Bridging Time and Eternity
D’var Torah for Parashat Emor
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
May 2, 2023
This week’s Torah portion, Emor (“Speak,” Leviticus 21:1—24:23) details rules of holiness for priests as well as laypeople.
Some of these rules strive for a level of perfection that is hard to obtain. Priests, for example, must be free of any physical or moral flaw. Additionally, they may not enter a cemetery or even show signs of mourning except for their nearest relatives. Cemeteries are the realm of the dead, and—at least in ancient belief—represented a place where God’s Presence did not reach. The priests’ obligations were confined to the living. While grief is a natural reaction to loss, the priests were admonished to exercise almost extreme self-restraint. God’s judgment must not be questioned by those ordained to serve God.
While in some cultures the dead are actually worshipped, in Judaism we memorialize our dead by sanctifying their memory. We say special prayers at Yizkor and other memorial services. We say the Mourner’s Kaddish during the first year of mourning and at yearly anniversaries (yahrzeits). Some visit the graves of their ancestors, particularly before the High Holy Days, on Tisha B’Av, or other dates such as yahrzeits, birthdays and other special occasions.
We sanctify the memory of the dead when we do a mitzvah in their memory or donate to a charity that may have been particularly meaningful to them.
Those among us who are more observant of the traditions and keep alive the mitzvot (the sacred commandments) concerning the priesthood still observe some of the restrictions specified in Emor. So, for example, if they are a Kohen (descended from the priestly class), they will not enter a cemetery. Israel’s national airline, El Al, actually avoids even flying over the Tel Aviv cemetery.
Still, much has changed since those early days when the Torah was Israel’s law. Both rules and philosophies have evolved. We no longer think of death as a region where God’s holiness does not exist. God’s holiness is everywhere, extending beyond time itself. For many of us, cemeteries have actually become sacred places, doorways to eternity, a gateway to God’s Presence.
I still remember the first time I sensed this holiness. It was in Israel in 1973 and I was at a funeral for a family member who had fallen during the Yom Kippur War. I did not see his death as merely “in the line of duty.” It was much more than that. When the war started, he was a student at a Cal Tech, a family man with a wife and two little children and a bright future before him. Driven by a deep sense of duty and patriotism, he left all behind and joined the fight for Israel’s survival. A few days into the war, we stopped hearing from him, and soon afterwards came the dreaded knock on the door. Hundreds came to accompany him on his final journey. He had fallen while fulfilling a sacred mitzvah—coming to the defense of the Jewish People and the Jewish State. Walking among the mourners, I felt something I had never sensed before. The ground was shimmering. The sunlight—somehow too bright for such a dark day—reflected off the iron gate and fence that surrounded the cemetery. We walked through the gate and entered a holy place and a holy time, a moment that lives within me to this day.
Emor, this week’s Torah reading, may reflect ancient customs and beliefs, but its call to holiness is powerful and eternal. In life as in death, when we grieve and when we celebrate, God is always with us. We are surrounded by holiness, and we become its messengers through our words and deeds. Holiness is the bridge that connects our fleeting days to God’s sacred and timeless eternity, and we may choose to walk upon it.
© 2023 by Boaz D. Heilman
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