that though freedom is undeniably God’s gift, we must not confuse freedom with chaos. God did deliver us from slavery to the Egyptians, but not from all work. Ever since Jacob—who was also called Israel—first piled one stone on top of another, erecting monuments and memorials, we Jews have been builders. In Egypt we mastered our craft, even as we built storehouses for Pharaoh, monuments to a way of life that glorified tyranny, slavery and genocide. After the Exodus, we continued building, only from that point on we directed our efforts towards building monuments to OUR God. In the service of our God, we build storehouses—temples—that we fill with the values that Leviticus calls holy: justice and equality for all, education, health; and, above all, liberty and dignity for all human beings, as well as for animals and even the earth. Freedom does not mean total cessation of work; it means that our ongoing work must be meaningful and holy.
Leviticus closes with a warning: If we play lightly with our gifted freedom, we will pay the price. We are called upon to be in a relationship with God—who is holy—and therefore we must be holy, too. What that means is that we must let the Bell of Freedom ring for all God’s creation. It must sound its warning whenever and wherever we see abuse, injustice or usurpation. It must remind us of our responsibility toward all life, towards all existence. So let freedom ring, and let it awaken within each of us the recognition of God’s holy image within me, within you, within every living thing.
[1] “Gulf Oil Spill Is Bad, but How Bad?” by John M. Broder and Tom Zeller, Jr., published May 3, 2010, the New York Times; http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/04/science/earth/04enviro.html
©2010 by Boaz D. Heilman
D’var Torah for B’har/B’chukotai (Leviticus 25:1-27:34)
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
May 7, 2010 23 Iyar 5770
This week we get another double portion: B’har/B’chukotai (Leviticus 25:1-27:34). With this dual set of parshyiot, the book of Leviticus reaches its conclusion, stating—in the first parashah—some of the highest ideals we should strive for; and—in the second—restating the Covenant along with all its consequences, for better (when we follow the Laws of God) or for worse (when we don’t).
For today, I would like to focus on the first of the two parshyiot, B’har (“At the Mountain”—referring, of course to Mount Sinai).
The epoch-defining song “If I Had a Hammer” (composed in 1949 by Pete Seeger and Lee Hays in 1949), refers to a bell—Liberty Bell. Called in the song “the bell of freedom,” this is the bell that according to tradition, on July 8, 1776, called the citizens of Philadelphia to assemble at the State House to hear the reading of the Declaration of Independence.
Inscribed on the Liberty Bell are the words “Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof.” The quote is from Leviticus chapter 25, verse 10, taken straight from our portion of B’har.
This is really the theme of the whole portion: freedom. Actually, also about dignity. For without one, we can also not have the other. And if there is no dignity, then the image of God cannot be seen. These are qualities that we are commanded to extend not only to human beings, but also to animals, and even the earth! On the Jubilee year (every fiftieth year), the land is to lie fallow and given a rest. It is not to be worked; working animals are to be given a rest; and slaves (at least Hebrew slaves—a first step only, but an important one nevertheless—) are to be set free.
The idea that all God’s creations, whether animate or inanimate, deserve a Sabbath is truly revolutionary. We are in control of the earth, but we are not free to despoil it. We may be in charge of our animals (hopefully) but their life is God-given no less than ours is. Thus it isn’t only our life and existence that are consecrated and holy—the whole earth and all its inhabitants are deserving of the same recognition and dignity that we give to ourselves.
I wonder whether we are always mindful of this exalted ideal. When we look at the pollution with which we have filled the air and the oceans; when we view the man-made mountains of trash, or imagine the deep burial grounds of nuclear waste—can we wonder that the consequences are so wide and far reaching? Our insatiable hunger for power and energy have brought us to the brink of disaster time and time again. One only has to look at the oil that has been gushing out into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico for nearly three weeks now by the hundreds of thousands of barrels every day. Sure, it isn’t as bad—yet—as the Exxon Valdez accident of 1989; nor is it anywhere in the vicinity of “the 36 billion gallons of oil spilled by retreating Iraqi forces when they left Kuwait in 1991.”[1] But it is catastrophic, and the scope of the impact of the Deepwater Horizon well blowout is yet to be understood.
The parashah, however, poses a question: What exactly is meant by control? Way back in Genesis, weren’t we given dominion over the earth and all animal life? And if so, how far does our control extend? The Torah understands realities; it even takes into account human nature. In the Torah, dignity and freedom are balanced with control and servitude as an ever-evolving law system tries to define and redefine some middle ground. In B’har, laws referring to land ownership are discussed, as are laws that try to set limits to that eternal curse—slavery—and attempt to control the despicable ways in which we treat some of our fellow human beings.
And still a larger paradox presents itself as the portion comes to an end. Though the theme of B’har is liberty, the parashah ends with a stern warning: “For the Israelites belong to me as servants. They are my servants, whom I brought out of Egypt. I am the LORD your God” (Lev. 25:55). How can we be free if we are to be God’s servants?
The answer to this paradox is that though freedom is undeniably God’s gift, we must not confuse freedom with chaos. God did deliver us from slavery to the Egyptians, but not from all work. Ever since Jacob—who was also called Israel—first piled one stone on top of another, erecting monuments and memorials, we Jews have been builders. In Egypt we mastered our craft, even as we built storehouses for Pharaoh, monuments to a way of life that glorified tyranny, slavery and genocide. After the Exodus, we continued building, only from that point on we directed our efforts towards building monuments to OUR God. In the service of our God, we build storehouses—temples—that we fill with the values that Leviticus calls holy: justice and equality for all, education, health; and, above all, liberty and dignity for all human beings, as well as for animals and even the earth. Freedom does not mean total cessation of work; it means that our ongoing work must be meaningful and holy.
Leviticus closes with a warning: If we play lightly with our gifted freedom, we will pay the price. We are called upon to be in a relationship with God—who is holy—and therefore we must be holy, too. What that means is that we must let the Bell of Freedom ring for all God’s creation. It must sound its warning whenever and wherever we see abuse, injustice or usurpation. It must remind us of our responsibility toward all life, towards all existence. So let freedom ring, and let it awaken within each of us the recognition of God’s holy image within me, within you, within every living thing.
[1] “Gulf Oil Spill Is Bad, but How Bad?” by John M. Broder and Tom Zeller, Jr., published May 3, 2010, the New York Times; http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/04/science/earth/04enviro.html
©2010 by Boaz D. Heilman
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