"Leviticus...who knew?"

“Leviticus. Progressive. Who knew?”

Certainly not me. Even though Torah study is still a relatively new experience for me,  I always find it hard to wade through the pages of Leviticus (a.k.a. Vayikra, the Hebrew transliteration for the opening words "He called”, otherwise known as Torat Kohanim  or “priestly instructions”).  Found stuffed between its opening and concluding words is an infamous list of “do’s” and “don’t”s for both the members of The Tribe of Levi (read: priests) and everyone else (read: everyone else). Notorious highlighted rules include admonishments against “working on the Sabbath, handling the dead skin of various animals, (clearly not foreseeing the concept of footballs), having sex with a man “as one does with a woman” (bad news for bottoms but thumbs-up for tops?), and making idols or “metal gods” (19:4) (perhaps foreseeing the hair bands of the ‘80’s?), practicing divination or seeking omens (19:26), trimming your beard (19:27), getting tattoos (19:28), and cursing your father or mother (punishable by death) (20:9), blasphemy (also punishable by stoning to death) (24:14).” (Wait - doesn't Deuteronomy’s “an eye for an eye” call for measured legal remedies? The Torah’s struggle goes on.)

As far as the Five Books of Moses go, the Book of the Levites remains my instant nomination for The Torah Portion Most Likely to Be Quoted by Reporters and Politicians on Fox News.

So when I awoke a recent Saturday morning and opened my Torah to see which parsha we would be studying – a ritual I do every Shabbat morning – I got about three passages before issuing a pained groan. Leviticus. Oh. Joy. The narrative build-up of Genesis and the CGI-laden drama of Exodus seems to set the reader up for some serious anti-climactic disappointment with Leviticus, IMO. Seriously, after plaguing Pharoah and the exodus from Egypt, then the theophany of Sinai and grappling with the meaning of The Golden Calf Incident, and finally the building of the tabernacle with dolphin skins (dolphin skins, I tell you!), how am I supposed to get excited about being reminded to burn the fat of a slaughtered bull and knowing which side of the altar to put the remains of the bird I just pulled apart? (“And there was much rejoicing.”)

Yet that morning’s Torah Study challenged my disdain. A discussion around first few verses of Leviticus led to a listing of similarities (and by extension, differences) between the recently-read Sinai Moment and the listed Leviticus Sacrifices. As the comparisons were getting popcorned about the room – the Torah studiers I spend my Saturday morning make up a pretty fearless bunch - it struck me that these sacrifices served not only as an acknowledgement of sin to God but as a reparative mechanism to the nascent Israel society. Pretty radical, because in many ways this people were the living breathing definition of a mechanical society, and mechanical societies do not embrace making such amends.

So what was going on here?

Some quick back-story before moving forward. Brought to you by Emile Durkheim.

Durkeim, that perennial favorite of Sociology Theory courses worldwide, theorized there are two types of societies (or solidarities): mechanical and organic. The former is delineated by tightly regulated homogeneity. In this particular society there is a strong similarity between individuals; many of its citizens are working at the same or similar jobs, entertaining the same beliefs, enforcing the same values. The collective consciousness is reinforced to the point of fundamentalism. Tradition rules in mechanical solidarities. Needlessly to say, these cultures tend to be very religious.

On the other side of the spectrum is organic solidarity, which is defined by a diverse labor division which acknowledges that only through a variety of people adding their own specialized skills to the greater whole does the greater whole even exist. Interdependence is celebrated and advocated. The collective consciousness is less cohesive and therefore encompasses a wider range of values. Organic solidarities occur in more modern/industrialized spaces. Here secularism is the prevailing governance.

As you might imagine, law and punishment serve different purposes for each of these solidarities. In the mechanical, rules are authoritative, the punishments repressively severe. Those who break the law are made examples of in order to maintain the tight cohesiveness of the society and protect tradition. For organic solidarities restitution is what maintains order. Because tradition is not at the core of the society, it need not be guarded by severity. Laws are made to bring all parties involved in the infraction (and society as a whole) back to the point right before the infraction. If your child throws a rock throw my window, the law obliges you to pay for the damage and replace the window as it was to the moment before the rock met the glass (as opposed to mechanical solidarity’s punishments, which might include taking your child hand’s off by the wrist.)

We cannot be all that surprised then when, after just being handed the Ten Commandments from God at Sinai (and then being chastised and having 3000 of your kinsmen slain for the transgression of The Golden Calf) Jacob’s descendants turn to fundamentalism to keep God’s words and maintain order. They are out in the literal and metaphoric wilderness and have been witness to marvels beyond their comprehension without a Google Search engine in sight for another couple of millennium. What else to fall back on than their own traditions and themselves (especially as God has just entered into a covenant with them based upon promises made to their ancestors).  So maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised laws are put into place to stone the laborer who works on the Sabbath or the child who disrespects their parents.

Then Leviticus offers us something else: a process of reparation through purgation/sin /trespass offerings. A particularly novel and bold approach for עם ישראל. Would not the model of repression simply been easier as a social control mechanism? What was their intent? Was it to separate themselves from neighboring nations who may have been given to more severe forms of penal law? Or to signal that the recent covenant actually signaled the opportunity for a new societal order? Or maybe it was to construct a way to process sin that wouldn't trigger another round of wholesale murder among the ranks (which was probably seen as a tad off-putting.)

   

Another plus, as The Torah: A Women’s Commentary notes: the Leviticus sacrifices offered a not only the categorization of types of infraction and the mindset behind it (intentional versus unconscious) but the rank of the person actually breaking the law (priest, tribal leader, laity).

What’s so fascinating about looking at Leviticus through a sociological lens is that it offers a window on the formation of a new nation as it grapples with the struggle of keeping holy precepts while at the same time distinguishing itself from neighboring fundamentalist communities. How often do we get to see mechanical and organic values being weighed and measured in the same social space?

Leviticus, the sociological page-turner. Who knew? 

Ruminating on Yitro

Shevat 21, 5773

For me, Parashah Yitro is one of those troubling Torah portions. 

As a preface, I do not think it coincidental that the parashah which opens with father-in-law Jethro strongly suggesting to Moses to delegate the heavy responsibility of doling out judgments to the Israelites also includes God doling out the Ten Commandments, the ultimate rules for Jacob's descendants. Microcosms and macrocosms. This seems to be the section dealing with the giving of commandments, the delegation of authority, and the acceptance of covenants. Indeed, from a strictly literary standpoint, Jethro's arrival on the scene can be interpreted as foreshadowing ("...your guide to quality literature").  

Yet this particular chapter in the Book of Exodus leaves more question marks than periods, commas or exclamation points in my head. To no surprise, this happens every year (so far). This portion is troubling for me for two (and a half*) reasons:

(Insert obligatory spoiler alert here.)  

1. How did Purity = abstinence? 

Exodus: 19: 10: “and the Eternal said to Moses, “Go to the people and warn them to stay pure today and tomorrow. Let them wash their clothes.

Exodus 19: 14-15: “Moses came down from the mountain to the people and warned the people to stay pure, and they washed their clothes. 15) And he said to the people,” Be ready for the third day: [the men among] you should not go near a woman.”

So God never says, implies or otherwise equates purity with abstinence. It is Moses who first makes that connection by adding "you should not go near women.". Why does Moses feel the need to qualify what God told him?

One interpretation:

“Women and Revelation”

Also, note in each passage that the command to stay pure is immediately followed by the commandment to wash their clothes. A connection is being made here between cleanliness/hygiene and purity. To be pure is to remain clean. Physically? Emotionally? Mentally?

I began to wonder why God would care about sexual abstinence. Why not demand a fast, such as the type of Yom Kippur? (In fact, isn't the Yom Kippur fast a form of purifying?)

Perhaps God is asking for abstinence as a way of a test: Refrain from sex to show you can follow my instructions?  (After all, the Israelites pretty much failed in following God's  instructions regarding the manna.) Therefore, God chooses a very natural act which has a strong emotional component and biological drive to it. In other words, God is commanding the Israelites to forego sexual relations to prove that they will be able to follow not only this particular imperative but the imperatives to come?

Still, I wondered, why sex, and why frame the act of sex in terms of purity/non-purity? (Well, virginity was probably already a social commodity, and if it was so ubiquitous among the people of the time, they were probably already equating purity with virginity/non-sexual relations. But then, if they were already so familiar with the idea of purity equaling abstinence, why should Moses feel obligated to restate/re-interpret it at the mountain base?

One d’var on the subject:

“Parshat Yitro - Interpreting G-d's Approach at Sinai” (Torah Queeries)

As you might have gleaned, Moses is exhibiting some definitive sexism in his admonition for the men of the tribe to forego being in contact with women, since there is no corresponding warning for women to stay away from the men. I am loathed to simply write this off as merely the gendered convention of the time since the Torah is not usually referenced as a sociological/anthropological resource (that I know of). (<---but I would love to read the research which does examine it as such.) (<---geeky academic moment. sorry.) Many look to the Torah for guidance and inspiration, as a way to inform and to challenge and to open new avenues of query. As such, Moses' reinterpretation cannot be so simply dismissed, and therefore remains a pebble inside my mind's shoe. (Gee, thanks Moses.)  

Finally, as a coda of thought provocation, the d'var from Shabbat Services.

(* 1/2 reason. Yitro = Jethro, which is the name of the main character on NCIS, a television show which drops more than its fair share of Jewish references. Indeed, The State of Israel and Mossad play no small and problematic supporting roles in this crime drama, unique in American commercial television, and two of its latest episodes were entitled "Shabbat Shalom" and "Shiva". And yes, let's point out that one if its characters is named Ziva. While I have not found any good blogs or research on this ongoing correlation, I remain hopeful.)

Why I Care About Trans Day of Remembrance as a (“Cisgender”) Gay Man

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This Former-Pagan-Now-Jew Looks Back at Another Upcoming Halloween

7 Cheshvan, 5773

Today is October 23, 2012 - which means (according to the American secular calendar) a week from tomorrow is Halloween. For many (if not the majority of) Americans it is a social event that over the centuries has been hoisted (or foisted, depending on your p.o.v.) to the level of holiday. While not federally recognized (stupid government, I imagine many undoubtedly groan), it does affect people across class, race, age and gender. Costumes will be bought or made (people still make costumes, right?); candies will be purchased; bellies will still ache the morning after. As a nation we spend an estimated 6.9 billion dollars on the last day of October. You read that correctly - that's billions as opposed to millions and all during a tentative recovery from the worst economic crash in a generation. Cue Keanu Reeves.

While a significant marker (especially in an unabashed capitalist society) money does not solely define Halloween’s status in our nation’s collective consciousness. The day gleefully and insidiously reaches into other corners of our daily lives like an ever-growing sticky spider-web. It spills out of our TV’s to the screams of a thousand horror movie victims; it will be the theme of many a school parade or dinner party; it takes over the Hallmark card rack down at the local CVS. We even semi-consciously raise it among the other calendar milestones whenever we spot Christmas tree decorations out on the shelves before the 31^st. Each holiday in its due time, dammit!  

For those who practice Wicca, the day is called Samhain and is the start of a new pagan year. Needless to say, it figures prominently on the Wiccan calendar and in Wiccan consciousness. Throughout the autumnal season Nature has been shedding its skin, preparing for its death-like sleep of Winter. For the prior eight weeks the barriers between the living and the dead have been thinning, allowing the living to intuit the dead - and the dead the living - more than any other time of year. Respect is given to ancestors. As magic is wrought to look ahead, meditation turns inwards, an introspection led by the kind hand of the Crone. Death is contemplated not as a period at the end of a that run-on sentence which is Life but rather as an ellipsis, leading simply yet profoundly, to the turning of a page…

I know this because I used to be Wiccan, identifying as a child of the goddess, first as a son, then as a daughter. Celebrating Samhain at the time was as natural for me as breathing. Ever since I was a child the day had been somehow magical, filled with mysterious delight. It somehow existed beyond the costumes and the parties, connecting to something much more ethereal. When I finally stopped trick-or-treating (sad to learn one could actually grow out of the tradition) I began telling ghost stories. I watched as many scary movies during October as I could, growing an affinity for old Hammer films. (Tim Burton became a bit of a god/dess send.) My friends would intuit this about me. Trips to pumpkin patches were mandatory for me. One Latina partner unofficially dubbed me “Grand Calabaza” or her Great Pumpkin. So when I identified as Wicca and celebrated Samhain I was joining in on a spiritual dance I seemed to already know the steps to.

I do not know exactly when but at some point I started moving beyond Wicca. 

I didn't want to admit it at first. Wicca had had so much incredibly meaning for me it seemed somehow like an act of infidelity to look beyond its tenets, to think outside its mindset. I had fully expected to die – and be reincarnated – as Wiccan. And yet didn’t feeling guilty over the thought of leaving Wicca kinda already mean I had? I was surprised, saddened and confused (and on some unconscious level relieved). What had happened? When had Wicca - and by extension, Halloween - stopped being so special? Where had its meaning gone to? Where was the magic? (See what I did there?)

There was no exact moment I could pinpoint, no foundation-shaking moment for me. It had happened slowly, with the turning of the seasonal wheel. Although the music of the magical universe still played on I found I had stopped dancing, had in fact stepped quietly off the dance floor. I still respected those who spun widdershins – nothing but love, nothing but love – but the pan-pipe tunes no longer called to me. I could be thankful for the experiences which had brought me to where I was but to linger would somehow be an exercise in futility. For me the party no longer enthralled. That I sensed this with the same intuition being Wiccan had honed in me seemed proof that the Universe was not without a sense of irony – or without hope.

I have blogged elsewhere how I came to Judaism so I will not repeat it here. I will say that while I harbor no latent longings or angsty regrets, I do come to October 31^st every year with what feels like a unique perspective. First is this “Been-there/Trick-or-Treated that” feeling. Being Wiccan gave me a particular look behind Halloween’s metaphysical curtain. I feel somehow privileged for the view and the experience of the dance and feel no need to return. (Again, nothing but love.)

I also feel like a distinct outsider. This was driven home for me when, two years ago while I was still in the process of converting, I took a trip with a Temple friend up to Salem, Massachusetts. It should not surprise you to learn that the cultural site of The Salem Witch Trials has become a touristy ground-zero for those who celebrate Halloween, pagan or not. I was anxious going up, wondering how I would react and admittedly I felt a dissipating sadness while wandering through the crowds. Yes, I used to be a part of this revelry – and I had made the conscious choice not to be anymore. And while it felt strange to be on the outside of this party, this dance, it also felt right – just as becoming pagan in my Twenties had felt right. When we finally left I felt as though I had come to kiss Wicca goodbye and move into my future - a Jewish homecoming I cannot help but think the loving, nurturing wise goddess would have approved of.

So this is how I come to the perennial dialectic (or is it a debate?) regarding American Jews and Halloween. While I will not judge those who fall on either side of this divide, I know how I feel as a Jew about the day. While I can (and have) traced Halloween’s origins back to ancient Celtic culture, and can even argue that it has been shaped in some part by the Christian elements of the United States, I cannot say it is Jewish in any way, shape or form. Nor could I reasonably argue that Purim is the Judaic version of Halloween, as some gentiles figure. As such, I am at peace in not celebrating it on either a cultural or spiritual level. I also feel no peer pressure to do so. (I must note that, currently being without a child, I cannot imagine what Jewish parents in America must wrestle with at this time of the year and fully respect whatever decisions they end up making.) 

Of course, in taking this particular and particularly public stance I often receive a slew of responses from my gentile friends, ranging from the shocked How-can-you-NOT-celebrate-such-a-cool-night! stare to the far more annoying Oh-you-poor-Jew-I-feel-so-sad-for-you look of pity. But for me it only makes sense. Halloween has no context for me as a Jew. For me it’s impossible to untangle the night from its spiritual or historical roots - and none of those roots run back to Israel. As I no longer cavort with the spiritual world, read Tarot or divine dreams the thought of dressing up to confuse wandering evil spirits makes little sense. And echoing the sentiments of other Jewish commentators, I’d rather be in costume giving out food for Purim than collecting candy on October 31^st.

I understand that on both an inter-personal and macro level this can be a hard decision to take within a society so culturally invested in Halloween (remember, nearly $7 billion dollars last year). I also understand from a very personal vantage-point what Halloween means as a spiritual event. Yet oddly (or perhaps not) as a former-pagan-now-a-Jew I find it easy to walk among the revelers, appreciating their party even as I do not partake of it anymore, and am amused that they would have more of a problem with it than I do. That’s all right, though. I need only answer to myself, my Jewish community and HaShem and we’re all just fine with my decision.  

On Sukkot, honoring the homeless | Jewish Journal

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Postcards from ימים נוראים: Overdue Thoughts on Kol Nidre

7 Tishri, 5773

The backstory: Although I have been going to my synagogue since Spring of 2010 and then converted in 2011, this year – 5773 – will be the first time I will be witness, and indeed a part of, Kol Nidre. As fate would have it, I did not make it during the previous two HHD seasons. The first year I was honestly lost in and subsequently overwhelmed by the High Holy Days – as strange as it sounds, the only way I could get through my first Yom Kippur was to be absent for Kol Nidre. Last year I was in bed with an awful head cold, which, as I had also stopped eating or drinking, and along with a change in meds, would contribute to my fainting in the middle of YK services the very next day. (Text received during my ER visit from one of my rabbis: “Are you all right? Did you mean to faint right before Mi Shebeirach?” Heart my clergy!)

Today I can relate that I am neither over-awed nor under-the-weather and am excited for this long delayed first Kol Nidre, especially with some new understandings I have recently come across.

Continuing backstory: A few months ago, Kol Nidre was the subject of a pre-Elul Torah study. As it was one of my HHD mysteries, and having been absent from it over the last two years, I immediately sat up to catch the discussion as it flew around me and ricocheted off the walls and ceiling. (My Torah Study group is wonderfully if not fearlessly active in their spiritual wrestlings. The WWE has got nothing on us.) Many characteristics of Kol Nidre I understood immediately – it was a legal formulation and not a prayer (check), written in Aramaic and not Hebrew, (check) wrapped in a beautiful haunting melody (check), which basically begins the Yom Kippur Services for the next 24 hours (check check check).

Yet there was one aspect I kept intellectually tripping over: the disavowing of vows. Um, why would there be a legal document read before Yom Kippur (the day of forgiveness/atonement) which seemed to allow any oath mentioned over the last year to be disavowed? Confusion reigned. Why bother genuinely asking for forgiveness and atonement from both another individual and God if we were saying any oath we made could be so broken?

You can probably guess what happened next. I raised my hand and voiced that question. No sooner had the words formed in the air than someone along the back row muttered “She’s wrong”. (Which is kinda the last response you want to hear in Torah Study.) The rabbi leading the group that morning responded by using my question to discuss how Kol Nidre was historically the basis of so many age-old anti-Semitic justifications. (Which, on second thought, is REALLY the last response you want to hear in Torah Study.) [1]

(Note to the designers of the ubiquitous “Intro-to-Judaism” courses: please consider including some special discussion regarding Kol Nidre in HHD lessons. That is all.)  

Now, some moons later, I am delving into a set of books called Rosh Hashanah Readings and Yom Kippur Readings, both edited by RabbiDov Peretz Elkins, so I can better understand, appreciate and participate in the HHD, which is unabashedly my favorite season of the Jewish calendar. Needless to say, I am pouring over the Kol Nidre section in search of some context to hang my questions on. And finally, upon reading more deeply the liturgical/halakhah/Biblical/historical background of Kol Nidre, I heard the clilk! of understanding from within, like that moment the key opens the tumblers of a particularly stubborn lock .   

* * *

(If the following aspects of Kol Nidre is all remedial Sunday School for you please skip to last line. No worries; I forgive you.)

My understanding now of the halakha roots to Kol Nidre can be traced all the way back to the Torah’s admonition against making frivolous oaths and promises. (Remember, this caution came in the ancient time of Balaam and blessings and curses, when it was thought that what came out of our mouths not only spoke of what was within ourselves but had power to create and destroy, heal or harm, in the real world. Much as it does now, even though we seem to forget this loaded truth online and off in the real world.) Your word was – or at least should be – bond. Specifically to each other and especially to God.

Kol Nidre seems to understand that despite the Torah’s warnings and the best of intention from us Jews, “frivolous”[2] oaths will pass from our lips to God’s ear. (Welcome to the human condition.) Therefore, before we can ask for God’s forgiveness and mercy, we must first deal with processing all those unfulfilled promises. This strikes me as amazingly functional in religious, emotional, psychological and even sociological terms. In this respect, Kol Nidre is the vehicle that helps us get from one side of Yom Kippur to the other. (I also now understand that Kol Nidre is specifically for oaths between us and God. We're still on the hook for buying that round next Saturday night because the Red Sox lost. Again.)

Additionally, there is a strong historical connection between Kol Nidre and the Conversos of Spain. [3]Faced with conversion to Christianity or death, they chose life in anti-Semitic medieval Spain as hidden Jews. How important Kol Nidre must have become for them in keeping their spiritual integrity intact during such times! (And from a socio-political p.o.v., it is therefore no surprise that anti-Semitics would hold up Kol Nidre as proof-positive that Jews would not keep to their forced conversions, embrace another belief system under the threat of torture and death could not be trusted at their word.) A beautiful drash in YKR also draws a connection between the Conversos of Spain and those of the Queer Community who find that too must hide their true identity in an unforgiving and cruel world. (I really cannot recommend these books enough.)

What Kol Nidre means in 5773 is something I am still gleaning and certainly welcome any-and-everyone else’s interpretation. (Anti-Semites excluded. Clearly.) 

With only two-and-a-half days (daze?) to go, may you have an easy fast this Yom Kippur, may your name be sealed in the Book of Life and may you (continue to) have the sweetest of years!

---

[1] Torah Studies assume some background knowledge of the topics under discussion.

[2] Yom Kippur Readings: Inspiration, Information, Contemplation, p20 – ed. Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins

[3] ibid (p. 22)