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
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