Remembering Forward

 

“Without memory, there is no culture. Without memory, there would be no civilization, no society, no future” - Elie Wiesel

“Memory is deceptive because it is coloured by today’s events.” – Albert Einstein

“To be a Jew is to know that over an above history is the task of memory” – Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

 

The command to remember is an important pillar in our Jewish tradition. “The imperative of the Hebrew word zachor,” asserts David Pillegi, “is mentioned more than twenty-five times” in the Tanach (Jerusalem Post, March 29,2012). The Jewish year, accordingly, is mottled with many memorial days, national and private.

One of my favourite modern Yisraeli poets, Yehudah Amichai (May 3, 1924 – September 22, 2000), also, dwells on the notion of memory. “The world is filled with remembering and forgetting,” he writes. Amichai likens memory and forgetfulness to “dry land” and “sea” as metaphors to our duplicate realities which, he believes, are elements of our existence. “Dry land,” he suggests, is the memory of our starting point, our past, the anchor that keeps our feet secure on the ground. The “sea” is a metaphor for the unknown that awaits us in the days ahead. It is an unpredictable zone where we sail into the future in our desperate effort to hold on to forgetting memories, the ones that threaten to overwhelm, drown our essence in their torrent and prevent us from forming a future. Only those who have a stable dock on dry land, suggests Amichai, have some firm fulcrum, to which they can return to and safely resume their daily routine.  

Though our Jewish heritage prizes memory, I must admit that in my many years of interaction with Jewish communities around the world, I have encountered, on more than one occasion, the desire to forget and consciously erase our bad memories. Many Jewish parents want to spare their children the exposure to dark chapters in our history for fear that such a disclosure might affect them emotionally.

One example that comes to mind is during the time that I lived in New Zealand. I was once asked to conduct the Passover Seder at some friend’s house. All went well until I got to the part where the ten plagues were mentioned. When I reached the tenth one, where the first-born son of every Egyptian family was smitten, the father stopped me and said, “we don’t talk about death to our children…..” I was dumbfounded. Though I understood that the father’s silence and the temptation to forget, stemmed from concern, at the same time, I felt that it created a distortion. How could anyone not mention this very constitutive and cardinal act in our Jewish history? Can we raise a new generation without exposing it to the painful segments of the story?

This, however, is not merely a matter of a private case. Throughout history, many Jews elected to forget. That choice was the product of the yearning to prevent trauma and the wish to enable a future for their children.  Regrettably, though, it has always been at the cost of sacrificing the vital role of memory.

Jewish culture puts memory at the center of our collective identity. The Talmud (Yoma 56,1) teaches us that authentic remembering of events, good and bad, is the first move towards tikkun, improvement. Rabbi Nachman Bar Yitzchak, similarly, suggests that genuine memory leads towards action and change (Kiddushin 40, 2)

The horrors of the Shoah, a more recent sad episode in our People’s history, which happened eighty years ago, is another example of such a tendency. Sadly, quite a few Jews, both in Yisrael and elsewhere, spare details of that chapter from their children again, for fear of the impact it might have on their emotional well-being.

More recently, Yisrael has experienced one of the most horrific pogroms since the Shoah. I am referring to the massacre that took place close to two years ago on the Holy Day of Simchat Torah, which is better known by its Gregorian calendar date as, October 7^th, 2023. Despite the fresh memories of this bloodbath, many, including adults my age, refuse to see footage of the carnage or listen to the testimonies of its survivors.

This discrepancy between the necessity to remember and the wish to forget, between the “dry land” and the “sea,” as we have witnessed, engaged Amichai. In another poem, he offers yet another metaphor. This one is in the form of a “dam.”  This “dam,” implies Amichai, stands for the present tense, the stage in which we are. Just like a dam which controls the flow of water, Amichai’s “dam” allows us to release or block the flow of memory between the “dry land” and the “sea.”

It is at this point that the quote by Einstein, above, is brought into play. If the control over this “dam” is subject to our emotional and political agenda or is “coloured by today’s events,” in Einstein’s words, it might reshape the past not in accordance with historical facts, but by the demands of the present. Should we redraw our past? Should our “coloured” present determine which parts of our past be remembered or perhaps suppressed? What should be the fate of painful, yet essential and identity defining chapters in our history?

Memory is not merely what we choose to remember. Rather, it is the courage not to forget. Remembering forward requires of us, as Jews, to preserve the past, the good and the bad, without granting us the permission to rewrite it.

Kedoshim - The Equality of Holiness

 

“Speak to the Whole Yisraelite Community. Say: ‘Be holy, for I am holy; I, the Lord your G-d,’” Leviticus 19:1-2

 

These verses which open Kedoshim, this week’s Torah portion, convey an unequivocal directive which states that all members of Am Yisrael belong to the level of holiness. Every member of the community can equally reach it, if only they wish.

“What we witness here asserts Rabbi Sacks, ZT”L, is the radical democratization of holiness. Priesthood, in the ancient world, was not exclusive to Am Yisrael, as the Torah shares with us on several occasions. Whereas in other societies, it was reserved to the elite, in this parashah, according to Sacks, “for the first time, we find a code of holiness directed to the People as a whole.” Religion is no longer hierarchical as was prevalent in the idolatrous ancient world.

The designation of Am Yisrael as a “holy nation” was mentioned by G-d already in Exodus 19:5-6. There He says, “And now, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, then you will be a special possession among the peoples, even among all earth.”  In Kedoshim, however, that proclamation has become an order. Each member of the community is formally sanctioned and commanded to “be holy,” to fulfill the vocation that G-d destined for them in Exodus.

What follows this directive is a long list of laws and rituals which include some of those chronicled in the Ten Commandments. These, naturally, are aimed at guiding and helping every Yisraelite live a life of holiness.

Our sages differ on the course of reaching “holiness.”  While Ramba”m and Rash”i believe that it can be achieved only by performing the mitzvot (commandments), Ramba”n asserts that it can be obtained by abstaining from an opulent way of life. According to Ohr Ha’Chaim, the only way to attain it is through enduring harsh experiences. Whatever the means all three sources (and many others) suggest, they are all based on the same premise of “holiness” that is expected of Am Yisrael.

Rebbi Berel Wein offers a different perspective at viewing this parashah. According to him,  “Kedoshim is not exclusively meant to represent holiness in the common usage of the word.” Those who are well versed in the Hebrew language would know that the root K,D,SH could also suggest dedication or devotion, in this case, to G-d and to the covenant that was entered between Him and Am Yisrael at Mount Sinai.

As our sages point out, some of the mitzvot which constitute that covenant are what Rabbi Sacks terms as “chok, ‘a statute,’ often understood as a law that has no reason, or at least none that we can understand.”  Adhering to and performing such commandments is a confirmation of our devotion and ongoing faith in G-d. “This is a cardinal principle in the relationship between G-d and us,” explains Rabbi Mendi Kaminker. “We must perform Mitzvot out of devotion and obedience to G-d even if we do not grasp them because this is His will.” He further elaborates that when it comes to mitzvot which we do understand, we should not observe merely because we know their underlying reason, but rather aspire to reach the G-dly, the holy component which is above our rationale.

 

Rabbi Berel Wein further suggests that in G-d’s relations with Am Yisrael, His dedication and devotion is reciprocal. “The Lord, Himself,” proposes Wein, “so to speak, describes His own Being as being not only holy but also being dedicated - dedicated to fulfill His Will,” to educate the world and teach His values system and code of ethics, “through the People of Yisrael, their behavior, events and destiny.”

Chaz”l, also comment on these verses. Their interpretation stems from the words, “for I am holy: I, the Lord, your G-d.” Since the purpose of performing the mitzvot, they believe, is to purge and sanctify us, we, in turn, sanctify G-d. What Chaza”l are teaching us is that, apparently, G-d’s holiness depends on that of Am Yisrael (Torat Ha’Kohanim Kedoshim, 1).

Whichever way we understand these verses, they all lead, in my view, to the conclusion and the lesson that is derived from Rabbi Sacks’s lucid essay on the parashah. His commentary brings to light the revolutionary notion that holiness is not reserved to a selected few, as was the custom in the ancient world. Each member of Am Yisrael, not only has the potential to be holy but, also, has the duty to strive to achieve holiness. As representatives of the one and only G-d, their holiness will directly affect the presence of His level of holiness in the world.

Metzora - The Importance of Introspection

 

      “We are souls dressed up in sacred biochemical garments and our bodies are the instruments through which our souls play.” – Albert Einstein

 

Last week’s Torah portions, Tazria and Metzora continue to address the laws of purity which began in Shemini. In Tazria, G-d instructs Moshe about the rituals of purification for mothers following childbirth.

The second parashah (Torah portion), Metzora, focuses on the laws of tzara’at which, according to our sages, is mistakenly translated as leprosy. “It is not a physical disease,” asserts Rabbi David Rosenfeld, of Aish, “…. it can appear on innate objects like clothing and buildings which is something physical diseases can’t do. Rather,” he continues, “tzara’at is a spiritual malady.” The parashah goes on to address the laws concerning the atonement and treatment of the condition, the healing process by the High Priest and the sacrifices which the afflicted person has to offer to G-d.

The notion that tzara’at is a spiritual condition rather than physical is also proposed by Rabbi David Agmon. According to him, were tzara’at a somatic malady, it would follow that it should be named after the doctor that is sent to heal the sick person. Instead, the parashah describes the ailments that are diagnosed and treated by the High Priest through the process of purification. “What does it tell us about the spiritual attribute of leprosy?” asks Rabbi Agmon.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, ZT”L, likewise, suggests that the Rabbis “moralized the condition of tzara’at.” According to them, it was a punishment rather than a medical condition and not for any sin but for one specific sin, that of leshon hara, evil speech. This interpretation, explains Sacks, “was based on the internal evidence in the Torah itself.” The first is described in Exodus 4:6-7 where Moshe’s hand became leprous after expressing doubt the readiness of the Yisraelites to believe him. The second incident is mentioned in Numbers 12:1-15 where Miriam was struck by leprosy after denigrating Moshe.

Though tzara’at may possibly be a type of skin infection, our sages claim that it is wreaked as a Divine message and not by natural means. They explain that the term “metzora” is an acronym for “motzi leshon hara” a person who speaks disparagingly about others (Babylonian Talmud, Erkin15:1).

 The Torah does not provide a clear directive against leshon hara, evil speech, it strictly prohibits gossip, “You shall not go about spreading gossip among your people” (Leviticus 19:16). Leshon hara, is considered one of the worst transgressions of all. Maimonides, one of our greatest sages, construes it as “There is a far greater sin that falls under this prohibition [of gossip]. It is ‘the evil tongue,’ which refers to whoever speaks derogatorily of his fellow, even though he speaks the truth.” (Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Deot 7:2). Evil speech, claim our sages, kills three people – the one who says it, the one who accepts it, and the one about whom it is said. (Hilchot Deot 7:3). Nothing keeps us farthest from G-d than leshon hara, contends Ohr HaChaim (Rabbi Chaim ben Attar).

A close examination of the laws of tzara’at, its consequences and the peculiar purification process by the High Priest, as described in the parashah, reinforces the spiritual significance of the syndrome.

One of the consequences of having tzara’at requires that the contaminated individual is commanded to separate himself from the community and stay outside the camp by himself, “leave your home, go beyond the city limits and just sit alone with no one to talk to!” (Leviticus 13:46).

To an innocent bystander, this directive may seem harsh considering that the source of this ailment is spiritual, a form of punishment for sinful conduct rather than physical or contagious.

And this is the great lesson that our Rabbis wish to teach us. According to them, the process of isolation, which is consequential to leaving the camp, is meant to bring us to reflection, introspection and repentance.

Our body is our guide, our Scriptures teach us, the guide to our inner self. In the words of Job, “….in my flesh I will see G-d” (Job 19:26). Our body is the channel through which the Divine message is passed on to us. It is, as Einstein expressed in the above quote, “the instrument through which our souls play.” If part of us is impure, it tends to manifest itself physically to allow us to treat, mend and heal. Our first instinct, generally, is to blame outside factors for our ailments. The Torah instructs us to examine ourselves, search our inner self, not look at others or blame them. This is essential to commence our healing process. Remedy of the soul is the root of physical health.

Just as the Metzora cannot be part of his camp so long as he is diseased, so cannot those who sin against their fellow men and women be part of our society. Only after they wake up, amend their ways and heal can they embark on the path towards a healthy and fulfilling life for themselves and our society.