Monday, May 21, 2012

Parshat Behar


The parsha informs us that there is no such thing as a permanent sale of land in Israel. When a piece of land trades hands, the transaction is temporary, and the land will revert back to its original owner at the fiftieth, Jubilee year. In giving the reason behind this phenomenon, we find an unusual statement: “V’haaretz lo timacher b’tzmitut ki gerim v’toshavim atem imadi,” “And the land shall not be sold in perpetuity for you are sojourners and residents with Me.” In understanding this clause, two issues need to be addressed. Firstly, the two descriptions of the Jews, “sojourners” and “residents,” stand in complete contradiction of one another. A sojourner is in the land for only a short while, merely passing through, whereas a resident has established himself for the long haul. Secondly, how is the Jews’ status as residents an explanation for their inability to effect a permanent transaction of Israeli property. If the Jews are, indeed, residents of the Land, if the Land belongs to them, it should be theirs to do with as they please. If someone should desire to rid himself of the land by selling it to another, why shouldn’t that transaction be permanently upheld?
The Chasam Sofer explains that to understand these issues, we must first understanding the difference between ownership and belonging. Ownership is a status that is defined by rights. If I own something, it is my right to do with that item as I see fit. I can alter it, manipulate it, even destroy it or get rid of it if I wish. There is, however, another sort of belonging that can occur between an individual and an item, whereby the individual does not have the ability to do with the item as he wishes. In this case, the relationship is defined not by rights, but by responsibilities. In this case, the item is not something external to the person, such that it can be changed or even done away with; it is so intrinsically bound up with his very essence that to distort the item would be to distort himself. When the belonging is not mere ownership, when it is a belonging that so fundamentally defines the person himself, he cannot be given the right to do with the item as he pleases, only the responsibility to protect it and maintain its integrity.
One example of such a phenomenon is the relationship between the Jewish People and the Land of Israel. Our relationship to Israel defines who we are; it is part of our very essence. To be sure, we are residents of the Land; our presence is permanent and established. Yet it is so established, so fundamental that we cannot cheapen that presence by defining it as mere ownership. Israel belongs to the Jewish People in a way that defines the Jew’s very essence. A Jew, therefore, must operate under the guise of a sojourner in terms of the way in which he treats the land. Like a sojourner, one who is simply passing through, he can be in no position to sell the Land with any kind of permanence. Ultimately, he cannot give up the Land, because the Land he is bonded to and defined by it.
Another such example is the Torah itself. Vis-a-vis the Torah, as well, we must assume the role of both resident and sojourner. We are, on the one hand, residents; we enjoy an attachment to the Torah that is of a permanent nature. Yet that attachment is of such significance to our very essence, that we cannot act towards the Torah as though we own it. The Torah is not a house that we, as homeowners, can renovate redecorate according to our will. To accommodate our specific lifestyle, we cannot break down walls and draft new blueprints. We may not, to adhere to social fads, decide that the walls need to be repainted a different color. In order to preserve the Torah’s integrity, and, in turn, preserve our own, we are granted the only the rights of a sojourner, yet the responsibility of a resident.
You may have heard by now that we are planning to create our own religious school for the coming year. What we hope to accomplish with the creation of this school is the philosophy of “Sojourners and residents are you with Me.” Our children will be taught that Jewish education is of such paramount importance, that the Torah is so inextricably bound up with their very essence, that it is not our right to bend it to suit our needs. The Torah will not manipulated to accommodate popular social values, and will not be distorted for the sake of our personal comfort. The education that we offer our children will not be watered down—neither quantitatively nor qualitatively—as a means of allowing them the freedom to engage in activities far less critical to their spiritual wellbeing and Jewish identity.
My words are measured when I say that the religious school will be the single most important initiative that our synagogue will be engaged in. The brand of Jewish education that we offer our children will not only shape their lives, but will serve as a defining factor for the entire congregation. “Sojourners and Residents are you with Me” is not only an educational philosophy, it is a mission statement for our synagogue. As such, it is imperative that every member of our congregation support this undertaking. Support it with your words, your time, and your resources. Help to create a culture that recognizes the supreme importance of maintaining an unadulterated version of the Torah for us and our children to live by. As both sojourners and residents, may we see Torah observance and Torah education strengthe

Monday, May 7, 2012

Kedoshim 5772


·      Parshat Kedoshim begins with what seems to be a mixed message. The Torah states, “Kedoshim tihyu,” “You shall be holy,” and the Sages in the Midrash explained that the intent is “Perushim tihyu,” “You shall be separated.” The method of becoming holy through separation is easily understood.  Holiness and sanctity are born out of an attachment to spirituality and to the other-worldly qualities of the Divine. It is understandable, then, to call for a de-emphasis of connection to the realities of this world in order to achieve a state of true holiness. The Torah apparently calls for separation—separation from the physical world, from society itself—as a means to achieving holiness.  Yet, as mentioned, we encounter mixed messages. For G-d tells Moses to bestow this mitzvah upon the Jews by speaking “to the entire assembly of the Children of Israel.”  This mitzvah—the one that encourages separation from the physical and social sphere—is given specifically at a time when all the Jews are gathered together, thus emphasizing, not downplaying, social contact. Why choose a context in which to teach this mitzvah, that undermines the mitzvah itself?
·      The Chasam Sofer (Rabbi Moshe Sofer, 1762-1839) explains that there is no contradiction between these two messages. It is not the role of the Jew to separate himself from society; it is the role of the Jew to be separate within society. It is not the role of the Jew to become sanctified through disengagement from reality; it is the role of the Jew to become sanctified while engaging reality. The Torah teaches the concept of being holy in a context of a social gathering specifically in order to do away with the notion that true holiness can only be found in a monastic lifestyle. Though it is true that engagement with society may expose us to certain spiritually detrimental behaviors—jealousy, greed, ruthlessness, materialism, and so on—through that engagement we gain far more than we lose. We gain in chesed, in our ability to care for our fellow human beings, in sensitivity to the needs of others, in social responsibility, and in countless other opportunities that express themselves only in a social context. The Torah insists that we not hide behind closed doors in order to find holiness, but that we make it our business to create holiness in the public arena.
·      This is a lesson that must keep in mind both for our wellbeing as a community and synagogue, as well as for our own personal spiritual fulfillment. For the sake of our synagogue, we need to remind ourselves of what draws someone to a community. The most common questions I receive by people thinking of joining our synagogue are not about the services or the prayers or even the mechitzah. They are about the social atmosphere and whether or not new members are made to feel welcome. For the sake of our synagogue, we need to ensure that we maintain an atmosphere of “social kedusha,” “social holiness,” as the Torah prescribes in our parsha. Every single person who walks through the doors of our shul needs to be met with the warmth, care, concern, and sensitivity that the Torah demands when telling us that holiness must be exhibited not only in isolation, but in a public, social, context.
·      For our own sake, we need to make sure that we don’t sell ourselves short. We’ve grown so accustomed to thinking that the paradigm of holiness is a Tibetan monk meditating on a hilltop or, more appropriately, a scholar in Jerusalem who is completely disengaged from this world. We study that paradigm, and, knowing that it’s one we could never fulfill, forfeit holiness entirely. What the Torah asserts here, is that holiness can belong to the most socially engaged, and, moreover, that it is with such a person that holiness will find its most sincere expression. We need not give up on the comforts of a socially active lifestyle in order to achieve holiness; we need only work at uncovering the innumerable opportunities that such a lifestyle creates to live with holiness and sanctity.