Zimmerman Verdict: Reflections on Justice and Dialogue
...one of the more reasonable and measured editorials on the Zimmerman verdict I have found...
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Saturday, April 13, 2013
"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?
Saturday, February 2, 2013
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:
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.)
Friday, November 9, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
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 31st. 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 31st 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
31st.
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.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
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