Leaders and Demigods: Korach.25

 

Leaders and Demigods

D’var Torah for Parashat Korach

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 26, 2025

This week's Torah portion is Korach (Numbers 16:1--18:32). In a highly dramatic scene, Korach, a Levite of high ranking and status, instigates a mutiny against Moses and Aaron. Like his cousins, Korach is a member of the Levitical clan of the Kohathites, whose responsibilities included the upkeep and maintenance of the holy objects within the Tabernacle. So close yet so far from what he sees as his true worth, Korach takes advantage of the Israelites’ frustration and discontent following the incident of the Ten Spies, and accuses Moses and Aaron of seizing power they do not deserve. Along with a band of 250 armed men, Korach accuses Moses: "You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and Adonai is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above Adonai’s congregation?" (Num. 16:3, JPS 2006). Moses responds not in anger but rather with sadness and humility, and he suggests a test in which God would choose the true leader. He tells Korach and his followers to offer a sacrifice of incense to God, but then prays and begs God not to accept this sacrifice. 

Moses’s prayer is worth looking at. “Do not accept their offering. I have not taken so much as a donkey from them, nor have I wronged any of them” (Num. 16:15, NIV). The symbolic meaning of a donkey is well established in art, literature and even theology. The donkey is a humble beast of burden (the Hebrew word for the animal, chamor, is related to cheimar, clay). Not endowed with nobility, beauty or a melodious voice, it is patient and servile, though it also can be stubborn. Kings,  emperors and knights are often portrayed with horses. It’s their squires who ride the donkey. In Biblical stories the donkey is often portrayed as bearing a message or a messenger from God. In the story of the Akeida (the near-sacrifice of Isaac), Abraham saddles a donkey with necessities for the three-day journey to Mount Moriah. Later, in Exodus, Moses has his wife and sons ride a donkey as he returns to Egypt, bearing God’s message of liberation. In the story of the blind seer Balaam (Num. 22-24), Balaam’s donkey is able to see an angel and even speaks to Balaam, who has been beating it mercilessly. (The talking donkey motif continues to this day in the Shrek movie franchise). In rabbinic lore, we are told that the Messiah will arrive riding a donkey (an image that also appears in the New Testament). 

In the haftarah (reading from the Prophets) for this week’s portion, the prophet Samuel responds to the Israelites’ demand for a king with a speech that recalls Moses’s prayer: “Whose ox have I taken? Whose donkey have I taken? Whom have I cheated? Whom have I oppressed? From whose hand have I accepted a bribe to make me shut my eyes? If I have done any of these things, I will make it right” (1 Sam. 12:3, NIV).  

By citing the donkey in his prayer, Moses combines the themes of justice, humility and service. On the one hand, he hasn’t appropriated from anyone so much as a lowly donkey for his own personal needs; on the other, he sees his role as the bearer of God’s message. He has done nothing for his own sake. He wasn’t happy to accept this role in the first place, and he is dismayed by the accusation brought forth by Korach that he pursued power for his own gain and privilege. 

God's response to Moses’s prayer is powerful and decisive: "The earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach's people and all their possessions" (Num. 16:32). 

With the mutiny against Moses subdued, there's still the matter of the rebellion against Aaron in his role as high priest. Following God’s direction, Moses gathers from each tribal leader his staff, and adds to them Aaron's staff. He then lays these at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting. Miraculously, overnight, Aaron's staff—alone among all the others—has sprouted, flowered, and given fruit to almonds!

Clearly, the Torah presents these miracles as proof of the legitimacy of Moses and Aaron's leadership. They were chosen, appointed, and approved by God, and rebelling against them is tantamount to rebelling against God. Yet this obvious lesson is given deeper meaning as well. The choice of Moses and Aaron wasn't random. Their character and actions are the real proof we need. It is Moses's humility that is tested against Korach's pride. Similarly, it is Aaron's acts that prove his qualifications. As a plague erupts among the people, Moses commands Aaron to "quickly" take his incense burner and make atonement for the congregation. Aaron's reaction is exemplary: "Aaron took it, as Moses had ordered, and ran to the midst of the congregation, where the plague had begun among the people... and he stood between the dead and the living until the plague was checked" (Num. 17:12-13, in the English adaptations Num. 16:47-48). Aaron's willingness to go beyond what he was told, even at the risk of his own life—pikuach nefesh in Hebrew—is revealing. In the most concrete way, his actions reflect the truest and most valuable qualities of leadership. 

Ultimately, this portion is not so much about rebellions as it is about leadership. Korach teaches that what we should be looking for is  in a worthy leader is humility alongside strength, and the willingness to serve the needs of the people rather than bask in the glory and trappings of power.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Towards A New (Improved?) Middle East

Towards A New (Improved?) Middle East

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 20, 2025

One of my all-time favorite books is The Once and Future King by T. H. White, a wonderful retelling of the King Arthur legends. A main character—at least in the first volume of the tetralogy, The Sword in the Stone, is Merlin the magician. Not that I believe in magic, nor do I believe that T. H. White did. In his version of the legend, Merlin can predict the future not by reading cards or gazing into a crystal ball, but because he was actually born sometime in the mid-20th century and lives backwards, which is why he knows—most of the time, when he isn’t confused or befuddled by love—what’s going to happen. It isn’t so much foresight as hindsight, and if more of us had it, the world would be a very different place today.

I, unfortunately, do not have this talent. I am not much of a soothsayer, and with the world changing so rapidly, there’s really no way to predict what’s going to happen in the next minute, let alone day, week or month.

And so I’m not going to try to make predictions. I’m only going to join—at least for a few minutes—the ranks of talking heads, more or less knowledgeable, who’ve been guessing what’s in the minds of leaders who are caught up in their own power games or messianic visions, who are unpredictable and impulsive, and yet wield unbelievable and dangerous power. As such, I’m going to try to offer a glimpse into what I think we’re heading towards, if not in the world at large, then at least in the Near East, and what our role in this future world might be.

As I see it, assuming nobody drops an atomic bomb—which would pretty much create total catastrophe—then what we are witnessing right now is the formation of a new world order in the Middle East.

Ever since Iraq’s Saddam Hussein was eliminated, Iran has increased its power exponentially. Imposing a radical version of Islam on its own population, it quickly joined the ranks of the most tyrannical and cruel régimes of modern times. At the same time, Iran has been directing its virulent hatred of the West—particularly but not exclusively— against the United States and Israel (which it has called, respectively, “The Great Satan” and “The Little Satan”). 

Through its support of the now-deposed ruler in Syria, Bashar al-Assad, and through its proxy terrorist organizations—Hezbollah, Hamas and the Houthis among others—Iran has expanded its reach not only throughout the Middle East, but also to other regions around the world. The terror attack of July 18, 1994, on a Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, Argentina, which killed 85 and injured over 300 people, was carried out by Hezbollah operatives, as was the 1983 attack on the U.S. Marines barracks in Beirut, Lebanon, which resulted in the death of 241 American and 58 French service personnel. 

Iran has supplied thousands of drones to Russia in its war against Ukraine, and in turn imported missile parts and technology from China and North Korea. For more than 40 years now, it has been clamoring for the destruction of the State of Israel and developing nuclear and missile capabilities—presumably to carry out its declared intentions.

Following the coup in Syria and the decimation of Hamas and Hezbollah by the Israel Defense Force, Israel has now turned its attention to Iran, the mastermind and architect of so much warfare, terror and tragedy.

The surprise attack launched by the IDF just over a week ago exposed the weakness behind the bravado of the Iranian regime. Yet, despite Israel’s initial success, Iran’s nuclear power has not been eliminated, only set back, and approximately half of its missile arsenal still remains. It’s still unknown at this moment whether the United States will join the war, but in any case, it’s possible that Israel’s air superiority and intelligence-gathering expertise will be enough to hasten the fall of the ayatollah regime—much to the relief and delight of the majority of the Iranian population and almost all its Arab neighbors.

Iran stands currently if not on the cusp of defeat, then at the very least weakened and humiliated. It might still resort to some desperate measures—something we have already seen with the launching of at least two missiles armed with cluster bombs—but that would only hasten its complete downfall, creating a window of opportunity for Turkey, Russia, Saudi Arabia, and of course the United States to step in. At that point the powershift will be firmly in place. At least for a few years.

What role Israel will play in this new world order is not clear. For some time now the normalization of relations with Saudi Arabia, and then with other Arab countries, has been floated as a possibility, but that still hinges on an agreement of peace or at least coexistence between Israel and the Palestinians (something that might actually occur once the armed support that Iran has been giving them disappears).

But before all that, Israel will need to work on the domestic challenges that it is facing. 

The cost of the war on Israel’s economy has been enormous; rebuilding will require unprecedented financial strategizing. Even more importantly, Israel will have to heal the social, physical and psychological wounds it has sustained since this longest war on its existence began. The rift between those who served and sacrificed so much in this war, and those who refused to, will need to be bridged. The anger is at a breaking point. Public trust in Israel’s ability to safeguard all its citizens has been shaken and will need to be restored. Thousands of wounded soldiers will be facing prolonged recovery and recuperation. While Israelis are as accustomed to tragic loss of life as any people can ever be, the October 7 massacre carried out by Hamas resulted in the murder of entire families and the destruction of whole communities. The entire nation feels the immense pain of this loss and it will take years if not decades to recover. Outwardly life continues more or less on track; inwardly, however, the nation is bleeding. 

Throughout history, the Middle East has never known what anyone might call “normalcy.” There were times of lesser or greater stability—all determined by the rise and fall of empires and the accompanying religious passions. Since the end of World War One and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, we have been seeing a redistribution of power among various groups, including, for the first time in nearly 2000 years, a Jewish State. 

In the days and months ahead, Jews living in and outside Israel and will have to face off with our frustration and anger at Israel’s current leadership. Yet we must not let this modern miracle fail. For two thousand years Israel has been the Promised Land. Today, the promise has come real: Israel is our sanctuary in every sense of the word, both for ourselves and for our children. More than ever Israel will need our love and support as it begins to rebuild.

Among ourselves, in the last few years we’ve been witnessing a huge surge in antisemitism, which will take years, and perhaps an entire generation, to abate. Yet we must not let our fears cause us to retreat or hide. We’ve learned from our history to rise from each setback and continue to create a better future. We entrench ourselves in our rich heritage: Our language and history; the sacred texts that have always given us shelter and inspiration; the culture-of-many-colors that represents our wanderings across oceans and countless wildernesses. 

Throughout our existence as a People, our trust in God has never failed us. We have never fully understood this force, yet holding on to it with all our might has seen us through thick and thin. This knowledge must never disappear from before our eyes, hearts and minds. Nations and empires come and go, but we are still here. Our faith is the source of our strength, and it will be there for us even as we look forward to a new world governed by a new world order.

Am Yisrael Chai—the People of Israel lives. 

Adonai oz l’amo yiten, Adonai y’varech et amo bashalom—May God grant us strength, may God bless us all with peace.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

A Promised Land: Shelach Lecha.25

A Promised Land

D’var Torah for Parashat Shelach Lecha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 17, 2025

Shelach, ("Send forth," Numbers 13:1--15:42), this week's Torah portion, presents us with one of those enigmatic and even paradoxical passages that leave us scratching our heads and looking for all sorts of meanings. The portion begins with God telling Moses to send spies to reconnoiter the Promised Land. The full title of the portion is actually Shelach l'cha, wording that—not coincidentally—parallels God's call to Abraham ("Lech l'cha," Gen. 12:1) to set out for a land "which I will show you," a promised land.

Commentators have long argued about the meaning and purpose of the word, "l'cha," variously translated as "for yourself," "unto yourself," “for your sake," and even "if you wish to." In both cases, this adverb modifies the commands "go" and "send," and seems to leave the choice to obey up to Abraham in the Genesis story, and to Moses in this week's portion. Yet even though both Abraham and Moses choose to obey, the results are very different. Abraham's act is seen as one of faith, and he is rewarded with a blessing; in Shelach l'cha, on the other hand, the Israelites are punished, despite the fact that they were only doing what Moses (in God's name) was telling them to do.

There are, of course, differences in the two stories that explain the different results. Abraham's faith is complete; the Israelites, on the other hand, allow fear to enter their hearts, and they turn against God and Moses.  

And yet questions remain. If God is all-knowing, why does God make the commandment to send spies optional? It should be obvious to God that, at this point in their development, the Israelites' strength, both in body and spirit, is still weak. Shouldn't God turn this into a positive learning opportunity rather than set them up for certain failure? (Incidentally, in rabbinic commentaries, this failure is said to be one of several major disasters that befell the Jewish People on the same day, a day foreordained for catastrophe, Tisha b'Av—the ninth day of the month of Av).

This pattern, however, is typical for the way the Torah tells its stories and teaches their accompanying lessons. First we see the ideal--in this case, Abraham's faith. Then we hear of the failure: Israel's disbelief of God's promise. Both incur the rightful consequences. Only after that does the Torah teach us how to do things the right way. As a result of their rebellion, the Israelite People will be wanderers in the wilderness of forty years, until the generation of the Exodus dies out. Only those born in the desert, those who had never known slavery, will be allowed to enter the Promised Land. 

So what does this story want us to learn? The moral is clear: Faith helps overcome fear. Yet we are left with a more difficult question: How do we reach the goal of faith—a goal that Abraham seems to embody without effort, and yet one which we—Abraham's followers—have such a hard time with?

The Book of Numbers in Hebrew is called Bamidbar, "in the wilderness." The wilderness, for all its harsh bareness, is not devoid of life or direction. One has to learn how to navigate it. This Wilderness is where the People will learn to rely not only on God's blessings, but also—and just as importantly—on their own strength. God may give us direction, provide us with food and water and even show us the path to holiness. But we have to learn how to apply these blessings to our lives. Even as we learn the laws of holiness, we also have to learn how to build the sukkah, the proverbial shelter from the elements of nature; we have to learn to defend ourselves from enemies; we have to find the strength within ourselves to overcome illusion and superstition. The spies that Moses sends out to scout the Promised Land, all leaders of their tribes, men of social and physical stature, bring back a mixed report—the land is indeed fruitful, flowing with milk and honey. Yet it is also a land "that devours its inhabitants" (Num. 13:32, NKJV). They allow their imagination to run wild. They perceive giants, mythical beings (the Nefilim), people and cities so strong and fortified that they cannot possibly be overcome. Even the fruit they bring back as evidence for the land's fertility is huge, overblown, more fiction than truth.

In life, we have to learn to separate fact from fiction. Walt Disney notwithstanding, it is not a truth that "When you wish upon a star... anything your heart desires will come to you." Reality has its own demands, and we have to learn to adapt. Miracles are great—but not consistent, and simply wishing for something will not necessarily make it come true. That's where faith comes in. Faith is a bridge that we have to learn to use and hold on to. Faith offers no guarantees, but it can strengthen us. It can give us goals and directions. It enables us to see life not only as it is, but also as it can be. 

In the end, the difference between Abraham and the spies is that the latter lacked faith. And that is the lesson of this portion: Faith enables us to rise from the dust; it is the power that enables us to reach the Divine and be part of the constant miracle of existence, life, and perseverance. 

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

Two Sets of Lights: Behaalotecha.25

 

Two Sets of Lights

D’var Torah for Parashat Behaalotecha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 12, 2025

An interesting parallel exists between this week's Torah portion (Behaalotecha--"When you kindle," Numbers 8:1—12:16), and the very first portion of the Torah, Bereishit. In the first book, Genesis, we learn that on the fourth day of Creation, God creates two lights and places them in the heavens: "God made the two great lights, the greater light to dominate the day and the lesser light to dominate the night, and the stars. And God set them in the expanse of the sky to shine upon the earth, to dominate the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness" (Gen. 1:16-18). 

In Behaalotecha, three books later, the Torah speaks of two lights again. The first is that of the menorah, the seven-branch lamp that stood at the entrance to the Tabernacle (and later, at the entrance of the Temple in Jerusalem). The second is the light of the fire that represented God's Presence, illuminating the tabernacle throughout the night, every night, on all the journeys of the Israelites in the Wilderness. 

But there is an important difference between these two sets of lights. In the story of Creation, they are both God's doing. In Numbers however, the two lights depend on, and represent, the Israelites' interaction with God. A sort of partnership has been created between God and humanity.

In Biblical times, kindling the lights of the menorah was solely the High Priest's duty. It was a simple ritual, yet one that involved a great deal of concentration and focus on Aaron's part, eliciting Rashi's commentary, “And Aaron did so: This is written to tell us Aaron’s praise, that he did not change anything.” His hand did not quiver, not a drop of oil spilled. He took great care in fulfilling this duty, in the knowledge that it represented not only his own office but that of all the Levites, the priests and caretakers of our faith. 

The appearance of the fire that symbolized God's Presence was likewise predicated on a ritual, this time performed by the entire People of Israel: The first celebration of Passover (exactly one year after the Exodus from Egypt). Only once this is done, once the Covenant between God and Israel is declared and affirmed, does this fire appear and shed its light on our path forward toward the Promised Land. 

The transformation that occurs between Genesis and Numbers is important to understand. That which, in the beginning, was God's initial gift to the universe, at this point becomes personalized, its maintenance becoming part of our personal and national responsibility. 

With the Temple gone, without a High Priest to kindle the lights of the menorah, this sacred act becomes our own obligation. It's now up to each one of us to "raise the lights," through education, a kind word or deed.

The "greater light," the one that represents God's Presence in our midst, is still ours to upkeep, as a community and people. We do so by celebrating Shabbat and our holy days, as well as through prayer and study.

Throughout our People's long history, there have been many dark times. Yet somehow we've always been able to prevail. We've traversed countless deserts, oceans and seas. There were Golden Ages and Dark Ages, expulsions and massacres as well as times of prosperity and ease. There were times when the spark seemed to be on the verge of disappearing. Yet it never did. God's Presence has always been embedded within our hearts and souls. In each and every generation we found the strength within us to rekindle the spark and watch it rise again. As long as we kept our identity, as long as we upheld our end of the Covenant, God's fire and light were always there—and still are—to show us the path forward.

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman

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