Cultivating the Desert: Bamidbar.25

Cultivating the Desert: Bamidbar

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 29, 2025

Bamidbar ("In the Wilderness," Numbers 1:1—4:20) is the name of this week's portion, as well as of the entire fourth book of the Torah. While this title refers literally to the geographical setting in the Sinai Wilderness, the figurative reference is to life as a whole--life without direction, meaning or purpose, no more than a biological process in which everyone is free to do as they wish or desire. Whether life is wholly chaotic or whether any order within it is part of how we perceive nature and natural processes, human beings need order in order to survive. We need leaders with vision who will guide us forward; we need soldiers to guard us from harm and predators; and we need teachers to impart knowledge and wisdom to our young. These are the roles that this portion looks at, even as the Israelites set out on their long journey towards the Promised Land. 

The English title of the book, "Numbers," refers to the many censuses of the people that Moses is ordered to conduct. But this title is misleading. It isn't only about numbers (and oh! how we love to play with numbers, a passion that is indeed reflected in this book). People are not numbers, and Jewish law and superstition forbid counting people. So along with each census we are given a list of names, the leaders of each tribe, clan and family. This isn't the first time we encounter the leaders' names. What's different this time however, is that their meanings reflect not ancient, pre-Hebraic, traditions, but rather values that reflect Jewish ideals: God as the rock and foundation of our existence, God as the source of light, life, unity and peace; God as judge, font of knowledge, and the Divine existence with whom we may have an interactive and mutual relationship. These represent more than merely names, and even more than just ideals. They express a philosophy that today we might take for granted but which was revolutionary in its time. They also reflect a unity which was not always clear, when—at least from an outsider's perspective—the people were described as אֲסַפסוּף (asafsuf, rabble or riffraff), עֵרֶב רַב (eirev rav, a mixed multitude) or worse. 

The first organizational step Moses takes is to set up an army, led by Nachshon ben Aminadav, the chief of the tribe of Judah. Setting these armed divisions in four camps around the encampment, Moses then proceeds to appoint the Levites—who are not counted among the other tribes—to their new functions. Surrounding the Tent of Meeting, which is located at the center—the heart--of the nation, the Levites are given several duties. First, they are to safeguard and maintain the Tabernacle. Next, they are to administer justice. Last but not least, they are to interpret and teach the people--adults and children alike--both the civil and religious laws as dictated by God and Moses.

Defense, faith and education: These are the primary values that are to guide our people from that point on, throughout our history. There will be many trials, tests, quarrels and even rebellions along the way. This ideal system will be challenged from within and without. The Jewish People, after all, is known for its diverse views and opinions. Yet somehow, the system has proven successful. Life may be a wilderness, but the Torah is both a map and a lifeline meant to lead us towards the Promised Land. Thousands of years later, the standards that we vowed  to sustain and uphold in Bamidbar, "In the Wilderness," are still before our eyes today. They still guide us, help us maintain our identity, and give our existence meaning and purpose. 

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Idealism and Reality: Behar/Bechukotai.25

 

Idealism and Reality: Behar/Bechukotai

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 22, 2025

This week, the last two parshiyot of Leviticus, Behar and Bechukotai (Lev. 25:1--27:34), are read as a double portion. Behar, "At the Mountain," refers to the only mountain in the Torah that does not need to be identified by name, Mt. Sinai. Bechukotai ("By My Statutes") is a review of the consequences of following—or refusing to follow—God's laws. Both portions are a fitting conclusion to this book, providing not only a summary but also an overarching view of our relationship with God, our fellow Israelites, and the Land of Israel along with all its dwellers—human and animal alike.

The first few verses of Behar never fail to astonish me with the amazing perspective they offer. This time around I was reminded of two experiences of my own. The first is of the view I had from the top of Horsetooth Rock, part of a hike I took a few years ago. It was a moderately difficult hike, but the view was well worth the effort. It was almost infinite: The expanse that stretched below, starting with the entire city of Fort Collins and then the plains that extend beyond the intersecting streets and various neighborhoods, just as far as the eye could see. No sound came from below, only that of the wind whipping about the barren rocks. It was a majestic and inspiring view.

The second experience took place many years earlier; it was when I read T. H. White's wonderful retelling of the Arthurian legends, The Once and Future King. At one point in the story, as part of his training with the magician Merlin, the young Arthur is transformed into a goose. Flying above fields, mountains, rivers and lakes, Arthur learns that from a bird's-eye perspective, "boundaries... [are] imaginary lines on the earth... Humans would have to stop fighting in the end, if they took to the air." Later, as king, he is inspired to build a round table, "A table without boundaries between the nations who would sit to feast there." It's an ideal that at the end of his life, Arthur realizes is futile. We are human, not birds; and even birds, ultimately, are territorial. All life competes for the same limited resources of food, water, air and space. All fight for survival.

Which is precisely why Behar is so important. Life isn't a beauty pageant, and this portion's goal isn't world peace—only justice and fairness, somewhat more attainable goals. The portion commands us to give the earth a year off, a sabbatical, every seven years, allowing it not only to rest and refresh itself, but also to experience holiness (the number 7 in Judaism symbolizes God's Presence). During this year, we are not allowed to cultivate the land, only eat what it produces as a result of the previous year's labor. This bounty, however, is not for the use of the landowner alone. It is meant for all to enjoy: "And the sabbath produce of the land shall be food for you: for you, your male and female servants, your hired man, and the stranger who dwells with you, for your livestock and the beasts that are in your land" (Lev. 25:6-7, NKJV). No boundaries there, no master or servant, no rich or poor; all are equal in this exalted view from the mountaintop.

But the vision does not stop there. Immediately after this, the Torah commands us to count off seven cycles of seven years, and on the 50th, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, to declare a Jubilee Year: "And you shall consecrate the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants" (Lev. 25:10, NKJV). On this day, not only are we liberated from personal and communal guilt, we are also called upon to return to a state of innocence we experienced long before boundaries were set, before competition and greed led us so far astray from the purest form of our childlike ideals.

Sadly, reality tempers idealism. Yet the visions of these last two portions of the Book of Holiness enable us to refresh our souls, to see the best in ourselves and in others, and to grant liberty to our own hopes, dreams and visions.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Commandment and Compassion: Emor.25

Commandment and Compassion

D’var Torah for Parashat Emor

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 15, 2025

This week's portion is called Emor ("Say," Leviticus 21:1—24:23). Continuing the theme of holiness, the portion contains many intricate and complex details having to do with 1) the ritual purity of the priests; and 2) the major holidays we—the rest of the people—are to observe and keep holy.

The list of holidays is one we still observe today: Shabbat, Rosh Ha-Shana and Yom Kippur, as well as the three pilgrimage holidays, Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot. Though the Torah talks about these holy days in earlier portions, in Emor we are given a more thorough description both of the sacrifices and the rituals that are required. The laws of priestly purity, however, are listed for the first time in this portion. These set extremely high standards, requiring something close to physical as well as moral perfection. Among these laws are practices that many Jews of priestly descent (kohanim) still observe today, such as refraining from entering cemeteries and staying out of services during yizkor (memorial) prayers. These ancient customs go back to the times when popular belief was that God's Presence simply did not extend beyond the boundaries of life. While today we have a very different understanding of life, death and God's eternity, there are those who hold on to these rules with great persistence.

These two parts of Emor are not only explicit and detailed, they also provide a reason for observing the rules: "You shall not profane My holy name, that I may be sanctified in the midst of the Israelite people—I, Adonai, who sanctify you; I, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God, I, Adonai" (Lev. 22:32-33). We obey these laws because they come from above and beyond our own existence. They come from an all-powerful God, and our existence as a People is dependent on obeying God's laws without question. 

Yet in the midst of these commandments appear two verses that seem very different: "When an ox or a sheep or a goat is born, it shall stay seven days with its mother, and from the eighth day on it shall be acceptable as an offering by fire to Adonai. However, no animal from the herd or from the flock shall be slaughtered on the same day with its young" (Lev. 22: 27-28). While these commandments are also spoken by God (through Moses), our response to them is not regulated by outside factors. Rather, they seem to come from inside us, from a place that can't be measured or calculated. Moreover, as many commentators have observed, their purpose is not merely to sanctify God, but also to raise us, ordinary humans, to a higher level of spiritual existence. 

Some rabbis explain these two laws as having to do with showing compassion for the pain of an animal (tsa’ar ba'alei chayim). Others teach that their purpose is to ensure that we humans, imbued with a sense of morality, of good and bad, do not become desensitized and indifferent to evil and cruelty. 

The Zohar, the fundamental book of Jewish mysticism and Kabbalah, goes even further: "Now the act below stimulates a corresponding activity above. Thus if a man does kindness on earth, he awakens lovingkindness above... Similarly if he performs a deed of mercy, he crowns that day with mercy and it becomes his protector in the hour of need" (Zohar: Emor 18:74). 

Leviticus thus carries forward its teaching that holiness is more than "grace" in its contemporary sense as a gift bestowed upon us by God. Rather, holiness is a state of being that we reach through our deeds and behavior, commanded by God but activated by our own choices and actions.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

By the Light and Strength of Faith We Walk: Acharei Mot/Kedoshim.25

By the Light and Strength of Faith We Walk

D’var Torah for Acharei Mot/Kedoshim

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 8, 2025

Seven times in a 19-year cycle, in order to accommodate a lunar-solar calendar system, a full month is added to the Jewish year. The Torah takes account of this (along with some other factors, such as special holiday readings) by dividing its five books into 54 weekly portions, which means that on the non-leap years, several portions are paired for study and reading at services. 

This week we have one of these pairings: Acharei Mot and Kedoshim (Lev. 16:1—20:27). These two portions are found literally and symbolically at the heart of the Torah, and one can therefore presume that they contain some of the most important—holiest, if you will—mitzvot. The first part of Acharei Mot thus concerns itself with the holiest day of the Jewish year, Yom Kippur, and the sacrifices that were offered at the Temple on this day. The second part, however, focuses not on the larger theme of our relationship with God, but rather on the most personal and intimate behavior between any two people. Or, as Rabbi Shmuley Boteach's international best seller terms it, "kosher sex." While today not all of us agree with all of these laws (e.g. male-male relations), the overall idea of these mitzvot is that there are proper (and therefore improper) ways of being sexually intimate. 

Kedoshim, the second of this week's paired portions, expands further on the theme of holiness. This portion, too, is composed of two seemingly unrelated subjects: The first part sets laws that teach a moral and ethical way of everyday behavior, while the second contains a list of foods considered kosher (proper) for eating--and those that are not. At the heart of Kedoshim is the section known as The Holiness Code, which is summed up by the famous mitzvah "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Lev. 19:18). While most of these commandments govern interpersonal relationships, they also reflect the sacred bond between God and humanity: "You shall be holy, for I, Adonai your God am holy" (Lev. 19:2).  

This set of doubled portions focuses on that which the Torah terms kadosh—sacred—but with a twist: It isn't only God who is holy; it's we, the people, as well. Holiness isn't found only in the way we pray or offer sacrifice; it's also in the way we interact with each another and with the world around us. Through the choices we make we can rise from an ordinary and mundane way of living to a higher state that we call holiness. 

But the pairing of these portions reveals yet another thought. Many commentators have written about the combined titles of the portions, Acharei Mot—Kedoshim, ("After the death/holiness"), which recall an ancient idiom: De mortuis nil nisi bonum dicendum est, “Of the dead nothing but good is to be said.” Speaking kindly of a deceased person, no harsh words, no criticism, nothing that might reflect badly on the individual when they were alive, was always seen as common courtesy. But an additional and even higher meaning emerges through Jewish eyes. Kedoshim literally means "those who are holy." Following the death of Aaron's two sons Nadav and Avihu, Moses comforts Aaron by implying that the two may have been overzealous, but that their overall intention was good: they wanted to be holy. Over the centuries the term kedoshim has evolved and now is used to describe martyrs, those who die in sanctifying God's holiness. Thus the paired titles carry the connotation of "after the death of martyrs." 

This expression has special meaning for the Jewish People, for whom martyrdom has been an inescapable part of history. Coming on the heels of Yom Ha-Shoah and Yom Hi-Zikaron, it's hard not to think of this meaning and how we, the survivors, somehow find ourselves able to rise from the ashes. The two portions Acharei Mot/Kedoshim strengthen us both through their combined titles and their content, infusing our lives with meaning and purpose. They enable us to see ourselves not as disconnected individuals whose lives are inconsequential, meaningless or random, but rather as components in a larger picture where God and humanity complete each other.

The important and far-reaching lesson of these portions is that faith is a source of great strength. By its special light, faith gives life and even death special meaning. The purpose of mitzvot—the sacred Commandments, acts of charity, loving kindness and justice—is not only to make the world better, but also to enable us to move forward despite the heavy burden of sorrow that may be contained within our hearts. It is so that we rise from the ashes and begin again.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Israel at 77

Israel at 77

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 2, 2025

I got my COVID vaccination jab yesterday. I don’t remember what number this one was, but at this point I’m pretty used to the side-effects: The arm ache, the sleepless night, the general dis-ease for a couple of days. In any case, that’s a lot better than being actually sick, even at this point in the history of COVID-19. I remember when it first burst on the scene, the misery it caused, the loneliness and isolation that came from quarantine, the uncertainty of life and death, long COVID, and of course the more than a million and a quarter lives it took in the United States alone.

Life is never secure. Diseases, accidents, wars and other acts of hate and violence are constantly at humanity’s heels. This week’s double Torah portion, Tazria-Metzorah, addresses health and illness, and the challenges to our wholeness, personally and as a society, that diseases pose.

The symptoms described by the Torah are vague—possibly on purpose. It isn’t only a specific skin disease that the Torah speaks of, but rather all disease—physical, social, emotional and cultural.

Viruses come and go—we don’t always understand why or how. Over time they evolve and change, making diagnosis and treatment even that much more difficult. Prejudices and mistrust of science often hinder research, sometimes getting in the way of necessary changes to our attitudes and behavior. 

One disease, however, that hasn’t changed in the eons since it first appeared is the hatred of Jews and everything Jewish: Antisemitism. It has had several variants in the course of its long history, but all in all, the symptoms are pretty much the same. Jews are too powerful, Jews control government, Jews control money and the economy, and so on and so on.

The latest variant of this disease is anti-Zionism, a wolf that doesn’t even pretend to be in sheep’s clothing. Supposedly it’s about human rights—specifically Gazan Arab—but no mask or keffiyah can hide the murderous sentiments behind the lies and cries. The one big change is that now it’s Israel that’s too powerful, Israel that controls Congress, Israel that manipulates the White House. Israel—the Jewish State. The equation is pure and simple. No other country or government is as hated as Israel. No other country has to defend itself against daily calls for its destruction, is singled out for cultural, academic and economic boycotts, or faces vile accusations of genocide or at least the exercise of excess of power. No other county is target of widespread denunciations as Israel—eliciting violence not only against Israeli citizens who dare defend themselves, but against all Jews, wherever they might live, whatever political views they might hold. Not Syria, which currently is conducting massacres against its Alawite and Druze populations; not China, Russia, Iran, Pakistan, Congo, Sudan or scores of other states that engage in the worst possible acts of violence. Only Israel, the Jewish state.

Antisemitism is a disease that flares up periodically, usually at a time of social, political and economic changes. All of which we see around us today. The world today is polarized, with little or no middle-ground between right and left. Vile hate language and terrifying violence characterize each side. The one thing that unites all the extremists is the hatred of Israel and the Jews. 

The past two weeks have been particularly difficult for Israel. Israel observes two memorial days: Yom Ha-Zikaron, Memorial Day, to remember and honor those who fell in the defense of the State of Israel; and Yom Ha-Shoah, to remember the millions of Jews who lived—and were exterminated—in a world without Israel. These are the toughest days. But even Independence Day, which Israel observed only yesterday, traditionally a day of joy and celebration, this year was darker than in the past. The war Israel has been fighting for more than a year and a half now and the hatred it faces, have darkened the mood. Israel was intended to be a safe haven for its citizens. But on October 7 2023 it failed in this mission. Israel’s goal was to be a light unto the nations; its contributions to medicine, technology, alternative energy sources, eradicating world hunger and thirst, and empowering women and minority groups are legendary. It is truly an exemplary pillar of democracy—no matter how much we may disagree with one political party or another. The fact that there are so many parties—of all religions and ethnicities—active in its government, economy and judicial system are proof of Israel’s political and social vitality.  

Yet the hatred, if anything, has increased a hundredfold. The fact is, the most vile lies against Jews and Israelis take immediate hold, while the simplest and most obvious truths are simply ignored or disbelieved.

That is true, sadly, not only among others, but also among Jews. None of us is happy when we see people die in war. But there are those Jews who fail to understand the source of the violence directed against us and see it as reasonable; who join supporters of the terrorist organization Hamas; who advocate international calls for investigation of Israel and the IDF (as though Israel’s own investigations, ongoing, frank and open—just take a peek at the news from Israel) aren’t enough; individuals as well as  groups such as Jewish Voices for Peace and J Street, that are either ignorant of the facts, filled with self-loathing, or at the very least don’t have the slightest inkling of where these calls come from, what they are based on, and against whom they are directed.

One doesn’t have to agree with Israel’s politics. It’s easy to feel angry when we see millions of shekels diverted from dire public needs—such as defense and fire-fighting equipment (Israel has just suffered some of the worst wildfires in decades, some started by Arab terrorists)—in order to ensure support for those who contribute little to Israel’s immediate and crucial needs. It’s maddening to see the rights of minorities, such as the Queer Community and the Reform Movement in Israel, chipped away in favor of ignorant, narrow-minded and self-righteous groups that claim to have the final word on faith and religious observance. And it’s frustrating to witness power games conducted by publicly elected officials who on the one hand call for unity, but on the other sow divisiveness and mistrust. There’s no question in anyone’s mind that Hamas took advantage of these divisions among Israelis to perpetrate its savage attack on Oct. 7.

Eradicating disease from the world is impossible. The oldest hatred and prejudice, the virus of antisemitism, has proven its endurance in dark ages as well as more enlightened times. All that we Jews can do is to strengthen ourselves—physically and spiritually. At times like today, we need to support Israel more than ever and stand staunchly and proudly by its side. The time for reckoning and accounting will come, without a doubt. But not while Israel is under attack and fighting for its survival. As Jews, we need to study not only Torah and Talmud, but also history. We cannot and may not abandon our traditional values; but neither are we free to align ourselves with those who want to see us ostracized, rejected and eradicated. New alliances must be formed and strengthened. Systemic antisemitism, built into universities as highbrow and pedigreed as Harvard, Columbia and Yale, must be exposed at every echelon. For decades now, traditional “liberal” organizations such as Amnesty International, Doctors Without Borders and Human Rights Watch, have gone out of their way to change and corrupt genuine human rights in order to vilify Israel. These organizations might be doing good work too, but we Jews need to understand what their antisemitism actually advocates and stands for: the destruction of the State of Israel and yet another pogrom and genocide against the Jewish People.

The Jewish People have existed for more than 3000 years now. The State of Israel has just celebrated its 77th Independence Day.  We have survived many obstacles, tyrants and attacks on our existence. Sadly, we cannot rest at this point in our history. For the last few decades we may have been under some delusion that we could, that antisemitism is finally gone from the world. After the Shoah—the Holocaust—we believed that the world has seen its erroneous ways and begun to at least accept us, if not actually love us.

Sadly, we now see that this is not the case. And so we need to remain on our guard, to strengthen ourselves inwardly and outwardly. I have no illusion of unity among us; after all, as they say, two Jews, three opinions. But when it comes to our survival, if we learned nothing else from the Shoah, it is that we need a safe haven to go to and a strong army to protect us at times of violence and hate such as our own. It’s nice and good to trust in God, but self-defense is just as crucial when it comes to our lives and the lives of our children. 

Happy Independence Day, Israel. May you enjoy many more years of life, health and strength.  And may the Jewish People continue to thrive and prosper despite all our haters and oppressors.

May God grant God’s People strength; may God bless us all with peace. Amen.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Tazria-Metzorah: Body and Soul, Wholeness and Holiness

Body and Soul: Wholeness and Holiness

D’var Torah for Tazria-Metzorah

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 2, 2025

One can only wonder about this week's double portion, Tazria-Metzorah (Leviticus 12:1--15:33). The graphic text and the obsolete methods of diagnosing and treating the ill are shocking to our modern sensibilities. The place these portions occupy in the Torah is also surprising. We've just read about the magnificent Tabernacle, the resplendent clothing of the High Priest, and the glorious appearance of God's Presence in the midst of the entire community. Inserted into the narrative of holiness that characterizes Leviticus, these two portions seem oddly out of place. They add nothing to the narrative and seem to be obsessed not with holiness, but rather with the most unpleasant features of physical impurities. While health and wholeness may be the concerns of the portions, it’s precisely the opposite that strikes the reader. Yet maybe it’s within this word—wholeness—that we can find the answer to our question why these two portions are found specifically here. In applying the ideals of health and wellbeing to our bodies, clothes and even our homes, Tazria-Metzorah equate between physical wholeness and spiritual holiness. 

The common saying is that the body is the temple of the soul. Yet in the Torah there is no distinction between the two. Unlike beliefs that existed in other ancient cultures, the Bible’s Hebrew terms for spirit or soul, nefesh and neshama, reflect a single meaning: life. Seen through the Torah’s eyes, the soul is not distinct or separate from the body. This latter understanding only becomes mainstream later in in Judaism's evolution. The Torah sees body and soul as an extension of each other. And because Life is holy, God-given, it deserves a place in Leviticus, our textbook for how to live a life of holiness.

It's probable that the Torah's symptoms of tzara'at—the dreaded disease that for thousands of years was understood as leprosy—were already antiquated by the time they were written down. In the Torah, tzara'at actually covers a broad spectrum of skin ailments. Yet the text does not stop there. The same symptoms are also applied to clothes and houses, reflecting a different and wider range of thought. As understood by the early Rabbis, tzara'at is much more than a skin disease. It's a metaphor for another kind of disease: l'shon ha-ra, slander, the act of spreading false rumors meant to hurt or disparage others. 

In the Talmudic tractate Arakhin ("Values"), slander is compared to blasphemy—denying God's existence—and is thus considered the worst possible sin. L'shon ha-ra affects not only the slanderer and their intended target, but also anyone who would stop to listen. The punishment for this offense extends from leprosy itself (see the story of Miriam in Numbers 12:10) to banishment from the World-To-Come, the afterlife. What makes this sin worse, however, is that it is so contagious. The Rabbis teach that when the Torah extends the symptoms to include clothing and even houses, it points to the spread of the disease from the affected individual to their family, community and ultimately all society. Everyone is made tamei—impure—by the hurtful words. Prejudice, discrimination and injustice, in all their forms, are part of the Torah's broad understanding of tzara'at. 

But there is yet another great lesson that these portions have for us. After the detailed description of the symptoms of tzara’at, the Torah continues to set out the duties and responsibilities of the priest—examining the ailing person at the onset of the illness and continuing periodically until they are pronounced healthy once again. Presumably, this meeting, which took place outside the camp to prevent further contagion, involved more than just a physical examination. Prayers were probably said, food and sustenance distributed. Caretaking of the sick thus became an important part of the priest’s daily routine, developing into one of the pillars of Jewish culture. “My son the doctor” is more than a proud parent’s boast; it’s a declaration of  one of the highest values in Judaism.

As distasteful as Tazria and Metzorah seem to us today, these portions are among the reasons why so many Jews all over the world are involved in the medical profession, from diagnosing to caretaking, from research to the treatment. They teach us that, body and spirit as one, wholeness is holiness, and that health and taking care of the ill are among the most important and sacred duties we owe ourselves and all those around us.  

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman