May 15th: Bamidbar
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Though we like to think of our Judaism as a religion of practical holiness, the fact is that we have some inconsistencies—some components and traditions that are self-contradictory and illogical. We could just dismiss them with Ralph Waldo Emerson’s observation that “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,” or Oscar Wilde’s quip that “consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative,” both suggesting our (or certainly God’s) higher thinking and purpose. Or we could follow the advice of Ben Bag Bag and Ben He He in Pirke Avot (5.22-23): “Turn it over and over again,” and “According to the labor is the reward.” If there is wisdom to be found in the Torah of Creation, then we need to pay close attention—even to the inconsistencies.
The most famous self-contradiction in Torah is Abraham’s quandary in Genesis 22. A good and pious man who follows God’s commandments, the Patriarch is ordered to sacrifice Isaac—a demand that is both illogical and unfathomably evil. What is Abraham to do? Tradition offers various answers—praising Abraham, criticizing Abraham, or trying to figure out a sensibility where such things make sense. We have been sharpening our minds on this one for a long time.
We also have an inconsistency in this week’s Torah portion when God orders Moses to take a Census—the census that gives the Book of Numbers its name. In Exodus 30.11, God warns Moses that counting people can bring about a plague—which is exactly what happens when King David orders a census (Second Samuel 24 and First Chronicles 21). Censuses court disaster, so it does not make sense for God to order one in Numbers 1. Is this one somehow okay because God says it is, or does the half-shekel per person donation to the Tabernacle somehow protect us? The logic is beyond us, but that may be the point. This matter may be in God’s realm and logic, and not in ours.
Another thing in Judaism that does not make sense is our Yom Kippur greeting, “Tzom Kal, Have an easy fast.” While it seems like a kind wish for our friends, is not suffering the whole point of the Yom Kippur fast? “Va’anitem naf’sho’techem/you shall afflict your souls” (Leviticus 23.27) is the Torah’s instruction—because suffering is a technique of atonement. We need to suffer so that we can atone for our many sins. More suffering means more atonement. The more affliction of the soul, the more pure and more forgiven do we emerge after Neilah. It would sound strange to wish others pain and suffering on Yom Kippur, but why would we wish our friends and relatives less forgiveness from God?
Next are Yahrzeits. Why do we observe yahrzeits on days we do not remember? Most think of the English dates on which our loved ones passed away and thus need a yearly system in which cemeteries and congregations remind us of the English dates of the Hebrew dates of our loved ones’ Yahrzeits. Why?
The same goes for our holy days. Why do we have to be informed about the dates of holy days which are the same every year? Though we comment about Chanukah or Rosh Hashanah being “late” or “early,” the fact is that they are always on time. Every single Chanukah starts on Kislev 25, and every single Rosh Hashanah comes on Tishri 1. Why do we insist on following a religious calendar that requires “translation” to the calendar we actually use? (Quick: what is the current Hebrew month and day?)
An answer to these questions may lie in a different kind of thinking. As both the inheritors and the purveyors of Israel’s Covenant with God, we Jews revel in our connections to the historical Jewish experience and thus find meaning in traditional and old-fashioned things. It may be illogical to blow a ram’s horn instead of a trumpet, or to read from a handwritten scroll instead of a nicely printed book, or to read Scripture and prayers in a language most Jews do not understand, but our goal is beyond logic and expeditiousness. Our goal is spiritual elevation and holy connection, a religious context in which a different kind of logic is at play. In Judaism’s realm, tradition qua tradition has value, and we speak in a spiritual language of ancient words and mystical terms—techniques that bring us back into our holy and timeless dynamic.
Years ago, a Christian pastor asked me why we insist on having worship services at times when most Jews are involved in other activities? Why not choose a day of the week—like Sunday mornings—which modern America sets aside for religious worship?
He was not the first person to ask the question. In fact, two “movements” of modern Jews tried something similar. Pittsburgh’s Temple Rodef Shalom used to have its largest and best-attended service on Sunday mornings. The place would be packed as Rabbi Solomon Freehof spoke on the intellectual and philosophical issues of the day. The services were remarkably popular, but they were not considered Sabbath services. The liturgy was for weekday mornings, and there was no pretense about this service taking the place of actual Sabbath worship.
That was not the case for several other Reform Temples that tried—and ultimately abandoned—Sunday Sabbath Services. The endeavor was based on the obvious logic that modern Americans have other things to do on Friday nights and Saturday mornings and that we should adapt to our new surroundings. Even though most Jews attend non-religious activities on Shabbat, it seems important for us to keep the Traditional timing on the books, and the force of Tradition moved these congregations to return Shabbat to Saturday. (By the way, this movement is the subject of a book by Penn State Professor Tobias Brinkmann: Sundays at Sinai.)
One more inconsistency will greet us in a few weeks. In Chukat (Numbers 19), God commands that a red heifer be sacrificed and completely burned—and that its ashes be saved for use in purification rituals. The problem is that sacrificial ashes are always considered unclean—and that something unclean cannot ever be used to make something or someone clear or pure. The ashes are permanently impure and should render anyone who touches them tameh/impure. The logic of using them for purification makes no sense at all—unless God’s logic supersedes ours.
The salient point in all religious ritual is piety. Though we may try to understand and divine Divine purposes, we should remember that logic may not be the point. The point of a mitzvah is sacred connection. Our logic about connecting to God may be helpful, but sometimes we find ourselves in a different sensibility—a sacred context in which Tradition and the spiritual can bring us into the Presence of God. It is a good place to be.