Dvar Torah 24th march 2012
Let’s start with a hassidic story with a twist.
It was a Friday morning in Ghana, in a remote seaside village called Akwiida. Now I had to get to another remote coastal village called Prince’s Town for Shabbat. So bright and early I walked to the centre of the village and hopped into the minivan they have for public transport. They call them tro-tros. The trip should be about 3 hours and since it was only 8.30am, you would think there wouldn’t be any problems getting to Prince’s Town before Shabbat. Well if that was the case, I wouldn’t be telling you this story. You see these tro-tros only leave once they are full, so I was the first person and I had to wait for another 11 people to join me before I could begin the journey. So I sat and I waited. And I sat and I waited and slowly slowly the tro-tro began to fill. A woman with her baby stapped to her back hopped in. One of the town elders sat down. A giant box of chickens gets placed next to me and then the rest of the space it taken up by goats.
After about 2 hours, at 10.30am the minivan was full and we are ready to commence our trip. So as is usual all the men get out of the minivan and start pushing. You see there was something wrong with the starter motor. Obviously. But nevertheless they get the van moving. Also, the front tires were flat so every 10 minutes or so the driver has to stop the van and pump up the tires with a bicycle pump. But every time we stop to do that all the men have to get out and push the van again to get it started again. Also it had been raining the night before and since there are no sealed roads we were essentially driving through mud. So occasionally we’d get bogged in the mud and all the men would have to file out again and push the van, again. It seemed to me that instead of being driven to my destination I was being pushed there.
Now after about 2 hours of this I was getting a bit stressed. We’d covered maybe one quarter of the distance and it was already the afternoon. There was at least another 2 and a half hours left of the journey in ideal conditions and Shabbat would be coming in at about 5pm. I became more and more nervous with every stop and start that I’d end up spending Shabbat lost in the jungle.
And then a funny thought came to my mind. In high school I’d been told many hassidic stories about the baal shem tov travelling on Friday and his cart breaking down. It seemed like every time he travelled on a Friday his cart broke down. I always joked to myself, didn’t he learn? Didn’t he know already not to travel on Fridays? I laughed to myself b/c after all those stories I hadn’t learnt that if you travel on a Friday you’re cart will break down. But instead of ending up in a polish forest I was going to end up in the jungle. Then to entertain and or comfort myself I started humming a niggun. Just humming quietly to myself. But the guy next to me could hear me humming and he picked up the tune. Africans love music and singing so he was a lot louder about it than me. So quite quickly the woman sitting next to him started singing it too. Evidently it was a pretty catchy niggun because soon enough the whole tro tro was singing it. We were riding through this muddy dirt road in the jungle in west Africa in a minivan full of goats and chickens singing this niggun, probably louder and with more passion than I’ve heard at the even the drunkest ferbreigans in Jerusalem. I felt better. I felt like yes, this is how those Hasidic stories go. The cart breaks down, the baal shem tov starts singing, his hassidim start singing and then with the help of G-d they get to the shtetle in time for Shabbat. I felt like this niggun was going to save me.
But then the tro tro broke down.
I nearly burst into tears.
So we unloaded the bundles of vegetables to be sold in the market and we unloaded the box full of chickens and we unloaded the goats and we started walking along the muddy dirt road to the closest village. And then my fellow travellers started singing the niggun. And I felt better knowing that if I had to spend Shabbat in the jungle at least we could have a great tisch.
The end of the story is yes, I eventually made it to the right village in time for Shabbat.
So now what does this have to do with parashat vayikra? Well, don’t worry, we’ll get there.
But now I have to tell you something else. I’m not really so interested in talking to you about the indigenous Jewish community that I worked with in Ghana. Look, they are cool, but instead of telling you about Judaism in Ghana I want to talk to you about my Judaism in Ghana. What did I learn about my western rabbinic Judaism while in the 3rd world.
Now it would be great if I could categorise what I’ve learnt into say, three categories; rituals, morals and functions. But much of what I learnt overlaps between those three categories.
Because you see, a lot of what I learnt in African was that many of the Jewish laws that I relegated to the ritual category actually fall into the moral and functional category instead.
Let’s start with a really basic ritual. Hand washing. Now up until I went to Ghana I gave little thought to washing my hands before I ate unless it was a ritual requirement, such as before bread. And as it turns out in Ghana they had pretty much the same attitude as me that is – if I can’t see the germs they aren’t there. The only differences in Ghana are that a) they eat with their hands and b) the germs are actually there and they are hepatitis. When I asked them why they don’t wash their hands they deemed it to be a waste of water. And I see their point. If all the water you have to use in your household had to be carried on your head from the well every day, you are going to be very careful about how use it. Indeed unless you have a law requiring you to use a cupful of water washing your hands before every meal you simply wouldn’t waste water. And just think how much more likely you are to follow that law if you believe that it’s divinely commanded.
The same goes for much of ritual impurity. To me the whole world of tumah and tehara seemed totally incomprehensible. And yet, once I was living in a world with many fungal skin diseases, and yes, even leprosy, I realised just how useful it would be to prevent the spread by isolating the diseases. Oh and to make them immerse in a body of water before re-entering the community, because without a law requiring you to wash, you’re unlikely to do it. Indeed many of the Ghanaians I’d met had never immersed in water in the whole lives.
These are just a few examples of how something that I’d previously considered purely ritual may actualy has a very significant functional purpose.
Now let us consider something that I’d also considered to be a ritual requirement but actually turned out to have a strong moral function.
Australia day happened to also be the date of my farewell party and so I wanted to give my housemates a real Australian party. So I bought a goat for my housemates to eat. They killed it with the kitchen knife. The knife that I could barely chop my yams with they were using to kill the goat. I of course was far away while this was happening. During dinner, where I ate my vegetarian stew and rice, we discussed killing animals and how my housemates feel about it. They were really interested in the slaughter practices that my ‘tribe’ practiced but they pointed out that it would be very expensive to run. That it would require training somebody and for them to have a special knife that they keep extra sharp. They seemed to think that this was too burdensome simply for the sake of the animals. However when I told them they it was a religious law of ours they seems to think it more reasonable for god rather than animal welfare to impose such a burden. They went on to defend themselves pointing out that they were more moral then the neighbouring tribes who cut up the goat while it is still alive. Until that day I didn’t understand why ever min ha’chai – the noahide law prohibiting that exact practice was necessary.
And now we get to the stage that relates more directly to this week’s parashah. Previously this week’s parsha, indeed almost all of sefer vayikra, I placed in the irrelevant and incomprehensible category. I simplly could not understand why you would kill animals for your god. But then, of course, I went to Ghana. On the first Shabbat, and indeed every Shabbat that I was there, I cooked Friday night dinner for my housemates. Over the meal they asked me what is a Jew – they had never heard of one before. But since they were all religious Christians, as well as being practicing pagans, I explained that we are the people in the bible that god took out of Egypt and then led into the land of Israel. Which tribe was I from they asked. I told them that I’m from Judah and indeed apart from the tribe of levi all the other tribes had been killed. They were devastated to hear about this. They then asked what I was going to do about the sacrifices while I was here. I didn’t really understand the question so they continued on – would I be using their local alters or would I have to build my own? Did I give the sacrifices or could only a priest do it? I was so surprised that these engineering students, accounting students and law students were asking me about my sacrificial practices. Needless to say they were very disappointed to discover that we no longer did that but had replaced it with prayer.
One of my housemates was the chief’s grandson. The chief was responsible for giving the sacrifices once a month on behalf of the community in order to keep them safe from the local gods. And so I asked him how this whole sacrifice thing works. He at first was confused by my question. He said that’s simply the way everybody worships. That’s what is done. But then he went on to explain that obviously it’s not about what the god wants to eat. However, it’s the way the chief demonstrates humility and recognises the power of the god. By sacrificing the animals it’s the chief’s way of declaring that the community is wholly dependent on their local god and that all they have is because of him. Indeed, he is the one who has enabled them to have so many goats and thereby can require them to return them to him when he demands.
Now this shed a whole new light on sacrifices. They were perhaps reasons that I’d heard before from primary school teachers but they took on a whole new level of authenticity when they came from the mouth of somebody who actually gives sacrifices.
But later on my revelations regarding sacrifices became even more significant when there was news that a chief in the Ashtanti region had died. Now when a chief dies in this region 4 human sacrifices are required to ensure his passage into the next world. And so 4 people are killed. Furthermore they are frequently children because they are easier to kill. Depending on who I spoke to some Ashantis told me that it’s actually a great honour and that people offer themselves up for this, though most seemed to dispute this claim.
This information brought Akeidat Yitzchak into a whole new level of meaning. Though the more I thought about it the more this affected how I understood sacrifices in the torah. If the laws are dictated to you, detail by detail what you must bring, when you must bring it, how you must bring it and that these laws are public knowledge, well then you can’t bring human sacrifices any more. And in a world where human sacrifices are common occurrences that’s a really big deal. You don’t even have that option anymore, and if the other tribes are so committed to their god only a divine command from yours could stop you from doing this.
And so now, while I’m still not enamoured with parshat vayikra or even sefer vayikra and I still have no personal desire to comply with these commands and actually sacrifice animals I feel like I can approach these laws with a new level of understanding. They were necessary, they were revolutionary, they were functional and they were moral. These laws are not chukkim, they are not mere ritual but rather they serve significant purposes in society and indeed they would only have the power to change society if they were believed to be a divine command.
But I suppose the next question is: well, that’s all well and good, but what do I do with this? It’s great that Judaism used to be relevant 2,000 years ago while the temple existed but what should I do with this today?
Well, I’ll tell you the first lesson that I learnt from this. I learnt that while Israeli academic Yeshayahu Leibowitz claimed to be Maimonadean, it seems that he probably wasn’t. Yeshayahu Leibowitz claimed that the whole point of Judaism was to worship god for worships sake and that halacha played no functional or moral role in society. Indeed, if one were to perform a mitzvah for any collateral reason other than the service of hashem then that was akin to idolatry. Now, having seen idolatry, I can safely say that he couldn’t be further from the truth. But moreover, and conversely, Rambam claims that there are different categories of reason behind the mitzvot. And that many fall into the category of creating a society in which people can philosophise about god. Indeed if you are constantly falling ill because nobody washes their hands well, that would probably prevent you from thinking about god. Even more so if you think that god wants you to kill your child for him well that could give you incorrect conceptions about god, and that, for Rambam, is really troubling.
And so now, when I read the torah and there are endless laws about sacrifices and about purity and impurity I know that these laws are not arbitrary. That the torah is not a random set of laws that we must follow for no purpose other than to worship god. Instead the torah, inclusive of parahat vayikra is a way of life, it’s a guide as to how to create a better society, a healthier society, a more efficient society and perhaps most importantly a more moral society. And this is not only true for Judaism in biblical times or temple times but its true today.
This brings me to the second lesson that I’ve learnt from Ghana, that it’s our responsibility to keep Judaism as that ideal way of life and to not allow it to become an arbitrary set of archaic laws. We ourselves are responsible to ensuring that halacha continues to help us build a better society.
And on that note, Shabbat shalom.
