The Upward Climb Toward Equality: Pinchas

The Upward Climb Toward Equality

D’var Torah for Parashat Pinchas

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

It has been a week of justice—justice pursued, justice denied, justice overturned, justice enshrined.

Justice is there to banish chaos.  Justice gives names and rules to human behavior; it defines outcomes and hopefully validates every individual human being’s right to be recognized and acknowledged.

This past week, we saw the extent of justice—all the way from the underworld of our cities up to the highest seat of law in the land, the US Supreme Court. 

This week in Boston, of course, the trial of “Whitey” Bulger began.  For years, gangs in the city ran unchecked, wreaking mayhem and terror.  Now it was finally time to bring to justice a major player in this chaotic and violent world.  And many of the witnesses are proving only too eager to sing.

But stopping one criminal does not necessarily put an end to crime.  The most prominent violent crime exposed this week was the murder alleged to have been committed by ex-Patriot Aaron Hernandez.  Regardless of the final result of the still-ongoing investigation, what remains is the dark fact that a man’s life was violently snuffed out by a fellow human being.  It is the ultimate crime in our society; but it is also the ultimate sin before God, since life is seen as God-bestowed and thus only in the realm of God to take away.

Not all injustices are so dramatic, however.  Some wrongs exist and persist for centuries and even eons.  Just about forever, there have always been members of society who were excluded from rights afforded to everyone else.  Be they of a different color, class or gender, some people have always been defined by a different standard, one that made them slightly less valuable than others.

From the Emancipation Proclamation to the Civil Rights Act of 1965, discrimination in the US against racial, ethnic, religious and gender minorities was closely watched by the courts and, step by step, abolished.  Procedures and laws were established to ensure that such practices did not continue unchecked.  And much, indeed, had changed in those 100 years, while yet so much more remains unchecked.

Well, three days ago, the US Supreme Court decided that some of these watchdog procedures were no longer necessary.  A key part of the 1965 legislation was overturned. 

Perhaps, as Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. wrote in the majority opinion, the ancient cultural barriers against these minorities no longer existed and therefore no longer needed guarding against.

Or perhaps they always did, still do, and always will.  This week’s Torah portion, Pinchas (Numbers 25:10-30:1), is very timely in its example of anti-discrimination legislation.  It is the story of a man named Zelophehad.  The man, having had no sons, died.  What would happen to his share in the Promised Land, was the question raised by his five daughters.  Would this share be given to another man, from another clan or tribe, when there actually were physical inheritors, notwithstanding that they happened to be females?

I’m not sure what the decision would be if such a case ever came up in Afghanistan.  I can only imagine how Taliban leaders—or their blindly devout followers—would react to the sight of the five women standing before Moses, Aaron, the priests, indeed the whole people, to demand equal shares and rights like all the men-folk.

But God instructs Moses to give them Zelophehad’s share.  “They speak correctly,” God tells Moses and us.  The commandment must be legislated, spelled out in legal terms that make rightful inheritance the right of every human being.

Must the command come from God?  Evidently so.  Even supreme courts, comprised of flesh-and-blood human beings, can fail to discern cultural inclinations; in Pinchas we find God as the ultimate model of justice and fairness, stating the unimpeachable principle that every human being, regardless of color, gender or belief, is a valued component of the human family.

The problem is that prejudices are often masters of disguise.  They appear as jokes, as harmless words or gestures, as assumptions and deeply held beliefs that defy all rational thinking.

Paula Deen, the doyenne of Southern comfort cooking, tearfully confessed earlier this week that she had used demeaning racial slurs and stereotypes.  The debate on all the media has been on the extent of her guilt.  Yes, she used the slurs, but did she mean them?  Is she an actual racist?  Don’t some of the very people she supposedly insulted use the same term among themselves, to describe themselves, all the time?

Bias and discrimination need to be carefully monitored because, unless you’ve been on the receiving end, you might not recognize that they do indeed exist and hurt.  Maybe it’s in our nature to validate ourselves at the expense of others.  More the reason, then, to recognize it even within ourselves.   To recognize it, then to reeducate ourselves and our children, and finally to legislate—these must be the three ways in which dignity and equality for all can be assured, and it’s a never-ending process.

The week’s really good news, however, was, of course, the repeal of DOMA, the Defense of Marriage Act—the Supreme Court’s final decision of its 2012-2013 term, delivered only two days ago.   It was an historic day for the entire GLBT community in its struggle for dignity and personal validation.

Ancient prejudices do not disappear quickly.  The wheels of justice grind slowly—and sometimes in reverse.  It’s an ongoing process that begins in the most ordinary acts of human behavior and ends up in the heavenly court.  Along history’s progress, it has been our people’s privilege to be among the marchers, the protesters, the liberators, the legislators.

You could say it all began with Pinchas, this week’s Torah portion, the one that tackles the issues of prejudice and discrimination.

© 2013 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Opposite of Magic: Balak

The Opposite of Magic
D'var Torah for Parashat Balak
by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

“Do you believe in magic?”

I was sitting with a student the other day, studying her bat mitzvah portion of Balak (Numbers 22:2—25:9).  We were discussing the seer, Balaam, who was hired by the Moabite king, Balak, to curse Israel.  That’s when the student raised the question.

And at that moment, something crystallized in my mind.  It was the climax to a process that began years earlier, when I read Bernard Malamud’s novel The Natural.  I realized then that there are two modes of belief and thinking in the world.  One revolves around luck and gambling.  The other is more about what each one of us can do to bring about a desired outcome (short of throwing the game).  In Malamud’s novel, the ethics and morality of the two systems are weighed and examined.  It becomes pretty clear which worldview Malamud championed.

Last week, sitting and studying Balak in my study, it hit me.  These two complex systems could be distilled into two simple words:  magic and mitzvah.

Do I believe in magic?

Do you mean, I asked the student, magic as in magic shows or magic tricks?

No; she meant the other kind of magic, the world of superstition and curses, a world where seers and sorcerers, oracles and magi could control—or at least predict—your fate.

Balaam was such a seer, a man whose spiritual vision and clarity even the ancient Rabbis recognized as formidable.  His fame spread across borders; Balak, king of the Moabites, the last obstacle between the Israelites and the Promised Land, promised him power and untold riches if only he would cause something—anything! —that would make the Israelites disappear from Moab’s borders.  Their sheer numbers and legendary strength terrified the king.  Surely a man of Balaam’s talents could influence the darker powers and direct them to rain misfortune upon them!

It’s a famous story.  Balaam starts on his way, only to be thwarted by an angel wielding a fiery sword—that only Balaam’s ass can see (OK, readers, out of the gutter!  An ass—the Hebrew word aton—is a female donkey).  The humble animal proves better at perceiving God’s intent than Balaam, and it tries to protect Balaam.  The blind seer beats his animal in response.  This happens three times until the ass speaks its mind and heart, showing her as a much more compassionate, loyal and faithful creature than her master.  Once alerted to the presence of the angel, however, Balaam realizes what he must do.  Despite all King Balak’s efforts to have curses issue forth, only blessings come pouring out of Balaam’s mouth.

The praise he sings of Israel is exalted and noble:  Mah tovu ohalecha Ya’akov—“How goodly are your tents, O Jacob!”

What exactly did Balaam see at that moment?  What made the dark words he harbored in his heart turn into such supreme tribute?  Is this story simply a moral tale that teaches that God’s powers trump the darker powers of magic?

For some, that might be enough.  For them, this might be the simple truth and lesson of this story:  Moral:  Follow God’s ways; they are more powerful than any other ways.

But this message implies that darker powers do exist. 

And though I believe (how could one not?) in our all-too-human ability to hurt, to wreak chaos, even to do evil, I don’t believe that there is some satanic superpower out there vying with God for control of the universe. 

And no, I don’t believe in curses.  I do believe, however, in our ability to have some influence on the future by what we choose to do, say, and create.  There is no special potion—at least not the way I see it.  That power is in our hands already.

What Balaam saw that made him exclaim with such wonder and praise was antithetical to anything he saw in any other peoples, something in the Hebrew culture that he realized was far superior to any other of the time:  it was the Israelites’ moral and ethical behavior.  Balaam saw how miracles could be wrought by human hands.  Refugees from persecution and genocide, relying on the tested values of loyalty, faith, compassion and hope, the Israelites had created an oasis in the wilderness.  Through ethical behavior—mitzvot, if you will—they set a pattern that would outlast any other system.  It was destined for success—not by fate or magic, but simply because it is the only system that is truly guaranteed to work.

So no, Meira, I don’t believe in curses.  There is no magic; there’s only mitzvah.

And that power is undisputable.

And by the way—congratulations on your upcoming bat mitzvah!  Yasher koach—may you go from strength to strength.

© 2013 by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Eitz Chayim—A Tree of Life: Korach

Eitz Chayim—A Tree of Life

D’var Torah for Parashat Korach

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Dedicated to the Board of Congregation B’nai Torah

“The next day Moses entered the tent and saw that Aaron’s staff, which represented the tribe of Levi, had not only sprouted but had budded, blossomed and produced almonds” (Numbers 17:8 [17:23 in the Hebrew text]).

The highly dramatic story of Korach (Num. 16:1-18:32) serves as a fitting conclusion to the 1956 grand movie epic, “The Ten Commandments.”  It comes to solidify Moses’s authority as the unquestioned prophet, spokesperson of God and visionary leader of his people through the wilderness.

There is no doubt of the psychological effect that the image of the earth opening up to swallow Korach and his band of rebels has on us.  It’s one of the more terrifying and horrifying ends we can imagine, and the lesson it teaches is of unwavering loyalty to the powers that be.

But the rebellion of Korach has always posed a problem:  How did Moses come to be the undisputed and undisputable prophet and leader of Israel?  What made him better than, holier than everyone else? 

The answer to both these questions can be found in yet another image that appears in this portion—that of the flowering staff.  As proof of the validity of Aaron’s role in the ritual hierarchy, Moses is told to take from each tribe’s leader his staff—iconic symbol of power and authority.  Moses is to place the staffs in the Tent of Meeting.  The next morning, a miracle becomes evident:  Overnight, Aaron’s staff has blossomed and given flower, bud and fruit.

It is easy to see God’s hand in this highly potent image.  After all, the staff is not alive anymore.  Cut off from the tree on which it grew, severed from its roots, to all eyes the branch is lifeless.  Yet God’s spirit can bring life even to the seemingly inanimate object, the miracle proclaims.  Aaron’s position of authority is thus validated by God, the ultimate source of all life.

The venerable Rabbi Moshe Feinstein (1895-1986) wrote a beautiful commentary on this miracle and its meaning.  Quoting Talmudic sources, Rabbi Feinstein teaches that it was important that the whole People of Israel witness not only the fruit of the branch, but also the flowers and buds that led up to it.

Why so?

Because normally we tend to measure success by the fruit of our labor, not by the process that led up to it.  The final result, good or bad, represents the sum of the parts; the stepping stones that led up to that result are discounted as mere procedure, the part of an experiment that needs to be tested again and again, to be thrown out or replicated as necessary.

The flowering and budding of Aaron’s staff are shown as integral parts of the miracle so that we can learn to appreciate the actual work done in reaching the final result.  Our intent, the thought, preparation and effort we put into our work should count no less than the final result.

That is why Moses’s authority cannot be questioned—at least not by the likes of Korach.  To get to this point in his life and career, Moses had to prove himself time and again.  Throughout his life he was tested both by the people and by God; and except for one notable exception (when he struck the rock for water instead of speaking to it), he passed all tests. 

Korach, on the other hand, is mentioned nowhere else in the Torah.  All we know about him is that he was born to the same clan as Moses, Miriam and Aaron (all Kohathites, a clan of the tribe of Levi). Like all the other Israelites, Korach was witness to the many miracles associated with the Exodus.  But unlike Moses, Miriam and Aaron, he had no hand in these miracles.  He was a spectator, awestruck by the miracle but not a participant in the actual process of making it happen.

Moses’s authority was well earned and repeatedly proven.  Aaron, however, was of weaker character.  His failure of leadership at the incident of the Golden Calf left an indelible mark in the minds of many.  However, like Moses, Aaron persevered.  Like a trained athlete or practiced artist, Aaron proved himself faithful and constant in the service of God.  Still, in the eyes of many that was not enough.  With much of his work done behind curtains, surrounded by clouds of incense, Aaron’s steady hand could not be seen by the masses.  That’s why his staff blossomed, budded and gave fruit.  To give clear evidence that there was process behind the result, and that it was all blessed by God.

So it is with us.  The work we actually do is rarely seen and even more rarely appreciated.  What people see and reward more often is the end result, not the long process of trial and error, the endless training and repetitious practice that precedes it.

To what can the flowering staff be compared?  To the Torah.  An ancient, seemingly lifeless scroll filled with words and tales that go back thousands of years, the Torah does not blossom by itself.  However, when it is studied, it blossoms and flowers.  The words might be from God; the fruit, however, is in the deeds of those who follow it.

Similarly, a temple can be a glorious architectural setting, or it can be a simple hovel.  But what really makes a congregation strong often remains in the background, unseen by the many.  It’s in the work of the Board, the group of individuals who lend so much of their time and effort to the often-thankless task of making sure the programs happen.  Events at the temple don’t appear miraculously out of the woodwork.  They are crafted well in advance, often in the late hours of the day and evening.  There is discussion of ideas and practicalities, of tasks and coordination.  Phone calls are made, letters sent, provisions procured and set up. 

Throughout it all, we all make sure never to lose sight of the eternal light—our Torah.  It is, after all, the guiding star of our mission, reminding us of both direction and goal, purpose and intent. 

That’s what makes us Congregation B’nai Torah.  Like Aaron’s staff, through the work of our hands we prove ourselves trustworthy of our name and mission.  May this work continue to be blessed by God.

© 2013 by Boaz D. Heilman