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Courtesy of Chabad:
The Parsha includes the Tochecha-a litany of curses that can terrify anyone reading them. Curse: “You shall flee though none pursue.” QUESTION: Would it not be much worse if they were fleeing and someone was really pursuing them? ANSWER: A pursuer who intends harm is called a “rodeif.” The one being chased is called a “nirdaf.” King Shlomo in Ecclesiastes (3:15) says: “veha’Elokim yevakeish et nirdaf” —”G‑d always seeks the pursued.” According the Midrash Rabbah (27:5) this is true even when a righteous man is running after a wicked man. Consequently, if the enemies of B’nei Yisrael are really chasing them, G‑d forbid, they retain the hope that even if they are wicked Hashem will come to their defense. The curse is that “Those who hate you shall rule over you” and you will be fleeing. However, inherent in the curse is the fact that Hashem will not defend you against them because you are not in the category of “nirdaf,” since nobody is actually pursuing you. Curse: “I will make your heaven like iron and your land like copper.” QUESTION: Why in the admonition (tochachah) in Devarim does Moshe say the reverse? “Your heavens over you will be copper and the land beneath you will be iron” ANSWER: This admonition refers to the sins that led to the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash, and the one in Devarim is for the destruction of the second Beit Hamikdash (see Ramban). The first Beit Hamikdash was destroyed because the Jewish people worshipped idols, and the second one was destroyed because of (sinat chinam) unwarranted hatred. Thus, the sins committed in the time of the first Beit Hamikdash were between man and Hashem in Heaven, and the sins in the time of the second Beit Hamikdash were between man and man on earth. Iron is much stronger than copper. Since the crimes perpetrated during the first Beit Hamikdash were primarily against Heaven, Hashem warned, “I will make your heaven like iron.” However, in the second Beit Hamikdash — since the sins were against man on earth, the earth would receive the main blow and “the land beneath you will be iron.” May we pray for the time when none of the curses apply and only the blessings that preceded it in the Parsha of Bechukotai.
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In this week’s Torah portion, Behar, we read some very well-known passages about the practice of lending money. In fact, three passages in a row discuss this practice.
Here’s the first: "If your brother becomes destitute and his hand falters beside you, you shall support him [whether] a convert or a resident, so that he can live with you." Notice that the word here is “brother”—but we have to know that “brother” here is not our literal, biological brother but rather our NEIGHBOR. The second part in the passage makes that clear, as it refers to either a “convert” or a “resident.” So, we know that we are obliged to support out neighbor so that she or he will never become destitute. Now let’s look at the next passage: "You shall not give him your money with interest, nor shall you give your food with increase." Here we have an additional obligation imposed on us. Not only do we have to support our brother; we also have to do so without taking any interest. It’s also noteworthy that the passage says “INTEREST OR INCREASE.” Rashi tells us that these two words don’t really mean something different but they do mean that if we take interest, we are really committing two sins in the eyes of God. And the final relevant passage: "And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High." Three passages right in a row. The messages seem to be similar if not identical. And the fact that there are three makes pretty clear that the obligation to support one’s neighbor and the prohibition on interest—what we know has been called USURY—is very strong. Judaism is not the only religion to condemn usury, known also as RIBBIS. Christianity also condemns the practice. Here’s one passage from LUKE that I want to share with you: I don’t know about you, but that sounds a lot like the passages we read from Behar. And there’s much evidence that Islam and Buddhism also condemn lending of money with interest. Even Dante puts usurers to the seventh circle of hell. But I think we know that the prohibition has been identified with Jews throughout the centuries. Not only identified with Jews, but also used against Jews, used as a reason to seize property, to expel Jews from places like England and Spain, and, in some cases, to execute Jews. So, what’s the problem with charging interest? I think the answer ties to the mitzvah of tzedaka and the hierarchy attached to it. A borrower faced with high interest on a loan may be too desperate to reject the offer. That much seems clear. But the lender also is harmed in this so-called transaction. The problem with lending with interest is that the lender continues to benefit from the lending, even though the money has now passed on to the other party. The lender receives profits in return for his or her one-time action, even without any continuing effort on their part. He or she continues to reap benefits. Along comes the Torah, telling us that we cannot sit back and profit from the misery of others. They used to say that what singles out an Israeli Army commander is that rather than saying "Forward, soldiers!" they say, "After me!" We see so many of the casualties of the present conflict are drawn from the high-ranking officers of the IDF. In other words, I am with you, I am "one of you." Whatever I taught you, I am doing exactly the same thing myself. Whatever sacrifice you make, I am willing to make as well. We are all together in the same boat. No matter how much we achieve, or how many others we may help, we must never rest on our laurels. We must never reap gain from the suffering of others. You probably know that “free loan societies”—gemachs—have always flourished in Jewish communities. That’s CREDIT in the best sense of the word! As we know, the Torah can be both a source of enlightenment and wisdom as well as quite frustrating and controversial.
Contained in this Torah portion of Emor is one of those troubling passages. There, as we will soon read, we are told that all animal sacrifices, all offerings must be without blemish. And the same is true of the priests. The priests--the Kohanim--are prohibited from offering sacrifices if they have defects of any kind. These defects include blindness, being lame, short limbs, a hunchback, boils, growths, and so forth. How do we address these issues? Obviously, these were pre-ADA times. But doesn’t this prohibition seem inconsistent with the inclusiveness that we associate with Judaism?
Think about the broader message of the Torah. That message seems overwhelmingly to be one of widening the circle of inclusiveness and of empowering and protecting those who are at risk. This is clear from our Exodus foundation story; it is also clear from the number of times the Torah explicitly states that we should protect the widow, orphan, poor and so on. In fact, at the end of this week’s parsha, the Torah states, “You shall have one standard for stranger and citizen alike: for I the Lord am your God.” We need to protect the legal rights of strangers and treat them equally. And let’s not forget that there are even Torah-based restrictions on what we can do to slaves. Judaism developed over many centuries and under many internal and external influences. By valuing everyone as equally important, Judaism was revolutionary. Our world continues to struggle with this concept. It is probably unfair to hold the Torah and early rabbis to all of today’s standards. But it is important to apply the underlying principle of elevating the worth of every person. We should teach our children that our Torah is a living document that has the capacity to grow over time. We need to balance the respect for tradition with the need to evolve. This may lead to tough decisions and conversations that won’t always be completely satisfying, but taking an open and honest approach to the Torah is the best way to ensure it remains relevant in our lives and the lives of future generations. Our Parsha of the week, Kedoshim, gives us the immense gift of the Holiness Code: "How to live our day-to-day lives" in a way that uplifts us and others. One dictate is that we should not place a stumbling-block in front of a blind person. How can this be understood?
In our complicated and stressful society, there have arisen numerous professions devoted to giving advice to others and receiving a fee for so doing. Such professions as financial planners, estate managers and programmers, therapists for both mental and physical wounds, marriage and divorce counselors and other areas in which current society is populated, if not even dominated by these advice givers. No one can expect perfection from another human being and many times the advice or planning that is suggested and adopted may turn out to be less than constructive, even with the best of intentions. The Torah does not expect perfection from those from whom we seek advice; that would be way too high a bar. But the Torah does expect honesty and transparency. It’s always possible that there’s a tinge of self-interest on the part of the counselor or therapist involved. After all, this is the manner in which that person makes a living. Yet, as far as humanly possible, the Torah does demand objectivity, fairness, and intelligence when giving such advice, whether it be from a professional in the field or even from a friend or neighbor. We are repeatedly warned in the Torah and in the Talmud not to volunteer advice to others in areas where we are not requested to, especially if we are not expert in those fields. It is dangerous and an enormous responsibility to give advice to others. In biblical times, prophecy was available but in our world prophecy, as far as I know, no longer exists. Both the person seeking advice and the one granting such advice should be very careful not to create the stumbling block that will cause the ‘blind person’ to fall. Kedoshim exhorts us to respect everyone, it’s a positive command to see everyone in their best possible light, to see all other human beings as created in God’s image. And the rule—not to put an obstacle in front of the blind, is a negative injunction; it’s telling us that one way to respect others is not to make their lives harder. Not to get in their way; in other words, if you can’t do something good, if you can’t do something to benefit another person, don’t do anything at all. I’m sure that all this is also connected to loshan hara , but that’s for another time and discussion. Kedoshim deals with the overall directive to be holy. How can we be holy? How can we learn to treat others as holy? Our sages teach us that if we judge others favorably, then God will judge us favorably. The stranger. The widow. The poor. The slave. The disenfranchised. The broken, whether in body or in spirit. All are holy. All are created in God’s image. Perhaps the greatest charity comes when we are kind to each other, when we don’t judge or categorize someone else, when we simply give each other the benefit of the doubt or remain quiet. Charity is accepting someone’s differences, weaknesses, and shortcomings; having patience with someone who has let us down; or resisting the impulse to become offended when someone doesn’t handle something the way we might have hoped. Charity is refusing to take advantage of another’s weakness and being willing to forgive someone who has hurt us. Charity is expecting the best of each other. Let us strive to see that in others and to nurture the best in ourselves. And let us say AMEN. This week's post-Pesach Torah reading is Acharei Mot, After the Death of Aaron’s two sons. We cannot be sure about the reason for their demise, but what we certainly can do is attempt to learn from their dire experience.
So: how do we learn from our mistakes? One way is by admitting them. Because if we don’t admit them, we certainly can’t move on. Many brilliant leaders have stories about mistakes they made that led them to discoveries, inventions, or innovations. Has anyone ever heard of the Apple Lisa? The Macintosh TV? The Apple III? The Powermac g4 cube? I’m guessing not. . . Those were all failed inventions of Steve Jobs. Maybe one reason we don’t feel comfortable making mistakes is that we almost never hear of the ways even the most successful people make mistakes. I suspect the difference is that they learn from them—at least they know what DOESN’T work—and they move on. Undeterred by failure. Oscar Wilde once said that “Experience is the name that we give to all the mistakes that we have made.” How would we otherwise learn? We learn to walk by falling down. Perhaps we can learn to see a mistake as a detour, not a dead end. As gifts that enable us to grow and to make progress. And to remember the famous Winston Churchill statement: “Everyone makes mistakes, but only the wise learn from them.” If we refuse to admit our mistakes, then they fester, and we get stuck in pride and denial. At the other extreme, if we wallow in our mistakes, and assume the worst about ourselves, then we can never move on. We will forever see ourselves as failures. In both extremes, we rob ourselves of our ability to move outside of ourselves and to connect in an authentic way with other people. May we never be afraid to make a mistake or to admit a mistake. Doing so is the glue that connects us, each to the other. The flaws in each of us can give us depth and nuance. Depending on how we deal with them, they can shine a light on our true character. I know that we often pray the Leonard Cohen version of Hallelujah, but there is a beautiful passage from another Leonard Cohen song that is worth mentioning in this context. The song is called ANTHEM, and here is the refrain from that moving and haunting song: (is there anything in Leonard Cohen that ISN’T haunting??) Anyway, here’s the stanza: Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in. Our ancestors looked for a perfect offering, but we now know that that is an impossibility. But the imperfections that are in us and in the world, the “cracks,” as Leonard Cohen describes them, are “how the light gets in.” Let us pray that we learn to see them, to appreciate them, and to learn from them. |
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