The Inevitable Law of Life and Death: Chukat.24

 

The Inevitable Law of Life and Death

D’var Torah for Parashat Chukat

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

July 13, 2024

Life and death, both fused into one image: A perfectly red heifer. This is the first topic that appears in this week’s Torah portion, Chukat ("Law," Numbers 19:1—22:1). 

The ritual of the Red Heifer (parah aduma) has puzzled commentators for centuries and has come to represent the ultimate unknown and unexplainable. Probably going back to the earliest days of humanity, the concept embodied by the red heifer is baffling in itself. The very name of the animal (parah—the Hebrew word for cow) means alive and fruitful. Conversely, adumah—the color red—represents both blood, the life stream of all that is alive, as well as all that is evil. Adom (the color red in Hebrew) is the thread that connects us both to the best and worst within us: Adam is not only the first human being, but also the father of all humanity; adama is the Earth itself. Adom stands not only for life and love, but also for hate and lust. In folklore and superstition, a crimson thread is often used to ward off evil. In the Torah, Edom, a word derived from the same root, is cited as one of the names of Esau and his descendants. Esau, as we might recall, is the twin brother of Jacob, born to Isaac and Rebecca. As a result of Jacob’s stealing the birthright (a harsh word for what actually transpired, but seen that way by Esau), Esau takes an oath to kill Jacob. For the early Rabbis, Esau’s name became synonymous first with the Greeks and Romans, and ultimately with all others intent on killing Jews and obliterating Judaism. 

In the Torah, the ritual of the red heifer is the most extraordinary of all sacrifices. Most unusually, it was not performed at the altar, but rather outside the Israelite settlement. Additionally, unlike all other sacrifices—which were performed either by the High Priest (on Yom Kippur) or by other priests (on all other occasions)—the killing and burning of the red heifer were carried out by a non-priest. A priest, however, was to add hyssop, cedar wood and crimson yarn to the fire. The ashes were then mixed with water and set aside “in a pure place outside the camp.” The mixture had one specific purpose: to purify a person who had come in immediate or even casual contact with death. 

Finally, every officiant in this ritual was deemed ritually “impure,” unable to participate in religious and social events for the rest of the day.

In every respect, this complicated ritual fuses elements of the holy and profane. Well into the first millennium BCE, death was seen not only as the end of life, but also as the limit and extent of God’s Presence. In other ancient religions, Death was the realm of another deity. The living had no access to the dead, and the dead had no recourse to the Divine. In Psalms 6:6 (in English translations, 6:5) we read: “For in death there is no remembrance of You; in the grave who will give You thanks?” Likewise in Ps. 115:17: “The dead do not praise [Adonai], nor any who go down into silence” (NKJV).  

In I Samuel we read of King Saul—with the help of the Witch of Endor—evoking the spirit of the dead prophet Samuel. This fits into the belief of the time that the spirits of the dead resided in a nether region of the world, unreachable except by magic powers. However, as Jewish philosophy expanded beyond pagan beliefs so did Judaism broaden the realm of God’s Presence.

All that, however, is conjecture. Anything beyond reason and ration, anything that could not be explained, was up to speculation and philosophy. Yet death was—and is—real. The grief, shock and all other emotions that it raises in us are real and lasting. These can be devastating and debilitating, but just as powerful is the realistic need to move on, to carry on with life alongside all its obligations and responsibilities, as well as its blessings and joys.

With the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem the sacrifice system ended. The need to recuperate and rise from mourning and grief, however, did not cease. Jewish tradition evolved into the process we follow today—shiv’a (the first seven days of intense grief), sh’loshim (the first month, a time of transitioning back to “regular” life), followed by yahrzeit, the annual commemoration of the anniversary of the passing. Grief specialists may be called on to help those who are unable to let go of their grief even after this process.

Such is the depth and extent of grief, which places an individual outside and apart from their community; an emotion that one is often incapable of surmounting alone, that necessitates rituals and the consolation offered by an outside source—be it priest or layman, an individual and/or the community.

Humanity is a blend of the holy and profane. The ritual of the Red Heifer reflects this complexity. Life and death, love and hate, lust and repulsion, all were merged together in order to create a path forward, to enable us to affirm life alongside all its paradoxes and contradictions.  

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Day After July Fourth 2024: America at the Crossroads

The Day After July Fourth 2024: America at the Crossroads

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

July 5, 2024

Freedom comes with a price tag.

When we hear these words we usually think of those who paid the highest price, who gave their lives in the service of our country. We salute them, we place flags at their graves, and then, with hearts made heavier by our memories, we walk on. We move on; we live our lives to the fullest. And that is as it should be.

But what we don’t always think about is the price that we, the ordinary citizens, must pay for our freedoms. 

Nothing in life is free. We know that. Life owes no one anything. All that we can hope for is—hopefully—the outcome of the love and work we put into what we do. And yet we see freedom as a gift, our inheritance and legacy, even a human right. 

We Americans flaunt our political freedoms: We get to choose our leaders; the system allows for more than one party—in fact in a vibrant democracy like Israel there can be a dozen or more political parties—and we don’t have to choose between voting for the official Party or losing our jobs. In fact, we are free to host a candidate of our liking for an in-house meeting, join the party that best represents our interests, or even run for office ourselves.

But as with every choice we make, there are always consequences. We’ve seen before how a leader elected by large popular vote can turn into a dictator. A general can crown himself emperor; a “Chairman” or “Secretary” can turn into a blood-thirsty maniac. The Founding Fathers thought of these prospects as they wrote the Constitution, envisioning not a perfect government, but rather one that would best serve the majority, yet without shunning or restricting the rights of others. 

Yet throughout American history, equality could not be taken for granted. For the first two hundred years of independence, the right of women and Blacks to vote were restricted or even outright denied. Winning these basic human rights has not been easy. Ideologues, extremists and bigots escalate the struggle for power and turn it into a shouting, and sometimes violent, match. 

As with other minorities, Jews were also not always welcome in American public life. Well into the 1950’s, Jews were excluded from certain schools and country clubs, even from living in certain areas of town. All that despite the fact that America’s first President, George Washington, in a letter dated 18 August 1790 and addressed to the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island (the Touro Synagogue), wrote: “May the Children of the Stock of Abraham, who dwell in this land, continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other Inhabitants; while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and figtree , and there shall be none to make him afraid.” This letter gave direction to what eventually (and however slowly) became the official policy of the United States towards Jews.

And yet present events have shown that we are still not there. Jews are not unafraid today. We are again, and still, finding ourselves excluded from various groups, institutions and, often, public discourse.

Historically, there is precedence to this phenomenon. It’s called anti-Semitism. Deeply rooted in religion, culture and philosophy, anti-Semitism is a recurrent experience which periodically bursts through conventional niceties. It’s supported by bigots and extremists, and taken advantage of by corrupt, power-hungry individuals who, at times of uncertainty, see the anger and frustration around them as a perfect opportunity to advance themselves.

But while dangerous in itself, anti-Semitism is symptomatic of an even greater peril: Historically, anti-Semitism has often been a precursor to the disintegration and downfall of entire countries and empires.

In this week’s Torah portion, Korach (Numbers 16:1—18:32) we find an example of the kind of power struggle that can lead to disaster. Some of us may remember the story of Korach from the 1956 movie The Ten Commandments, where it is retold in stunning visuals, forming the conclusion of the movie, right before the epitaph that then declares: “So it is written, so it shall be done.” 

But whereas the movie emphasizes the religious aspect of Korach’s rebellion—the dire consequences of rebelling against God and God’s chosen leaders—the message of this portion is actually much broader. As with so much of the Torah, the lesson here is also about us human beings, and how easily we can be led us astray by our passions and by corrupt leaders.

Korach is greedy and manipulative. While supposedly advocating for the rights of all people, he lists among his grievances the undue power and authority supposedly grabbed for themselves by Moses and Aaron: “You take too much upon yourselves, for all the congregation is holy, every one of them, and [the Eternal] is among them. Why then do you exalt yourselves above the assembly of [the Eternal]?” (Num. 16:3, NKJV). 

Korach is in a good place to claim a portion of this power for himself. He is privileged, a member of the Kohathites, the family of Levites to which Moses, Aaron and Miriam also belong. He feels unjustly relegated to a secondary role. And at a time when the Israelites are uncertain of their own faith, leadership and direction, Korach stirs their feelings of anger and frustration to the boiling point, hoping to become the new leader of the people himself. 

We face a similar situation in America today. Contesting religions and philosophies are striving for dominance; extremists sway undue power over government officials and leaders, and even in educational institutions. Politicians are often too afraid of numbers and polls, of losing money and influence, to stand up for law and civility. The difference between the Korach story and our own is that, unfortunately for us today, there doesn’t seem to be a visionary such as Moses, who will redirect us to our common—and vital—goals. 

The story of Korach isn’t only about a rebellion against God. It’s about realpolitik. It’s a cautionary tale about losing our way in the wilderness and the dangers of placing corrupt, divisive and manipulative groups and individuals in powerful positions.

In the Torah, it takes Divine intervention (and a shining example of human bravery and courage on the part of Aaron, the High Priest) to stop the rebellion and the ensuing conflagration. We however can’t afford to wait for this to happen—nor would we want to. What we call “acts of God” are actually notoriously destructive. What we need today is to find the courage within ourselves to stand up for what is right. In a democracy, it’s sometimes up to the us, the “We, the people,” the constituents who elected our officials: to rise against hatred and violence; to teach and to explain; to support those individuals and organizations that support us; to expect law agencies to enforce the law; and to demand that balance and reason become part of the public discourse again.

This is the lesson I take from this week’s study of Korach, coinciding this year with the Fourth of July 2024. Participation in our institutions, in our body politic, sometimes through donations of money and other times with time and effort, is the price we pay for our freedom. It’s our choice to sit back, do nothing and let divisiveness and hatred define the new us. Or we can take it upon ourselves to work even harder towards the goal of justice and equality for all. 

America is at a moral and even existential crossroads today. What it will be tomorrow is up to each and every one of us today.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

On the Meaning of Freedom: July 4 2024

 On the Meaning of Freedom

Thoughts on the Fourth of July 2024

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Happy Fourth of July! An important date in American and world history. Unlike any other country in the world, this country was created upon a set of principles, based on the belief that all people are created equal. (A belief that Judaism already taught more than 3000 years earlier). Democracy as a social order is a working-out of this philosophy. It is far from perfect. On the one hand, democracy enables each of us to reach our potential and to participate in all aspects of life and society. Problem is, it doesn't always work out that way. Not everybody is given the same opportunities, and we know well the power that some groups have--and use--to suppress others groups. If power corrupts, then the distribution of power among some (but not all) corrupts exponentially. Still, through the years, this new nation has managed to live up to its principles. Not that the work is finished. We are the builders of the future, and our participation in American life and culture today is essential for generations to come. That's where the real power of democracy lies: in giving everyone a part to write and play in the story of life. And that's what America stands for today, and must remain for all time. The Statue of Liberty has always been not only a beacon of hope for many, but also symbol of a land that stands by and for the highest principles of humanity: justice and equality; dignity and respect.

This is the vision that today, possibly more than ever, we must continue working towards.

Happy birthday America, may you thrive and continue bearing the torch of liberty for all humanity.

© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman