Behar/B'hukotai 5772

In Biblical times, a person could be “promised” to the Temple—witness childless Hannah’s dedication of her unborn son Samuel for service.  In Parashat B’chukotai, we are offered a list of monetary equivalents of people’s service, delineated by age and gender.  Rather than work off a vow in the Temple, a person could contribute a cash equivalent:  50 shekels of silver for a male between twenty and sixty, 30 for a female of the same age; 20 shekels for a male aged five to twenty, ten for a female; fifteen shekels for a male over aged sixty, ten for a female. Despite this rigid hierarchy of worth, the passage ends with a softener:  “But if one cannot afford the equivalent, that person shall be presented before the priest, and the priest shall make an assessment; the priest shall make the assessment according to what the person can afford” (Leviticus 27:8).

The valuations exist within the patriarchal system, but it is still an affront to think that one person’s service is worth less than another’s.  We balk at the passage’s patently unequal view of human worth, even though we understand inherently that some people command more for their work than others.  Nonetheless, the passage offers a beautifully balancing coda, a sliding scale that acknowledges that all people have the yearning to serve, to be part of something holy and big and important.  This desire exists regardless of a person’s ability to spend time or treasure for a cause, and should not be denied.  Rather than fear that some will decrease their gift, Leviticus and the priest instead create a path for all to contribute.  Service is subjective, yet all are uplifted through it.

Emor 5772

Many of Judaism’s traditional mourning practices are based on verses found in Parshat Emor.  They derive from instructions to priests regarding death.

Kohanim were discouraged from having contact with a corpse, since such contact creates “ritual defilement.”  A ritually defiled priest is in a spiritual state that prohibits him from performing his duties.  (Such a state can be reversed by immersion at the mikveh so that the priest can return to his work.)   Nonetheless, a priest could knowingly become ritually defiled in order to accompany some for burial—but not all people, just those of close relations.  This suite of six relationships was the basis for the Shulchan Aruch’s determination that Kaddish Yatom (Mourner’s Kaddish) is recited only for one’s mother, father, son, daughter, brother, and unmarried sister (Leviticus 21:2-3).  Many uphold this practice today, declining to recite Kaddish for grandparents, aunts and uncles, for example, for whom they are not official mourners.  Some whose parents are living leave the room when Kaddish is recited.

Kaddish Yatom helps us channel our grief, pay tribute to our beloved dead, and acknowledge the existence of something larger than our own, bounded lives.  In our community, everyone is invited to stand for the recitation of the Mourner’s Kaddish, regardless of relationship to the deceased.  For us, the circle of concern has expanded beyond the six primary relationships.  Concern over ritual defilement has, at the same time, diminished.  When we stand for Kaddish, we stand to mourn all those we have loved and lost, whether or not that person was Jewish.  We stand to honor those lost in the Shoah who have us to recite Kaddish for them.  We stand to support those who are grieving.  We stand to praise God, and to remember.

Parashat Kiddushim 5772

The “Holiness Code” is a guide for life of quality and meaning.  The list of rules includes some that are lofty (“You shall rise before the aged and show deference to the old; you shall fear your God:  I am the Eternal” [Leviticus 19:32]) and some that are lowly (“You shall not make gashes in your flesh for the dead, or incise any marks on yourselves:  I am the Eternal” [19:28].)  Some rules are rational and others impenetrable; all point the way to a life lived in holiness.

One rule intrigues me particularly.  “You shall not falsify measures of length, weight, or capacity.  You shall have an honest balance, honest weights, an honest eifah, and an honest hin,” where an eifah is a unit of dry measure, and a hin a unity of wet measure (19:35-36).  Why is this important, and why repeat the injunction—once in the general, and once in the specific?

Could it matter if a fishmonger puts her thumb on the scales from time to time, or a grocer pinches a bit of flour?  The buyer won’t even notice the difference, and the seller will have a meaningful benefit by the end of the day.

But an unscrupulous seller really does steal.  Even though each theft is slight, the loss becomes substantial over the buyer’s lifetime.  (Perhaps this is why the rule is repeated in our passage—because the dishonesty begins as something minor, but is repeated over and over until it becomes great.)  Buyers and sellers are, by necessity, adversaries.  One wants the price low; the other wants it high.  One wants to maximize quality and quantity; the other wants to reduce them.  But if even buyer and seller can agree to function with a framework of fairness, then the foundation has been lain for a just—and therefore holy—society.