Acharei Mot/Kiddushin 5773

We are called to holiness, just as God is holy.

How are we to perform this act of imitatio Dei/Imitation of God?  Not, as we might suppose, through elevation of the spirit by prayer or contemplation. Not through denial of the flesh by fasting or abstinence.  The Holiness Code of Parashat K’doshim makes it clear that we, human beings made in the image of God, imitate God through the performance of mitzvot:

“You shall each revere your mother and your father, and keep My Sabbaths.”  (Leviticus 19:3)

“You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger.”  (Leviticus 19:10)

“You shall not defraud your fellow.  You shall not commit robbery.  ...  The wages of a laborer shall not remain with you until morning.”  (Leviticus 19:13)

“You shall not insult the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind.”  (Leviticus 19:14)

             “Do not profit by the blood of your fellow.”  (Leviticus 19:14)

Our tradition instructs us to become godly through engaging in the world – and by treating others justly. 

In a world that seems crazy, dirty, and broken, this is how we make our lives made holy.  This is how we bring holiness into the world.

Tazria/Metzorah 5773

Skin eruptions, rashes, burns, and scaly afflictions:  this week’s double portion has it all.  Tazriah/M’tzorah is yucky, uncomfortable, and sometimes downright bizarre.  It outlines the priest’s role when a person (or a house) comes down with a skin condition, but is entirely out of step with our modern sensibilities of infection, contagion, and medicine.  Tazriah/M’tzorah describes what to do when there is an outbreak, when our orderly existences are upended.

We are, from childhood, pitched an illusion of life as half-hour sit-com:  troubles may befall us, but they are always wrapped up neatly with a chuckle and a lesson.  We delude ourselves that life is neat – not perfect, but at least predictable, rational, organized.  While we can function within this mindset most of the time, it will eventually break down. 

Sometimes, the gapping maw of the uncontrollable, the ugly, or the painful tears into our lives and darkens our tidy worlds.  Sometimes, there’s an outbreak.

When the unpredictable befalls us, do we reject, accept, or embrace it?  Do we toss about, unable to find a foothold in a stormy, unrecognizable place?  Do we insist on the previous paradigm of order – seeking to make sense of the outbreak as punishment for some previous violation of order?  Do we retooling ourselves for a brave new world?  Or do we shift our understanding, allow it to grow, acknowledging and even embracing unpredictability, letting go of control?

"It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life.  Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.  The very cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for."  –Joseph Campbell

Judaism offers rituals to acknowledge our visits to the abyss, and our return to “normalcy,” changed though we are.  When we bury a loved one, we a rip a kriyah ribbon, symbol of the irreparably torn fabric of our lives.  When we survive an accident, we bench gomel, acknowledging the precariousness of our lives.  When we survive illness or attack, we may visit the mikveh to experience our own re-birth.  These mark our return, changed, but whole once again.

Shemini 5773

“And Aaron was silent.”

In a blinding flash, Aaron’s sons are obliterated by God.  When he is then prevented from mourning their deaths, Aaron is dumbstruck.

What words can convey the depths of despair?  How are we to name emotions that bombard us like a hurricane?  In the face of tragedy, silence is sometimes the only response.

When speaking with someone in mourning, we are tempted to fill the air.  “Everything’s going to be OK.”  “He’s in a better place now.”  “Did you catch the game?”  These comments are sometimes soothing.  Sometimes they are not.

Our tradition teaches that when visiting a house of mourning, the mourners set the tone.  If they want to share memories, we share memories.  If they want to want to talk philosophy, we talk philosophy.  If they want to discuss baseball, we discuss baseball.   And if they want to sob, we let them. 

When you don’t know what to say in the face of death, consider this:  “I am sorry for your loss.” Then, be silent.