Parshas Tazria/Metzorah – dermatology theology

In outlining the spiritual affliction that manifests as a skin ailment, Tza’ra’as, this week’s Torah reading provides an accounting of the observable physical signs that are likely to lead a Kohain (priest) to diagnose an Israelite as being so afflicted. In reviewing the different signs, Rabbi Tzvi Pittinsky* noted an oddity – a small white spot observed on the skin may result in an individual being pronounced ‘unclean’ (13:10-11). But if skin of the person under scrutiny is totally covered with this uncharacteristic whiteness, he is to be pronounced ‘clean’ (13:13). How can that be?

One way we can resolve this apparently inconsistent set of signs is to look at the person whose skin has gone entirely white as someone who is so far gone in his error as to be beyond usual corrective action. Only when, and if, his skin (and his outlook) – now totally white - resumes some normal cast, and his error (a white spot) can be seen in contrast to other more redeeming characteristics, can he then he prodded to examine his error and take the path to self-improvement.

As another way to address this inconsistency, Rabbi Pittinsky cites Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin (AKA the Netziv), a noted Rabbinic scholar, author, and commentator in Eastern Europe in the 19^th century. Rabbi Berlin suggests that the different indicators and their divergent diagnoses are designed to give us a lesson in how to offer someone else constructive criticism. Rabbi Berlin says that God gives someone a small white spot, as a gentle indicator that he is on the wrong path, because the person will be more inclined to accept a less dramatic sign of error. God does this because if He made the person go totally white, it would be the equivalent of telling your daughter, brother, worker, friend, or neighbor that they totally screwed up on something big – even if your intentions are honorable, when you ‘bang someone over the head’ with a blistering critique, they are unlikely to listen.

Rabbi Pittinsky compares the Netziv’s idea to commentary on a verse in Proverbs: “Don’t rebuke the scoffer, because he will hate you. Rather, rebuke a wise man and he will love you.” (9:8). Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz (AKA the Shelah HaKodesh), a prominent rabbinic leader and author in early 17^th century Poland and Palestine, understands this verse in Proverbs to be giving us instruction on how to speak with someone who you feel committed an offense. If you treat the other person as a scoffer, he will likely reject your criticism and get angry with you. But if you address this person as a wise man, who generally comports himself quite well but has deviated on a recent matter, he is more likely to accept your criticism and love you for the way you treat him.

* = in a Dvar Torah he wrote five years ago that his father, Daniel Pittinsky, was kind enough to share with me. 

Parshas Shemini - Edible animals

The verse in Leviticus delineates clearly which animals the children of Israel are allowed to eat: “All that have a cloven hoof, and they (the hooves) are (completely) split, and that chews its cud among the animals, that you may eat.” (11:3). Why are these physical traits established as the indicators of a kosher animal?

The simplest answer and perhaps the least satisfying, is that this commandment is a chok – one of the class of statues whose reason is not stated and whose rationale eludes us. We are challenged to keep these statues despite the fact that they make no sense to us, because true faith is not predicated on our ability to understand and/or agree with all of God’s commands.

Another answer is offered by Rabbi Pinchas Peli, in his book Torah Today: A Renewed Encounter with Scripture. He cites the Greek Jewish writer Philo (40 BCE – 20 CE), who suggested that the cloven hooves symbolically point to the capacity of a person to carefully make divisions between different aspects of the world and choose what is good. And an animal’s chewing its cud directs us to consider the value of ruminating over the lessons we have learned, so we can keep the insights we gained fresh in mind. The kosher animal, then, subtly reminds us of the traits we should embrace, so as to live a more thoughtful life.

Passover - look who's coming to dinner

One of the focal points of the Passover Seder is the interplay of questions and answers between four archetypal sons – the wise son, the wicked son, the simple son, and the son that does not know how to ask. Numerous commentators have written untold numbers of observations about each of these sons and the significance of the respective dialogues.

In the Hagadah “The Seder Night: An Exalted Evening,” Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik points out something about the Rasha, the Wicked Son, that is so seemingly obvious yet (in my opinion) so encouraging. He notes that even though this son is contentious and disrespectful, he is still present at the seder. According to the adage by Woody Allen: “Eighty percent of success is just showing up.” We should not consider this son ‘too far gone’ because he has placed himself in the situation where his faith can be restored.

Along those same lines, Rabbi Soloveitchik notes that the Hagadah does not say that we should boot the Wicked Son out of the house. Rather, we should face him and attempt to ‘blunt his teeth’ – a euphemism for confounding his cynicism and challenging his emotional detachment from the seder experience. As Rabbi Soloveitchik states: “Talmud Torah (the teaching of Torah) requires bringing the one who got lost, the child who was alienated, back into the fold. He or she is a Rasha now, but there is potential in the Rasha.”

Note:

I am grateful to Rabbi Tzvi Weiss for picking up this wonderful Hagadah for me. Over a year ago he told me that he was headed to the Seforim sale at Yeshiva University and asked if I’d like him to get anything for me. I asked if he could find a Hagadah that offered a novel approach from many of the other traditional Hagadot that are available. He picked this volume out for me and I’ve been very pleased with his choice.

Parshas Tzav - sacrifice a smile

One of the topics in this week's Torah portion is the Korban Todah, the Thanksgiving sacrifice. The rabbis of the Talmud taught that this sacrifice was brought by an individual who survived any one of four possibly life-threatening situations - an ocean voyage, a trip through a wilderness, a prison sentence, and a serious illness. To express thanks for escaping danger, the person brought the Todah sacrifice and invited many friends to the meal where the meat of the sacrifice, and the accompanying 40 loaves of bread, were eaten. In the current day, our equivalent to this practice is for a person to recite the Birchas HaGomel prayer after blessing the Torah, during prayer services.

Rabbi Yisroel Ciner, in a commentary posted online 10 years ago, quotes Rav Yitzchok Huttner who explained that the word 'Todah' has two distinct means - either 'thanks' (most common) or 'an admission.' Both meanings convey the fact that we are indebted to others, and to God, for our many joys and accomplishments - none of us is truly a self-made man (or woman). We can see both meanings of the word expressed in the Modim paragraph of the Shemoneh Esrei (the Silent Amidah prayer).

Rabbi Ciner suggests that, in our era we should utilize our own faces and our dispositions to express public thanks to God for His many expansive kindnesses to us. If we respond to others' inquiries about our lives with a 'Thank God,' if we can reflect an appreciation of God's gifts in our daily outlook, if we can smile much more readily than we frown, then we have offered a personal 'Korban Todah' than can help foster a greater awareness of and appreciation of God in the world.

Parshas VaYikra - sacrificing

This week’s Torah reading explains, at some length, the laws of different animal sacrifices (Korbanot) that the Jews could bring in the mishkan (the traveling sanctuary) or later in the Bais HaMikdash (Holy Temple). Rabbi Pinchas Peli, in an essay in his book Torah Today: A Renewed Encounter with Scripture, points out that the Hebrew text at the beginning of the reading may be translated as: “if any person bring of yourselves a sacrifice onto the Lord …” (Leviticus 1:2). He relates that various commentators interpret this clause to mean that an animal brought for a sacrifice must rightfully belong to the person bringing it and the owner must see this animal as something of value. In other words, the sacrifice has to be “of yourselves.”

Then he tells the following parable to illuminate the message: A wealthy man leaves three rare gifts to each of his three sons upon his death. The first son receives a set of binoculars than can see any place in the world. The second son receives a magic carpet, which can quickly carry passengers to any place on the planet. And the third son receives an apple that, when eaten, will fulfill any wish. One day the first son, using the binoculars, discovers a far off country where a king is agonizing over his daughter’s life threatening illness. The king issues a proclamation that anyone who can cure his daughter will be granted the right to marry her and will later become king. The first son tells his brothers, who all get on the magic carpet and fly off to the kingdom. Once there, the third son gives the princess the apple with the wish that she recover and magically she is cured.

The king is of course delighted. But then each of the sons claims the right to marry the princess – the first son because only through his use of the binoculars did they learn of the princess’s grave condition, the second son because his magic carpet got them all there in time, and the third son because his apple actually cured the princess. The King thinks over the matter and determines that one son is the most fitting choice.

Which son did he choose?

Parshas VaYaKeil-Pekudei - an itemized list

The beginning of part II of this week’s double Torah reading is the sort of thing that my brother, the CPA, probably relishes. The parsha of Pekudei starts: “And these are the accountings of the mishkan, the mishkan of testimony, that were drawn up on Moshe’s command, for the work of the Levities, under the direction of Itamar, son of Aharon the Kohein.” (38:21). Then the parsha lists the different supplies used in the construction, by amount, and explains how each resource was used in the project. This detailed accounting goes on … for 41 verses.

As a non-accountant, I do not get much of a thrill from such a detailed report. So I have to ask: Was this really necessary?

In an essay on this Torah portion in his book “Table Talk,” Rabbi Raphael Pelcovitz asserts that this accounting is essential, as it reflects the standard that Moshe teaches the Jewish people towards the end of his life: “And you shall be clean from God and Israel.” (Numbers/Bamidbar 32:22). This verse, and our Torah reading, are telling us that it is not enough to be convinced of your own ethical standards – a proper Jew must ensure that his activities appear appropriate to his fellow man as well. This imperative is underscored as well by a verse in the Grace After Meals, which we recite far more frequently than we read this week's Torah portion: “And may we find favor and understanding in the eyes of God and man.” (at the end of the BaMoRom paragraph).

The directive of these two verses, and the example in Pekudei, is that we are only acting appropriately when our actions reflect a sensitivity to God and to the concerns of our family, our neighbors, our co-workers, and our community members in mind.

Parshas Ki Sisa - An odd idol

When Moshe did not descend the mountain after the giving of the Torah, the Jewish people grew nervous. They agitated for a replacement and Aharon complied. (Shemos/Exodus 32: 1-5). The result was a golden calf.

Why was this new object of worship a golden calf?

One answer I have heard is that the Egyptians worshipped cows so the Jews went back to a familiar motif. This suggestion is plausible.

Rashi offers another answer. Citing the Midrash Tanhuma, he relates the following story: Moshe complained to God that when the Jewish slaves fell short of their quota of bricks, the Egyptians took Jewish babies and used them to fill gaps in the buildings. God told Moshe that these babies were fated to be evil so their loss was not as tragic as it appeared. To illustrate His point God brought one of the babies back to life and that child was Micah, who later grew up to become a well-known idol-worshiper in the time of the Judges (chapter 17-18). Shortly before leaving Egypt Moses sought to raise Joseph’s coffin from the bottom of the Nile, where the Egyptians had buried it to prevent the Jews from leaving. Moshe wrote on a metal plate “Arise Ox, arise Ox” (echoing his reference to Joseph much later in Devarim/Deuteronomy as “a first born ox”; 33:17) and threw it in the water, which caused Joseph’s coffin to miraculously float to the top of the waters. Somehow, Micah got hold of this metal plate and, at the critical moment at Sinai, he threw it in the goldsmith’s fire that Aharon was tending and ‘Poof!’ a golden calf arose.

What are we to make of this midrash? One message appears to be that questioning God’s judgment, even when there is widespread suffering, is unwise and can even lead to a much greater loss of faith. Another theme may be that the same words that are focused and fitting in one setting may wreck unbelievable havoc in another.

Perhaps a third idea is that when you create a tool for miracles, even seemingly necessary ones, that tool can be tragically misused. The same metal plate that enabled Moshe to fulfill the Jewish people’s promise to bring Joseph’s bones out of Egypt (Bereishis 50:25) became the catalyst that produced the golden calf. In our era this message may have particular resonance. We are blessed to have incredible technological resources. For some these resources serve some as powerful tools for research and personal growth. For others, the same resources enable an accelerated pursuit of mindless diversion, a mind-numbing escapism and, in the worst cases, serve as a vehicle for destruction of relationships and lives.