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May 25, 2021

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Shalom is a Vessel for Blessing – Naso 5781

In the middle of Parashat Nasso, we come upon some of the most well-known and beloved lines in the entire Torah. These words are so popular that they can be found on the oldest known writing of verses from the Torah, dating back to the first Temple Era.

In 1979, at an archaeological dig in the Hinom Valley in Jerusalem, two small silver amulets were found by a thirteen year old boy. They were dated to the sixth or seventh century, BCE, earlier than any existing manuscript of the Torah. Those amulets contained the words of the Priestly Blessing.

יְבָרֶכְךָ֥ יְ-הֹוָ֖ה וְיִשְׁמְרֶֽךָ׃

יָאֵ֨ר יְ-הֹוָ֧ה ׀ פָּנָ֛יו אֵלֶ֖יךָ וִֽיחֻנֶּֽךָּ׃ 

יִשָּׂ֨א יְ-הֹוָ֤ה ׀ פָּנָיו֙ אֵלֶ֔יךָ וְיָשֵׂ֥ם לְךָ֖ שָׁלֽוֹם׃

For thousands of years, these words have been used to invoke God’s blessings. In the Torah, Aaron and his sons are instructed to use these words to channel God’s blessings on to the people. We include them in the Amidah, reciting them out loud whenever there is a repetition. We follow the Ashkenazi tradition at Sinai of duchenning on Yom Tov. The priests come up to the bimah to bless the congregation during the Musaf service. Parents bless their children on Friday nights using these words, and the bride and groom receive this blessing under the chuppah. 

Our tradition refers to it as the brachah hameshuleshet – The Three Part Blessing. In other words, it is a single blessing comprised of three parts. Its very structure expresses balance and completeness.  It has three lines, each of which has two parts. The three lines are comprised of three, five, and seven words which are formed by fifteen, twenty, and twenty five letters, respectively. The opening phrase of the first line and the closing phrase of the last line each have seven syllables. Jacob Milgrom describes it as “a rising crescendo.” Scribes write the Priestly Blessing with unusual spacing, another indication of its specialness.

But what does this Threefold Blessing mean? Throwing up his hands, one commentator (Kli Yakar) declares: “Numerous ideas have emerged to explain the meaning of the blessings – each person explaining them according to his intellect.” I would like to look this morning at one particular interpretation offered by the nineteenth century author of the Torah commentary HaEmek Davar, Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin, known as the Netziv. Based upon his interpretation, we will see that the Threefold Blessing is in fact a single blessing, each phrase building upon its predecessor in a kind of story.

Moses is told to instruct the High Priest Aaron and his sons: “Thus shall you bless the children of Israel. Say to them…” Note that the blessing is delivered collectively, not to individuals. Consider how we recite the priestly blessing on holidays when we duchen. The priests channel God’s blessing to the entire congregation. That seems to be how Second Temple Priests would use it. If you were visiting the Temple, you could grab a priest wandering by and ask him for a blessing.  He would then assemble a group and use these words.

But then, when we get to the words of the blessing itself, the grammar changes. Yevarekhekha. “May the Lord bless you” – singular. A priest, addressing a group, speaks to them in the second person singular.

The Netziv comments that this blessing is directed to each individual “whatever it is appropriate for that person to be blessed with.” He gives a couple of examples. For someone who is dedicated to Torah study, the blessing is for increased learning. For one engaged in business, the blessing is for financial success. And so on, a blessing of abundance for whatever is most valued by each person in the group being blessed. The second part of the first line is v’yishmerakha – “and protect you.” The Netziv points out that an abundance of blessing brings with it certain risks. V’yishmerekha asks that the blessing one receives does not become a stumbling block. A Torah scholar needs to be protected from pride. A wealthy person needs protection so that affluence does not lead to evil. And so on. A blessing, unchecked has the capacity to cause suffering. The first line, therefore, is concerned with you, the individual recipient of God’s blessing. May you have abundance in whatever you most need, and may that abundance not lead to suffering.

We continue with the second line. Ya’er Adonai panav elekha. “May the Lord cause God’s light to shine upon you.” The story of blessing progresses. Light figuratively shines from the recipient of blessing. Other people, observing such success, recognize that it comes from God. It is not a matter of mere luck. The end of the second line is vichuneka – “And be gracious to you.” The story continues. When other people see that God has blessed you, they will undoubtedly come to you to ask for you to pray for God’s blessing on their behalf. Vichuneka refers to God’s grace in answering the prayers of the petitioner on behalf of others. If the first line is focused on the recipient of blessing, the second line is about extending that blessing to other people. We are asked to share our blessings. To use the gifts we have received in a way that improves the world around us.

Yisa Adonai panav elekha – “May God lift up God’s face to you.” Does God have a face? What is a face? HaEmek Davar equates a face with a midot, personal qualities. Joy and anger are reflected on a person’s face. And so, this blessing, calling for God’s face to be lifted to you, is asking for God to direct Divine attributes such as kindness, mercy, and forgiveness, towards the recipient of blessing. V’yasem l’kha shalom – “And may God place upon you peace.”  This comes at the end, after all the other blessings. Shalom is the vessel that strengthens all other blessings, says the Netziv.  “Without peace, there can be no enjoyment of any blessing.” This completes the story. A person receives blessing, the particular success that is unique to that person’s talents and interests. The sucess does not become a curse. In fact, that success can be translated to spreading blessing and success to other people as well.  The final step is God’s Presence, expressed through the metaphor of God lifting up God’s face to you.

The ending, shalom, is the coda. No blessing can be fully enjoyed unless there is peace. Or more accurately, “wholeness.” We might understand this spiritually as the kind of equanimity and peace experienced by a person who is at one with God. 

Speaking more generally, when we have opporunities to develop and maximize our talents, and we use them in ways that leave the world around us better, that is the recipe for a life well lived. Such a person experiences God’s presence and knows shleimut, wholeness, in their life. Perhaps you know someone like that, or maybe you are someone like that.  As a parent, when I bless my children on Friday night, this is the blessing for them that I hold in my heart.

This blessing contains a theology for what makes for a meaningful life. It is not enough to selfishly enjoy my own blessings. I have to work to make it possible for others to experience blessings as well. But it also contains a recognition that managing one’s blessings can be difficult.

Shalom can refer to an individual, spiritual feeling of wholeness, but we might also see shalom in more tangible terms. Peace and stability in the world around me. Without that kind of shalom, it is impossible to fully experience blessing.

The ceasefire between Israel and Hamas began yesterday (5/21/21). To be clear, it is a ceasefire, not peace.  We are far from peace. As I said last week, we are very distant from Israel. I am reluctant to dictate what I think Israel should or should not be doing.

But when I look at recent events, it seems to me that Israel is still struggling with how to live with the blessing of Jewish power. Israel has achieved so much in such a short time. As Rabbi Donniel Hartman pointed out this week, every war Israel has fought since 1973 has been an assymetrical war. It has fought against enemies with less technology, less hardware, and less military advantage. Israel’s existence has not been at stake for nearly fifty years. Israel is not fighting for its survival, and this is a tremendous blessing.

This blessing creates other kinds of challenges. Israel wrestles with how to conduct itself morally in a world that is extremely complicated and morally ambiguous. World opinion is fickle, influenced by millenia of anti-semitism and by knee-jerk inclinations to automatically take the side of those with less power. Israel still struggles to deal with opponents, such as Hamas, Hezbollah, and Iran, that deny its right to exist, that – intentionally and strategically – put Israel in morally impossible situations by launching rockets from civilian areas to civilian areas. Jews are being attacked in Europe, in Canada, and here in America simply for being Jewish.

And – Palestinians in the West Bank continue to live under Israeli military occupation and under blockade by Israel and Egypt in the Gaza Strip. Regardless of where fault might lie, living conditions for Palestinians, especially in Gaza, are terrible and should evoke our compassion. Our hearts should break for the devastation that they are experiencing.

And – especially in recent years, Israel has behaved with a certain degree of triumphalism, passively allowing or even actively encouraging the continued building of Jewish settlements in the West Bank. It has allowed discrimination against Arab citizens in Israel to persist. Yes, they are citizens and they can vote, but that is not all there is to living in a democracy. 

There are no simple solutions to any of these problems. 

The Priestly Blessing suggests that the appropriate response to our own blessings is to share it with others.  It does not seem to me that we have honestly done this with the Palestinians. I am not naive. Israel faces very real and dangerous obstacles, including those who seek its destruction. Until we all fully recognize that everyone should be entitled to pursue lives of dignity, freedom, prosperity, and democracy, including Palestinians, true blessing will remain elusive.

Remember the story of the threefold blessing. It starts with abundance, and asks that our experience of abundance not lead to suffering. Then, it asks that our abundance be something that we can share, so that others can experience their own blessings as well. Only then does God raise God’s face to us. Only then do we experience true Shalom. A Shalom that serves as a vessel for all other blessing.

May that blessing come speedily in our days. 

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June 16, 2019

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One Prince Per Day, One Prince Per Day – Naso 5779

Frans de Waal, the famous primatologist, conducted an experiment which, if you have not seen footage of, you should.

Two Capuchin monkeys are placed in cages, side by side.  They are trained to perform a task in order to receive food.  A monkey gets a small pebble, gives it to the researcher through a hole in the cage, and in return, gets a piece of cucumber.  The two monkeys quickly learn the deal, and quite happily trade pebbles for cucumbers.

Then, a change is introduced.  One of the monkeys, instead of being given a piece of cucumber, receives a grape.  Grapes are way better than cucumbers, I am sure you will agree.

So monkey A gives the researcher a pebble, and gets a cucumber.  Monkey B gives the researcher a pebble, and gets a grape.  Monkey A is intrigued.  “They are giving out grapes now,” she thinks to herself “I want a grape.” So she quickly grabs another pebble and gives it to the researcher—who gives her a cucumber.  She starts to put it in her mouth. Monkey B, meanwhile, gives another pebble—and gets a grape.

At this point, Monkey A takes the cucumber out of her mouth and throws it at the researcher.

Monkey B gives another pebble—and gets another grape.  Monkey A tries again, frantically—and gets a cucumber, which she immediately throws at the researcher.  She then grabs the bars of the cage and starts shaking them in rage, screaming.

At the beginning of the experiment, Monkey A was perfectly happy with cucumbers.  But as soon as she realizes that her neighbor is getting something better, what was once fine becomes unacceptable.  Her happiness is not based on any internal measure.  It depends solely on how much she has relative to Monkey B.

Are human beings any different?  Do we measure happiness on our own, internal barometer, or does our happiness depend on comparing how much we have to how much we think other people have?  We’ll leave that as an open question.

The Torah repeatedly expresses its concern for extreme economic imbalances in society.  We see this in many of the Torah’s laws pertaining to agriculture and tzedakah. A related theme is the inherently competitive nature of human beings.  We see this as far back as the story of Cain and Abel, in which jealousy between siblings leads to the first murder.

We can only experience true happiness when we eliminate the temptations to be jealous of those with more or to dominate those with less.  This is a subtle message in this morning’s Torah portion.

The end of parashat Naso describes the offerings that are brought by chieftains from each of the twelve tribes.  The Mishkan, or Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that the Israelites have just completed building, is ready.  Moses has anointed and sanctified it.  There is one final step to be taken before it can be used.  Chieftains from each of the 12 tribes must bring offerings for the Tabernacle’s dedication.  Chanukat HaMizbeach, as it is called.

First, the Chieftains collaborate on a gift of 6 carts with 12 oxen to pull them.  The give them to two of the three Levite clans whose job is to disassemble and carry the Tabernacle through the wilderness. As for their offerings, which are all identical, the chieftains collectively bring: 12 silver bowls weighing 130 shekels each, 12 silver basins weighing 70 shekels each, and 12 gold ladles weighing 10 shekels each, filled with incense. Altogether, that comes to about 63 pounds of silver, worth just over $15,000 at current prices.  The gold would be worth over $68,000. As for livestock, the Chieftains bring the following animals for sacrifices: 36 bulls, 36 rams, 60 he-goats, and 72 yearling lambs.  I’m not sure what those would be worth at a cattle auction—but it is safe to assume that it would be more than the gold and silver.  

In other words, this is a substantial gift.

All of this occurs in the longest chapter in the Torah: 89 verses.  And it is super repetitive.  Our text does not just give us the executive summary.  It details the individual gifts of each chieftain, 12 times in a row. This is not sloppy editing.  The detail and the repetition is quite deliberate.

When the Chieftains bring forward their offerings, it seems that Moses is confused about how he is to accept them.  So God tells him.

וַיֹּאמֶר ה’ אֶל־מֹשֶׁה נָשִׂיא אֶחָד לַיּוֹם נָשִׂיא אֶחָד לַיּוֹם יַקְרִיבוּ אֶת־קָרְבָּנָם לַחֲנֻכַּת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ׃

The Lord said to Moses: One prince per day, one prince per day—they shall offer their offerings for the dedication of the altar.

Numbers 7:11

נָשִׂיא אֶחָד לַיּוֹם – “One prince per day.”  God repeats this expression to Moses.  We must assume that it is an important detail.  Important enough to turn chapter 7 into the longest in the Torah, and Naso into the longest Parashah of the year.

The 12th century French commentary, Bechor Shor, explains that the Torah could have easily listed one day’s gift, and then summarized the rest by saying something along the lines of “and each of the other princes brought the same gift for the following eleven days.”  The purpose of repeating the detail is to accord honor to each of the princes, equally.  None of the gifts is any more special than the others.

Other commentaries are concerned that, despite getting equal ink time, the Princes will still compete with one another over position and power.  Specifically, what to do about the guy who goes first? That lucky guy is Nachshon, from the tribe of Judah.  This is no coincidence.  Judah will become the dominant tribe in Israel.  King David will one day be born into the tribe of Judah. (Numbers Rabbah 13:8)

Nachshon, destined for greatness, might decide to lord it over the others, saying, “I’m more special than you, since I get to go first.”  After his special day, he might decide to crash the days for the other Princes. So God emphasizes through repetition, Nasi echad layom, nasi echad layom.  One prince per day.  One prince per day.  “No Nachshon.  Stay in your lane.”  (Chizkuni)

That is why, of the 12 times that the offerings are repeated, there is a subtle distinction made for Nachshon.  For all of the other gifts, the text says korbano, “his gift.”  For Nachshon, it adds a single letter, v’korbano.  “And his gift.”

Usually, when we use the word “and,” it is because we want to add something to a list that we have already started.  “Grapes and cucumbers.” So it is strange that the Torah uses “and” for the first offering, and leaves it out for all of the others.  That is like saying “and grapes cucumbers.”

According to the midrash, this premature “and” sends the subtle message that while Nachshon may get to go first—someone has to, after all—his gift could just as well have followed any of the other eleven.

Removing the temptation for competition allows the entire nation, the Princes, and even Nachshon, to celebrate wholeheartedly on each of the twelve days, without feelings of jealousy or inadequacy.  They can experience true happiness.

Remember the Capuchin monkey experiment?  The surprise is that Monkey B, seeing the distress of her cell mate, sometimes stops accepting the grapes as well.  Perceived unfairness diminishes her happiness, even though she is the one who is better off. Can we say the same about ourselves?

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May 29, 2018

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The Chieftains’ Gifts – Naso 5778

One thing I have learned about lists of names in the Torah: While at first glance they seem repetitive, closer inspection usually reveals an aberration of some sort.  And behind that aberration often lies a story.

The end of parashat Naso is the longest chapter in the Torah, at 89 verses.  It describes the offerings that are brought by chieftains from each of the twelve tribes.

First, they get to collaborate on a gift of 6 carts and 12 oxen to pull them.  These are assigned to two of the Levite clans whose job it is to disassemble and carry the Mishkan, the Tabernacle.

But they are not done yet.  They have more to give.  God instructs that each of them should present his gift individually, one per day for twelve days.

The gifts are identical: one silver bowl and one silver basin, each filled with choice flour mixed with oil; a golden ladle filled with incense; a bull, a ram and a lamb in its first year as a burnt offering; a goat for a sin offering; and two oxen, five rams, five he-goats, and five yearling lambs as a sacrifice of well-being.

Have you ever showed up to a birthday party and found that the gift you brought, that you were so excited about, is exactly the same as someone else’s gift.  Funny?  Embarrassing?

The Torah details the offerings twelve times in a row, for every single chieftain.  Other than substituting the name of the tribe, the presenter and the day number, the text repeats itself twelve times, word for word exactly the same – – – almost.

There are three small aberrations, all appearing with regard to the first two names.   The first is that the title nasi, meaning “chieftain,” is absent from the first name on the list, Nachshon ben Aminadav.  The eleven other donors are given the honorific nasi.

The second aberration is that for the first two donors, Nachshon from the tribe of Yehudah and Netanel ben Tzuar of the tribe of Issachar, their names are mentioned before the tribe, as in “on the second day, Netanel son of Tzuar, chieftain of Issachar.”  For the other ten, the tribe is mentioned first, as in “on the third day, it was the chieftain of the Zebulinites, Eliav son of Chelon.”

The third and final difference also has to do with Netanel ben Tzuar of Issachar.  He is the only chieftain whose offering is accompanied by the verb hikriv, which means “to offer a sacrifice.”  For all the others, the introductory phrase at the beginning of verse 12 – va’yehi ha-makriv… et korbano – the one who offered his sacrifice – serves as an introduction to their offering.  This is explained by several of the commentators (Rashi on 7:24, Rashbam and Ibn Ezra on 7:13).

I know.  That is pretty nitpicky.  You might not have even caught the distinctions.

Operating under the assumption that the Torah is never sloppy, these three small aberrations must mean something.  Let’s see if we can figure out what they mean.

First, why is the word nasi , chieftain, missing from the description of Nachshon?  When he appears elsewhere in the Torah, he is certainly described as a chieftain of the tribe of Judah.  Nachshon, by the way, is credited by the midrash as being the first of the Israelites to walk into the Sea of Reeds.  Only when the water reached above his nose did the sea split.  Nachshon also happens to be the Brother in Law of Aaron the High Priest.

A midrash (Numbers Rabbah 13:17) explains that God is concerned that the rest of the chieftains might feel jealous of Nachshon for getting to present his gifts first.  As a sign of Nachshon’s humility, and to convey to the others that all of the gifts are valued equally by God, Nachshon’s honor is diminished slightly by leaving out his title.

The next irregularity in the list is that for the first two chieftains, their names are mentioned before their tribes.  Rashi cites a midrash (Sifrei Bemidbar 48) which explains that Nachshon collected his donation from his own personal wealth, not from the tribe.  He is especially generous.

As for Netanel from Issachar, the reason is connected to the third aberration.  He is the only chieftain who gets his own verb.  In fact, he gets it twice.

Rashi (on 7: 18), citing a midrash (Sifrei Bemidbar 52), relates the following story:  When the tribe of Reuven, who is the first born of Jacob’s 12 sons, sees that he is being skipped, he gets angry and complains to Moses.  “It was bad enough when you let Yehudah go first.  Now you are letting Issachar go ahead of me?!”

Moses scolds him: “It was God Himself who commanded that the tribes go in this order!”

What is so special about the tribe of Issachar, Rashi asks?  Two things:  First, Issachar is known to be a tribe that truly values talmud Torah, the study of Torah.  Second, it is Netanel of Issachar who encourages his fellow chieftains to bring these donations.  Thus, says Rashi, the verb hikriv appears twice to reflect the two reasons that Issachar is moved up.

So we see that these three tiny departures from the linguistic pattern are explained as indications of meritorious actions and/or characteristics of Nachshon and Netanel, along with their respective tribes.

There is a bigger question, however, regarding the overall order in which the tribes appear.  There are many passages in the Torah and in later books of the bible that list the sons of Jacob or their eponymous tribes.  The order, however, is not always the same.*

Sometimes, it follows their birth order.  Other times, the lists seem to reflect other considerations.  

The Book of Numbers opens with a military census of all adult male Israelites.  They are to be counted by tribe.  In the opening verses of chapter one, we find a list of the twelve tribes, along with their chieftains who are assigned to assist Moses in conducting the census.  They are the exact same chieftains who bring the offerings in today’s parashah.

One chapter later, the tribes are assigned their marching orders.  For reasons unexplained, the order is changed.  The marching order in chapter two is the same as the donating order in chapter seven.  I am going to read the first seven tribes in each list.  See if you can catch the difference

The census order begins as follows: Reuven, Shimon, Yehudah, Issachar, Zevulun, Efraim, Menashe, and so on.

The marching and donating order begins: Yehudah, Issachar, Zevulun, Reuven, Shimon, Gad, Efraim, and so on.

Quite a few changes.  And although the Torah does not give a reason, these changes are not arbitrary.  We have already seen how the midrash captures Reuven’s anger at being demoted from first position to fourth position.

Nachshon from the tribe of Yehudah often gets bumped to first place.  This reflects the future ascendancy of Yehudah as the tribe of King David and the seat of the future Southern Kingdom.

You might not have noticed another switch with regard to positions six and seven.  In the census order, the tribe of Efraim comes sixth.  In the marching and donation order, Efraim comes seventh.

A midrash points out the obvious.  If there are twelve consecutive days of donations, at least one of those days must have been Shabbat.  The first day was a Sunday.  Day seven, therefore, is Shabbat.  It is thus a special honor for the Chieftain of Efraim to be able to bring his gifts on this day.

What is so special about Efraim?  Efraim is the tribe of Yehoshua, who takes over the leadership of Israel after Moses.  Efraim also is destined to become the dominant tribe of the northern Kingdom of Israel.

A Midrash collection called Numbers Rabbah (14:2, 14:3) imagines Joseph observing Shabbat when he is the Prime Minister of Egypt, even though the Torah has not yet been given.  In a different version, the midrash notes Joseph’s incredible fortitude at being able to resist the temptations of Potiphar’s wife, motivated by fear of violating God’s holiness.  God rewards Joseph’s future descendants, the tribe of Efraim, by accepting their chieftain’s gifts on Shabbat, God’s holy day.

Nachmanides summarizes an extensive series of midrashim that also appear in Numbers Rabbah (chapters 13-14).  The chieftains decide, perhaps in response to Netanel from Issachar’s suggestion, to each make a final donation in honor of the dedication of the Mishkan.  Each one of them thinks about what he can offer that will be a meaningful gift, that will bring honor to God.

They each, independently, pick out silver bowls and basins, golden ladles, grain, oil, incense, and unblemished animals, and show up at exactly the same time.  Surprise, surprise!  They all bring the same gift.  How embarrassing!

How could this happen?

Nachshon brought a ke’arat kesef, a silver bowl, because in gematria, ke’arat kesef adds up to 930, the number of years that Adam lived.  Netanel of Issachar decided to bring his ke’arat kesef because it represents Torah, (based on a wordplay that I am not going to try to explain right now).  Eliav from Zevulun picked out his ke’arat kesef because the silver bowl represents the sea, which is how the tribe of Zevulun conducts its trade.  And Zevulun is known for supporting all of those Torah scholars from neighboring Issachar.

And so on with each of the tribes.  Every chieftain, independently, comes up with a meaningful reason to bring a ke’arat kesef weighing exactly 130 shekels.  And similarly with each of the other gifts.

It is, of course, a miracle that all of them came up with the exact same offerings.  But even more miraculous is that each of them has a different kavanah, a different intention, for doing so.

God considers all of the gifts equally precious.  To convey that preciousness, God commands that each chieftain must show up on his own day to present his offering.  Instead of just piling them all up together and sending the givers off, each donor is made to feel special and honored.

What could have been an embarrassing and contentious moment is saved.  And we are left with the longest, and certainly not the most boring, chapter of the Torah.

 

* Order in which the names of Jacob’s sons/tribes appear in various places in the Torah:

Birth Order

(Gen 30)

 Jacob’s Blessing

(Gen 49)

 Beginning of Numbers

(Num 1)

Order of Gifts, Marching Order

(Num 2, Num 7)
Reuben (L1)

Shimon (L2)

Levi (L3)

Judah (L4)

Dan (B1)

Naphtali (B2)

Gad (Z1)

Asher (Z2)

Issachar (L5)

Zevulun (L6)

Joseph (R1)

Benjamin (R2)

 Reuben (L1)

Shimon & Levi (L2,3)

Judah (L4)

Zevulun (L6)

Issachar (L5)

Dan (B1)

Gad (Z1)

Asher (Z2)

Naphtali (B2)

Joseph (R1)

Benjamin (R2)

 Reuben (L1)

Shimon (L2)

Judah (L4)

Issachar (L5)

Zevulun (L6)

Ephraim (R1b)

Menashe (R1a)

Benjamin (R2)

Dan (B1)

Asher (Z2)

Gad (Z1)

Naphtali (B2)

Judah (L4)

Issachar (L5)

Zevulun (L6)

Reuben (L1)

Shimon (L2)

Gad (Z1)

Efraim (R1b)

Menashe (R1a)

Benjamin (R2)

Dan (B1)

Asher (Z2)

Naphtali (B2)
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June 18, 2016

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Starting At Home – Naso 5776

This morning’s Torah portion, Naso, introduces the peculiar ordeal of the Sotah, the suspected adulteress.  Before I explain it, I urge all of us to temporarily suspend our standard assumptions about justice, morality, and biochemistry.

In Jewish law, adultery occurs when a married woman has sexual relations with a man who is not her husband.  In a clear-cut case of adultery, both parties are considered guilty, and the punishment is death.

The ritual of Sotah is introduced to deal with a situation in which a husband suspects his wife of cheating, but does not have any witnesses.

The woman is brought to a priest.  The priest takes sacred water in an earthen vessel, and adds some dirt from the floor of the Tabernacle.  The priest writes down a curse on a piece of parchment, and recites the words out loud.  The woman responds by saying “Amen, amen!”

The curse basically says that if she is guilty, her thigh will sag and her belly will distend, which probably means that she will become infertile.  If she is innocent, than nothing will happen.  The priest then places the parchment in the vessel so that the ink, with the words of the curse and God’s name on it, dissolves in the water.  The priest then makes her drink the water.

If she is guilty, her thigh sags and her belly distends, and she becomes a curse amongst the people.  If she is innocent, she is unharmed.

Before getting too upset, keep in mind that this is a three thousand year old ritual.  “Trials by ordeal” like this one have been a part of human justice systems throughout history.  It was practiced in Europe into the Enlightenment.  There are some societies to this day which conduct similar rites.

The medieval Spanish commentator, Nachmanides, notes that this is the only mitzvah in the entire Torah which depends upon a miracle.  For this legal procedure to work, God has to actively intervene.  It is quite remarkable.  We must wonder why, of all cases, does this one rely upon a miracle.  And why are there not others?

Nachmanides refers to the Mishnah in Sotah which reports that “when the adulterers proliferated, the bitter waters ceased…” (M. Sotah 9:9)  In other words, at some point during the Second Temple era, more than two thousand years ago, the priests stopped administering the ritual.  The Rabbis tend to understand this to mean that the Sotah ritual would only work in a case when the husband was himself free of sin.

Nachmanides expands upon this explanation.  It is not just the guilt or innocence of the husband which is responsible for the cancellation of the Sotah ritual.  It is “the deterioration in the moral climate of the people [that] makes the Sotah ordeal meaningless,” as Dr. Aviva Zornberg explains.  Only in a society in which adultery is “an unequivocal taboo” does the ritual have meaning.  But “where the taboo has lost its force, an exquisite attunement to holiness has been lost and the ordeal’s high import likewise becomes underappreciated.”  (Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, Bewilderments, p. 37)

If society does not take the sin of adultery seriously, then God will have no part in this ritual.  Society’s moral indifference drives God away, leaving us human beings on our own to figure out what is just.

In two thousand years, our situation has not changed much.  We still live in an ethically confused world without clear-cut morals.

Over the past few weeks, there has been widespread controversy over the lenient verdict that was issued in the Stanford Rape Case.  If you have been following the story, you know the basic details.  In January 2015, a twenty year old Stanford student sexually assaulted an unconscious woman on campus.  Fortunately, two graduate students were passing by on bicycles.  They stopped the rapist and apprehended him until police could arrive.

I am not going to enter into the debate over whether the verdict was correct or not, or whether the Judge should resign.

This case has resonated with me as a man, as a husband, and especially as a father of a boy and a girl.  I am worried about my daughter, and I am equally worried about my son.

As Rabbi Rebecca Rosenthal writes in an article that appeared recently on Kveller, “…as a parent, I want my children to grow up to be the two men on bikes.”

What do I need to do to make that happen?

Throughout human history, societies have placed the moral burden of sexuality on women.  This is an undeniable fact.  It is as true of Judaism as it is of any other culture.  From the story of Eve being tempted by the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and feeding it to her husband; to the ritual of the Sotah, in which only the woman is subjected to the ordeal; to the laws of family purity – women are held to be responsible, while men are innocents – victims even, of female sexuality.

This classic misogyny exists blatantly in many cultures today, including in segments of the Jewish world.  Do not expect it to disappear any time soon.

But it is insidiously prevalent around us as well.  Think about the ideals of masculinity and femininity with which we are bombarded daily.  Men, according to the so-called “bro-code,” are supposed to be physically tough, in charge, unemotional, and sexually aggressive.  Women are expected to be sexy, passive, and emotional.  If you have any doubt about this, just look at the magazine covers the next time you are in line at the grocery store.

For the past several decades, we have tried to teach our girls to take ownership of their own sexuality.  We have encouraged them to have the courage and strength to say “no,” to protect themselves, and to speak up.  “Be cautious about whom you go out with,” we warn.  “Never go to a party alone.”  “Take care of your friends.”  “Be careful around alcohol and drugs.”  We have had all of these conversations in my house in just the last two weeks.

We place the burden to protect themselves on our daughters because, after all, “boys will be boys.”

It does not seem to be working that well, does it?

The emphasis is starting to shift.  Health curricula in some schools have begun to chip away at the ideals of masculinity expressed by the “bro-code.”  We have begun to teach our boys to respect boundaries, take responsibility, and only proceed in a relationship when there is affirmative consent.

But we are only at the beginning of a paradigm shift that releases us from the burden of unhealthy gender roles and places the responsibility for sexual violence on the perpetrator rather than the victim.

We have a lot of work to do.  It must start with the way that we teach our children.  It must start when they are young.  And it must start at home.

Today is the day on which we remember the ancient ritual of the Sotah.  We recall how God withdrew from performing the miraculous part of the ritual because of sexual hypocrisy.  Tomorrow is Father’s Day. a day for celebrating fathers’ roles in raising their children.

It is a good time to make a commitment to do better, especially with our boys.  I encourage us to adopt Rabbi Rosenthal’s words:  “I commit to teaching my children to respect boundaries, to understand that their bodies and the bodies of those around them are created in the image of God.”