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
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