The Episode of the Blasphemer

 

                              

In Parashat Emor Vayikra (Leviticus), 21:1-24:23, we are told about a son of an “Yisraelite woman” and “Egyptian man” who quarrelled with an Yisraelite man (24:10). Torah continues and shares with us that “The son of the Yisraelite woman pronounced the name of G-d, cursing Him... His mother’s name was Shelomit bat Divri of the tribe of Dan” (24:11-12).

The sinner is detained and upon G-d’s directive, he is put to death by stoning

Following the event, G-d speaks to Moshe and orders him, “You must speak to Bnei Yisrael, saying: ‘Any man who curses his G-d must bear his sin. One who pronounces the proper name of G-d while cursing it must be put to death. The entire community will stone him to death. Whether he is a convert or a native Yisraelite, if he pronounces the Divine Name as part of his curse, he must be put to death” (24:15-16).

Who is this “blasphemer” whose name is not mentioned other than his being the son of an “Yisraelite woman and the son of an Egyptian man?” What was the dispute about? Why did he curse G-d?

This story, as it seems, is one case where Jewish sages diverged on how “dramatically” they read the account.

Rash”i, for instance, brings a Midrashic explanation with a few key ideas. He draws his interpretation from Midrash Tanchuma and Vayikra Rabbah. Using these sources, Rash”i focuses on why the Torah emphasizes the man’s mixed parentage. Midrash Vayikra Rabbah (32:3), offers that the “Egyptian father” is the same Egyptian who was killed by Moshe in Shemot (Exodus) 2:12, after the latter witnessed him beating a Hebrew man. According to Midrash Tanchuma (Emor 24), that Egyptian disguised himself as Datan, the husband of Shelomit bat Divri, entered her room when Datan was absent and assaulted her. The child born from that union is the blasphemer in our Parashah.

Rash”i further explains that this man tried to “pitch his tent” among the tribe of Dan, his mother’s tribe. Unfortunately for him, tribal identity followed the father’s line. The court, therefore, ruled against him. Out of frustration, anger and humiliation, Rash”i asserts, he escalated from a personal dispute to blasphemy.

Unlike Rash”i, Ramba”n and Ibn Ezra do not lean on the Midrashic approach. Rather, they read the story in a straightforward manner. For them the key issue is legal identity and do not see any need for a backstory drama or link the event to a morally tainted origin story that happened in Egypt. Like Rash”i, they believe that the blasphemy is the result of social dislocation and legal rejection.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks reads the episode quite differently from the classical commentators mentioned above. Though like Rash”i and Ramba”n, Sacks notes that the Torah’s detailing of the man’s parentage is unusual. Unlike Rashi, he doesn’t focus on who his father was and unlike Ramba”n, he doesn’t center on the legal technicality of tribal placement. Rather, Sacks dwells on what the story says about identity, belonging and speech. For Sacks, the episode reflects human and social tension.

Rabbi Sacks takes it further, psychologically. In his view, the sinner lived with a fractured and unresolved identity, torn between two worlds. On the one hand, he was inside the camp yet not fully accepted. In a way, Sacks uses the Midrashic backstory to frame a modern psychological and social lesson about the dangers of exclusion and humiliation and how the anger and frustration they create can lead to desecration of the most sacred, in this case, the Divine Name.

Sacks believes that “One law shall be for you, for the stranger as for the native” (24:22) tells us about the kind of society the Torah is trying to build. He points to this verse, as the Torah’s own concluding lesson on the event, one that demands equal justice even for those whose origins make them social outcasts.

Sin and Sin-Offering - The Duality of "Chatat"

 

"God created the possibility of repentance before He created the human capacity to sin." – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

 

Parashat Vayikra (Leviticus 1:1–5:26) introduces the sacrificial system known as korbanot, which means "bringing close." The Parashah lays the foundation for how humans relate to G-d through ritual, responsibility, and moral awareness.

The chatat (sin-offering) in Parashat Vayikra is one of the most conceptually rich korbanot because it deals not with deliberate rebellion, but with the quieter, more complex realm of unintentional wrongdoing.

Chatat first appears in Bresheet (Genesis 4:7). There, G-d says to Cain "lapetach chatat rovetz - sin crouches at the door; its desire is toward you, but you can rule over it."

In his most striking commentary on this verse, Rash”i explains that chatat has a dual meaning which can be understood in two interconnected ways. One is sin. The other, sin-offering.

On the simple level (peshat), chatat, in this verse means, "sin." Its portrayal, in a personified manner, suggests the image of a lurking, predatory animal, ready to pounce. It is an active, persistent force, always nearby, lying in wait, which, according to our sages reflects the human evil inclination.

Drawing on Beresheet Rabbah (22:6), Rash”i offers another, deeper, midrashic tier to the term. There, the sages interpret the words "at the door" as a sin-offering that is waiting at the threshold. In other words, G-d is telling Cain that even if he sins, he is not doomed, as an offering, an atonement is already available, accessible and is ever present. The threat of sin and the possibility of repair exist side by side.

While not directly commenting on this verse, the Talmud (tractate Yoma 86b) resonates a similar theological principle that Rash”i conjures which is, also, succinctly articulated in Rabbi Sacks’s words above, atonement is built into the structure of creation.

Rash”i’s reading of Beresheet becomes clearer when we reach the chatat offering in Parashat Vayikra. The “crouching sin,” especially the unintentional one, is defined as wrongdoing. The "chatat at the door" in Beresheet is transformed, here, into an actual sacrifice, giving humanity a structured and practical system of repair, thus enabling it to live with imperfection and still thrive.

In Beresheet, G-d says to Cain, "you can rule over it." Unfortunately for Cain, even though, as both Rash”i and Sacks assert, atonement is already in place, there is no structured path leading to it. In Cain’s world, human vulnerability and moral struggle exist, but the mechanisms of atonement are still undeveloped.  

Vayikra, as we can see, forges, for the first time, the "ruling over sin" into a concrete form. It transforms the chatat of Beresheet into a pathway for accountability, and a renewed closeness to G-d, via three stages. The first is recognition of the wrongdoing, the second is bringing chatat (sin-offering) and the final one is engaging in confession and atonement. Whereas in Beresheet, chatat is "lurking" and threatening, in Vayikra, it is institutionalized as a ritual of repair.

There remains, however, one key tension, was Cain’s sin eligible for what Vayikra defines as chatat?

In Vayikra, a chatat is brought for unintentional sin. Since Cain’s act of murder was intentional and premeditated, as Beresheet (4:8) suggests, then even within the later system, his sin would not qualify for a standard chatat. Rash”i, naturally, grapples with this dilemma. According to his framework, the answer is in a twofold message to Cain. The first which suggests that one can master his sin and hints that the path of repair is already available, is delivered to him before the act (4:7). The second focuses on what happens after the act where there is absence of repent when the Torah clearly shows that Cain is speaking to G-d (4:9) but fails to fully repent when no clear confession or transformation is evident.

Whatever interpretation one wishes to accept, one message is clear, the concept of chatat draws a poetic arc across the Torah, one that connects what is hinted in Beresheet and what becomes institutionalized in last week’s Parashah fusing the two into a beautiful symmetry. The Torah transforms sin from something that ambushes a person into something that can be confronted, processed, and corrected.

Yom Kippur and Yisraeli Democracy

 

Yom Kippur is the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. I doubt that many will disagree.

For me, Yom Kippur bears a unique significance for a few reasons. It was a tradition in my family ever since I can remember. Its reverence vibrates in every part of my essence. In addition to its piety among our Jewish Holy Days, Yom Kippur also bears poignant sadness as it brings to the surface memories of the Yom Kippur war and its painful losses.

The observance of this sacred day is commanded in the Torah, in Vayikra (Leviticus 23:28-320: “You shall not perform any work on that very day…. and you shall afflict yourselves.” Furthermore, G-d warns that any disobedience will be followed by severe punishment and any person “who will not be afflicted on that very day, shall be cut off from its people. And any person who performs any work on that day, I will destroy that person from amidst its people.”

This, a few millennia old, directive, sounds appaling and scary, does it not? What a menacing scenario - the embodiment of theocratic dictatorship, so it seems.

The inevitable and eminent enforcement of that commandment is what some have tried to warn us against for close to a year. Yisrael, they keep parroting, is going to turn into a replica of Iran, G-d forbid.

Not quite.

On the Eve of Yom Kippur, as I was making my way to services in a nearby makeshift synagogue, dressed in white and immersed in the cloak of holiness, I watched my many fellow Yisraelis who were flocking the traffic free streets. While some were, like me, observing that commandment, others were playing with their children who were riding their bikes, some of which were electrical and enjoying themselves. A few were busy texting or speaking on their mobile telephones. Some were wearing shorts and dressed casually. I even noticed one or two drinking water out of plastic bottles. As I walked past them, I wished them “Chatima Tova,” the traditional greeting on that day. They responded in kind.

Having been warned, repeatedly, that religious dictatorship was upon us, I was surprised to see that none of the “disobedient” souls were scolded, stoned, or destroyed. My hawk eyes were searching for the secret “dress code police” ready to arrest the culprits. Alas, to no avail.

What I did sense, though, is what the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks termed as “The Dignity of Difference.”

As I approached the place of worship, I noticed many other folks entering it. They were young, they were old. They were dressed in the customary white attire while others were wearing torn jeans. Some women even entered it with their bare arms and shoulders exposed.

No one stopped them. No one scolded them. No one denied them entry, and no one sent them back home to change their garments. Surprisingly enough, even here the “theocratic dress police” was nowhere to be found.

“The Dignity of Difference,” was welcoming all who sought to pray indiscriminately.

Upon entering the room, as I always do, I seek a place in the women’s section (generally front row) and make myself comfortable. I personally prefer separate sections for men and women. Is it because of habit? Perhaps. Whatever the reason, I love it.

Before anyone jumps at me on that point, let me interject and add that separate seating for men and women is not the only setting available in Yisrael. A childhood friend of mine who wishes to sit next to her partner during prayer, elects to attend a reform synagogue. We continue to respect each other and accept our respective choices. Each to their own.

Indeed, there are those of us who continue to practice “The Dignity of Difference.”

Some parts of the service also include chanting. As a former singer, it is perfect for me. From what I know, some religious sectors bar women from joining in the invocation. They base it on Halachah. It is their choice and a difference that needs to be dignified. Exclusion of women is what a few elements in Yisrael have been warning and threatening us against. As I was singing, I stealthily checked around the hall in search for hints of the covert secret “religious police” lest its representatives come and arrest me for practicing my freedom of chanting.

Instead, “The Dignity of Difference” was smiling at me from every corner.

What did, however, catch my attention, admittedly for the first time, even though I have attended Yom Kippur services for many years, is one line, part of “Kol Nidrei,” a prayer which ushers in Yom Kippur. “Kol Nidrei” (All Vows) which is recited in Aramaic nullifies the binding nature of promises and vows in advance. They are declared invalid. All vows “are absolved, remitted, cancelled, declared null and void.” The line that struck me and sent shivers through my body is the one offering forgiveness to the entire congregation of am Yisrael and EQUALLY “to the stranger/foreigner who resides amongst them.”

Now, you tell me, dear readers, if that is not the epitome of “The Dignity of Difference.”

“The Dignity of Difference” amid members of any nation as well as towards the strangers amongst them is one of the most important pillars of any democracy. It is part of the Jewish D.N.A and is evident in almost every aspect that characterizes the modern-day State of Yisrael, the National Home of the Jewish People. Yom Kippur is but one example.

It is noteworthy to mention that the group which sets up these makeshift synagogues is “Herzliya Torah Center” (Garin Torani) headed by Tsachi Weiss. Tzachi and his team have been doing it for several years thus making participation in the High Holy Days accessible to all who wish to partake in them. The service is conducted by residents of Judea and Samaria who leave their homes and families during this special time of year to bestow upon us the blessing of the experience.

And what an experience it has been.

Chatima Tova to you, fellow Jews and Am Yisrael and a wonderful year to all.