The Torah portion for this week (Leviticus 16) is apparently a lot about purification of the tabernacle and proper behavior before God, but right from the start it exemplifies why my Judaism is cultural, ritual and comfort-related rather than religious.
The first sentence of the portion:
God spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of Adonai.
If this sentence were in any place other than the Torah (or rest of the bible), one might expect that next would come some sadness, sympathy, caring for Aaron and Moses about their loss. But no – instead it is the beginning of a set of instructions to Aaron on how to behave properly so that God doesn’t explode him the way he exploded his sons!
The deaths referred to occurred in an earlier section of Leviticus (10:1-3) when the sons of Aaron, Moses’s brother, didn’t follow the proper ritual and used “unauthorized coals” in their offering to God. And, wham! God’s fire consumed them
Either Aaron’s sons were too arrogant, too forward, too lax, or had done something bad that is not in the text, depending on whose interpretation and commentary you believe. But even some medieval religious scholars thought these deaths were outrageous and therefore they speculated on possible infractions not described in the actual text. Because, could God really be so unjust as to punish these two young men simply for screwing up a ritual?
Sadly, the answer is yes. And as a mother who has lost two children, this is the exact kind of thing that turns me away from the religious aspect of Judaism. And yet, I am Jewish to my core.
There are good reasons for that.
Yom Kippur, one of our holiest of times, arrives in just a couple of days. An important tenet of Yom Kippur is the notion that the atonement in the prayer service is to God for transgressions against God, but that transgressions against people must be dealt with first, directly with the people against whom you have transgressed. And that’s where Judaism becomes meaningful to me. I have used Yom Kippur services over the years to reflect on who I am and where I have gone wrong in the past year (or longer!), to think about selfish acts and grudges. I can’t say that I’ve always managed to repair damage and do better, but I do try very hard to take an honest look at myself. And it’s not an easy thing to do.
There are two directions I want to go with this. The first is to point out the lack of such reflection from Republicans, with Trump as the perfect example of doing terrible harm and lying to oneself and to everyone else. Other Republicans are in the same category though usually not quite as extreme. Over the last couple of weeks we have had an endless parade of this dishonesty, with Senator Cassidy’s claims about his health bill topping the list of mendacity. The harm Senator Cassidy wanted to inflict on the people of our nation, the pretense he made of caring for people, and the defense and praise of this by other Republicans is unconscionable. True self-reflection would prevent these people from acting in this way, but that will never happen.
The second direction is more personal: the self-reflective nature of Yom Kippur is the essence of what Judaism means to me because it requires me to apply my Jewish values to my own behavior while participating in a ritual that has endured for generations.
I view my Jewish upbringing as a combination of traditions/rituals that have brought me comfort and warm memories over the years, and a set of social justice values that bring real meaning to my life. When I go to Temple for services, I much prefer that the traditional prayers be in Hebrew because their literal translation is so focused on praising God and has so little to do with being a good person. The sound of the melodies sung in Hebrew, not the actual words, are the comfort-bringers.
The meaning is what I impose on those prayers from what my parents believed and imparted to my siblings and me, and what I have tried to impart to my children.
When I hear my older daughter talk about the hard lives of the children she works with (in one of the poorest public schools in NYC) and what she is doing to try to help, when I hear her anger at the shortage of resources for those most in need, when she talks about the way police mistreat people of color, I know I have done my job as a Jewish mother.
When my younger daughter tells me of getting into a verbal battle at school because of some racist or sexist thing someone said, when she talks about her own position as a member of a “privileged minority” (Asian-American), and when she calls me (as she did last week) because she saw two dogs running around the office building she was in with no owner in sight and she was worried about them, I know I’ve done my job as a Jewish mother.
Because to me, to be Jewish is to be responsible for the welfare of others, to fight oppression, and to fight for fairness.
God punishing two guys with death for misbehaving in an offering is not my Judaism. The fact that in theTanakh (the Old Testament), death is sometimes the penalty for various infractions that most of us would not consider serious is not my Judaism. But somehow, despite the literal meaning of so much of what is in Torah, Judaism developed as core values what is best exemplified by Hillel in two statements:
First:
If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?
And the whole Torah, while standing on one foot:
What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation of this--go and study it!
L’Shanah Tovah to everyone, no matter what your religion (or lack thereof). A Sweet New Year to all!
p.s. I’m proud to be a Social Justice Warrior, and proud that my husband and children are also Social Justice Warriors!