Keeping The Promise Alive: Bechukotai.22

 Keeping The Promise Alive

D’var Torah for Parashat Bechukotai

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Sometimes potted plants need to be replanted. The root system may have outgrown the original pot, or perhaps the soil isn’t appropriate, or has become depleted of nutrients.

This week’s Torah portion (Bechukotai, “By My Laws,” the last parasha in the book of Leviticus, chapters 26:3—27:34) contains a list of consequences resulting from following (or failing to follow) God’s commandments. One of these refers particularly to the laws regarding the maintenance of the Land. It’s pretty simple: If we follow God’s laws, then God “Will give the rain in its season, the earth shall yield its produce, and the trees of the field their fruit. Your threshing shall last till the time of vintage, and the vintage shall last till the time of sowing; you shall eat your bread to the full, and dwell in your land safely” (Lev. 26:4-5, NKJV). However, if we fail to observe these laws, then “Your land shall not yield its produce, nor shall the trees of the land yield their fruit…” (Lev. 26:20, 32). God “Will make your cities waste… and will bring the land into desolation.” 

The worst of it is that, because of the ensuing desolation, the People of Israel would be dispersed to far and widespread places all over the world.

Yet God promises that even in the Diaspora, the Covenant would remain intact. Even when transplanted to foreign soil, as long as we held on to our faith, the People would remain God’s Chosen People and eventually would return to the Promised Land.

Throughout the 2000 years of the Diaspora caused by the Roman destruction of Judea, the validity of this promise has proven true. Despite oppression and persecution, the Jewish People have held fast to our beliefs. Adapting to various climates and cultures, we continued studying our Sacred Texts, we continued following the Commandments. There were dark times when we were forced to abandon or hide our faith, yet even then many continued practicing Judaism in secret, or held on to elements of the faith even without understanding the reason why. 

Amazingly, even in the darkest of times, the bloody crusades, the pogroms in Russia, Ukraine and elsewhere, even during the Holocaust, many found the strength to hold on to their faith despite the horror and tragedy. 

Some people may see the Torah as no more than stories or legends meant for a specific people and time. Yet the eternal truth of Bechukotai is found in the fact that Am Yisrael Chai, “the Jewish People yet lives.” Throughout our history, we learned to adapt while keeping our roots intact. No matter the soil or culture that surrounded us, we kept our traditions alive. We learned to adapt the ancient laws—sometimes with greater flexibility, at other times more stringently. But we never abandoned our basic beliefs. We maintained the connection to our lifeline, to the Source that kept nourishing and sustaining us. 

To this day, the spiritual strength that the book of Leviticus imbues within us remains undiminished. We live in various lands—including now, thank God, also in the Land of Israel—while holding on to the goal Moses had set for us: to be a holy people, a light unto the nations. We do so not by being “holier than thou,” but rather by adhering to the basic premise of Leviticus: that being civil to one another, maintaining our dignity and humanity especially when bigotry, prejudice and hatred proliferate around us, will lead us forward despite all the challenges and obstacles along the way.

The People of Israel may have been uprooted and transplanted many times over throughout our history; yet, just as this portion promises, we continue producing fragrant blossom and resplendent fruit. It is the greatest possible blessing.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Reset Button: Behar.22

The Reset Button: Behar

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Sometimes it seems that things go out of control. No sooner are we out of one situation than another comes up. Pandemic is quickly followed by war; one horrific shooting comes on the heels of another. Not to complain, but have you noticed gas prices? And baby formula shortage??? Tempers flare and misunderstandings turn into squabbles; friends get dropped; families are torn apart.

Where is the stop and reset button for heaven’s sake?

This week’s Torah portion, Behar (“At the Mountain,” Leviticus 25:1-26:2) seems to anticipate our question, offering us exactly that: a reset button: A fiftieth year jubilee. Every fifty years everything returns to “normal.” Families reunite; everyone comes home again, turning to one another with an outstretched hand and warm embrace. Loans are forgiven, slaves are set free. Every seven years (and then, in addition, on the fiftieth) even the land is given a year off: No cultivation, no reaping of the aftergrowth of the harvest: The abundance is returned whence it came—to enrich the earth. 

The highest principle of our Republic is found in this unmatched portion (Lev. 25:10): “Proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants.” It’s hard to compete with this lofty idea. 

However, what Moses could see from the mountaintop was an idealized vision, not easy to accomplish. It would require that we find humility and compassion within us, not only resentment and anger.  

Like all ideas of perfection, this one too may seem impossible. Who in their right mind would be willing to release their slaves? Who would leave their land untended and permit wild animals to forage in it? Where would banks and the market be if loans were forgiven every fifty years? It would be chaos!

But the Torah anticipates this too and has some suggestions, such as that the value of the land should not be measured by some imaginary matrix, but rather by how many years are left before the Jubilee year, when the property would return to its original owner. The value of an orchard or vineyard should be calculated not only by how much fruit it may yield, but also by how many harvests are yet to come before the land is permitted to rest. 

The closer you get to the Jubilee Year, so does the retail value decrease. No price gouging permitted.

If all this feels so contrary to human nature, perhaps it’s because we as a society have become arrogant, proud with our possessions and always wanting more. Our biggest need has become not to fit in, but rather to dominate; not merely to blend harmoniously with nature and all life, but rather to control and repress. Winner takes all.

Maybe that’s why this portion is so important. Its task is to remind us of the vision of the way things should be, and how to get there.

The lesson of this portion is that our purpose here on earth is to remind us of our own value; we cannot consider ourselves so important that we allow our egos to get out of hand. We do not own and master land, people or animals. Rather, we are here to cultivate the earth, not deplete it. To care for one another, not to hurt with rocks or words, but rather to care for all those who dwell on it. This, Behar tells us, is the way to set things right once again, to ensure that things go well again.   

It’s time to push the reset button, and it starts with ourselves.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

A Delicate Balance: Emor.22

 

A Delicate Balance

D'var Torah for Parashat Emor

This week’s Torah portion, Emor (“Speak,” Leviticus 21:1-24:12) contains rules regulating the behavior of the priests, in ritual as well as private life. These rules reflect extremely high standards, nearly impossible to achieve, covering everything from marriage to mourning; from rules on what they could or couldn’t do while in a state of impurity (such as illness), and even—in detail—describing physical flaws that may disqualify a priest from officiating. 

The implied expectation is that only a person of perfect physical and moral qualities may perform the sacred tasks. 

This, however, would leave unrequited Moses’s most ardent wish, “May all Israel be a nation of priests, a holy people.” Obviously, based on this portion, this could never be. This contradiction is puzzling, and most of the early commentators treated it as a reflection of the ancient days when priests served at the Temple, but irrelevant in our day. Only Rashi, the great rabbi and commentator of the 11th century, attempts to give another explanation, writing succinctly (yet enigmatically), that the purpose of these rules is “to caution the major along with the minor” (al ha-g’dolim v‘al ha-k’tanim). Is Rashi referring to a caste system differentiating between the priests and the laypeople? The rich and the poor? Or perhaps adults and children? This is unclear.

Perhaps, however, Rashi highlights a different teaching: that in carrying out all his sacred duties, the priest would need to focus both on the larger goal as well as the details of his obligation.

Perfection is an impossible bar to reach. Rashi teaches that getting there is much more important.

Sometimes, when we only keep our eyes on the prize, we tend to overlook how we get there. We might be tempted to cut corners, or gloss over some of the more challenging tasks. No one would notice, we tell ourselves. Other times, we might be so carried away by an idea or commandment that we become blind to the reality around us. Some time ago a person consulted with me about her son, who had become Orthodox and had become inflexible with regards to kashrut, the strict dietary laws commanded by the Rabbis. It reached the point where the young man refused to eat at his parents’ home. In this case, while his intentions were good, the son overlooked an even higher mitzvah, kibbud av va-‘em –-honoring one’s parents. Sometimes we try so hard to get somewhere that we fail to pay close attention to how we get there.

The opposite may also true, of course. The myriads of details that we encounter along our path can be overwhelming, causing some to become lost, unable to perceive a larger purpose. 

The art of balancing vision with everyday behavior is not easy to master.

Sometimes it requires us to stop, to step back and gage our course and direction. To assess our own strength and ability. To think things out. And there are times when we find ourselves in need of revisiting a situation, to try and rectify some details we may have missed the first, or even second time. 

Perfection isn’t the goal. Getting there is. That’s what this portion, Emor, teaches us. As Rashi explains, it’s about ha-g’dolim, the major, the important, the visionary matters; v’ha-k’tanim, as well as all the finer details along the path. 

While some of the commandments in this portion may have become irrelevant in our own day, the idea behind them hasn’t. It’s still about how we make our lives meaningful, how to turn life, along with all its challenges, into a blessing. Rashi empowers us all to sanctify ourselves, to fulfill Moses’s prophecy and make all Israel a nation of priests. His gentle reminder is that the best way to do that is by finding the delicate balance between maintaining the sacred obligation entrusted to us and how we live our daily lives.

© 2022 By Boaz D. Heilman

Agents of Holiness: Kedoshim 2022

Agents of Holiness: Kedoshim 2022

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Signs posted over the first two rows of seats on busses in Israel read, “Rise before the elderly.” The meaning is clear: These seats are reserved. It isn’t law per se; but it is the way of the land and the people, ingrained in Israel’s culture and way of life. 

The words are a commandment from the Torah. They appear in this week’s Torah portion, Kedoshim ("You shall be holy,” Leviticus 19:1—20:27). The portion is meant to be a manual to living a holy life and in fact is known as the Holiness Code. Some of the commandments it contains reflect an earlier, more primitive way of thinking. Overall however, Kedoshim introduces a revolutionary way of thinking about God and what God expects/wants of us. 

Holiness, we are told, isn’t found only in our relationship with God. It is equally—or even more so—part of our interaction with one another. Most importantly, it’s about the dignity that must be afforded to the poor, the elderly and the stranger, to the weak and marginalized in society. 

The Holiness Code is read twice during the year: Once during the annual cycle of readings; the second time, on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, on the holiest day in the Jewish calendar.

The concept of holiness is key to any religion. Making a connection with the divine spirits that one perceives or imagines in the world around us is a component of being human. In the ancient world, this connection was usually achieved through the agency of priests (or priestesses), usually by offering sacrifice to the pertinent gods.

In Kedoshim, this thinking is turned on its head. Only a handful of commandments mention any sort of sacrifice at all. The great majority have to do with our own behavior. Holiness emanates from God. Each commandment reminds us of this fact. And yet the emphasis is on our individual actions, on what we do.

In this portion we understand that our behavior can be more than common courtesy. It can reach the level of holiness. There are many examples, from fairness in business and trade to tending the earth; from paying the day laborer at the end of the day to a law forbidding you from taking his coat as collateral for a loan. Holiness is in how we relate to one another. And while some of the commandments have to do with our actual actions, others refer to our emotions: Love your neighbor as yourself; do not take revenge or bear a grudge. Do not hate your brother in your heart.

This view lies way ahead of the common ancient belief systems in which it arose. The understanding of holiness that Kedoshim brings into to our own life gives us unprecedented potential. Holiness isn’t an abstract. It’s in our everyday behavior. Holiness is found in such simple acts such as supporting the weak or leaving aside a portion of our field (physically or metaphorically) for those who are less fortunate than ourselves. 

This revolutionary understanding what God expects of us is shown through one word: V’hit-kadish-tem—"You shall sanctify yourselves” (Lev. 20:7). The grammatical form of the word indicates that we are the agents of holiness in our own lives. The spark is already there. The potential for holiness is already planted within us. All we must do is give life to it with our deeds.

This is the heart of the entire Torah.

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

Israel at 74

Israel at 74

Reflections by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

For all its vibrance and newness, Israel is also an old country. Not only because of the long history embedded in its soil and stones, but also because the energy that Israelis bring into it on a daily basis is strenuous and draining. In the 74 years since declaring its independence, the modern State of Israel has learned to settle into old routines, to face overcrowded roads and no parking spaces; to wait in lines that are more of a chaotic scramble for air and space than a test of patience and resolve; to listen to calls to violence and rambling speeches spewing hate; and to be vigilant at every moment.

Oddly, what highlighted this “oldness” for me on my recent visit was a dust storm event, a three-day haboub driven by eastern winds from the Arabian desert.

A haboub is not an infrequent guest in the region. You wake up to an eerie yellow light instead of the usual bright daylight. That’s the color of desert sand. You know—or should know—better than exercise outdoors in these conditions. The dust gets into your eyes, your ears, and settles in your lungs. And yet joggers and fast walkers seem undaunted as they push themselves even harder to stay in shape.

After a day or two of the air and sky being filled with dust, the sand begins to settle. If it happens to be raining too, then it rains straight-out mud. Otherwise, cars, trees and sidewalks are soon covered by a veneer of dust that makes everything look old and tired.

It’s a deep contrast from the usual momentum one encounters in Israel, where energy seems boundless, where people at work and on the road seem driven by a combination of desperation, adrenaline and irrepressible joy of life.

Maybe it’s also part of the malaise that COVID has brought to the world. As one variant replaces another, people seem to have gotten tired of fighting it. If infected, you stay isolated for a few days, then bounce right back. Sometimes more than once. People have gotten used to the routine.

Israelis are tired of hypocritical world politics, where “civilized” nations such as Russia, China and Cuba—members of the enlightened club known as the United Nations Human Rights Council—lead a chorus of criticism against one of the most liberal and democratic countries in the world; where “woke” cultural “heroes” –pop musicians, fashion models and vapid movie stars—wag tongues and fingers at Israel while totally ignoring genocide and human rights violations anywhere else.

Israeli politicians have also settled into an old routine—undermining one another, whether members of their own party and coalition, or part of the opposition. Private allowances and public expenditures are examined through a magnifying glass in search of anything that might topple the government and bring about yet another rotation of ineffectual power.

Israelis are worn out by acts of terror perpetrated by desperate individuals egged on by illegal regimes that know they can’t achieve their dreams of destroying Israel and are satisfied by merely disrupting ordinary life. While Israelis converge in giving comfort to the injured and the grieving, in Gaza and in West Bank “refugee” camps candy is distributed in celebration of the latest drive-by shooting or stabbing.

Israelis are worn out by Israel’s inability—or lack of desire—to stem this violence at its roots: in mosques where preachers incite their followers to violence in weekly Friday sermons; in stately mansions where billionaire leaders of terrorist organizations teach the masses that Israel is the real culprit and cause of their poverty and misery; in corridors of international power where tyrants issue fatwas, daily calls for the destruction of the State of Israel.

And yet, underneath the thin veneer of exhaustion among Israeli citizens, there runs a deep river of humanity and compassion. The economy is booming and the malls are filled with shoppers. City parks and playgrounds are filled with children running and playing with the kind of joy and exuberance that are the unmistakable product of love and pride. The sense that “we can overcome any hurdle” is everywhere.

When I left Israel, Yom Ha-Shoah, the Day of Commemoration of the Holocaust, was just beginning. The deep pain that resides within the Jewish soul refuses to be buried and forgotten. The memories remain alive. Perhaps because of the number of refugees from the Russia-Ukraine War that Israel has taken in, many of whom are themselves Holocaust survivors.  Perhaps it’s the two-minute siren that arouses them, piercing the heart and reminding us why Israel is there: to make sure a Holocaust does not happen again, that Jews are not defenseless anymore. That Israel, and the Israel Defense Force, will be there for them—for us—wherever and whenever we need it.

This is a sad period for Israelis, yet another reason for the malaise many are feeling right now. On Wednesday Israel will celebrate its 74th Independence Day, but immediately preceding this joyous event is Memorial Day, a day set aside to remember those who fell in battle in defense of the State of Israel, as well as those who died as a result of terrorism. Soldiers and citizens, men, women and children—they all fought for the right of Jews—as all human beings—to define themselves, to live freely, to defend themselves. Israel pays a heavy price for these freedoms, and Israelis do not forget it for one minute. 

Despite the political, cultural and economic divisions that run through Israel’s population, there is a strong and persistent sense of family. Families may disagree and sometimes even quarrel. But at the end of the day, they are there for one another. Maybe that’s one reason for the strength and confidence one senses in Israel. There are times when Israelis would love to just lay down their weapons, to let tired muscles relax, to let the pain dissipate some. But then the dust clears and our purpose becomes clear again. We move forward, proving to the world—and to ourselves—that Am Yisrael Chai, the People of Israel lives. That’s the mission and goal that Israel has set for itself. That is the true force behind its still-beating heart.

Happy Independence Day, Israel. As you reach toward the three-quarter century mark, may you continue to thrive and be a light and beacon to all nations and people of this earth. 

© 2022 by Boaz D. Heilman