April 1st: Tazria and Hachodesh
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
I recently heard a quip about Judaism that was sort-of right on the mark. “Judaism is a religion of laws—and very clever ways to get around them.”
I can understand this impression, for we do indeed interpret and negotiate with our traditional ways. Even people who take the Law very seriously may seem to work at circumnavigating its more difficult requirements. Among the examples that come to mind are some Shabbat accommodations in the Orthodox community like the “Shabbos oven.” Kindling fires on Shabbat is expressively forbidden. (In Numbers 15.32, a man is executed for gathering firewood on Shabbat!) However, many Orthodox families have ovens that can be programmed on Friday afternoon to turn-on and cook food on Saturday morning. There is also the curious institution of the “Shabbos Goy,” a non-Jew who comes over to a Jewish house and turns on the furnace or oven during the Sabbath—and just happens to find a payment next to the furnace for his/her trouble.
Such “adjustments” certainly seem suspicious, but there is a very reasonable basis for them. As with most legal systems, some principles and rules can find themselves in conflict with other principles and rules that are just as significant. In the case of Shabbat, there are two possibly conflicting mitzvot. There is clearly the prohibition against work, but there is also the positive commandment to enjoy Shabbat. We are commanded to find joy on the Sabbath (Oneg Shabbat), and sometimes the prohibition of the thirty-nine kinds of work make that difficult if not impossible. The oven and furnace are prime examples. On a cold Saturday, the absence of heat and a hot meal are impediments to the enjoyment that Shabbat requires. If there could just be a way to respect the prohibition of work while also enjoying heat, then both Divinely commanded instructions could be obeyed. Enter the technical thinking that works with ovens and furnaces and utilizes round-about means to enable their functioning. Actually, the modern pre-setting of an electric oven is an adaptation of an old Shabbat custom. The village baker would fill the oven with wood before Shabbat, and the people of the village would bring pots of uncooked stew to the bakery. The food would be cooked over this low and long-lasting fire until the next day at lunchtime. Then, the villagers would retrieve their casserole dishes and have a hot and satisfying Shabbat meal.
By the way, in the Talmudic period, there was a furious controversy about this kind of reasoning. The Karaites, a sect of Jewish literalists, believed that “no fires” meant no fires at all. Any fires lit before the Sabbath had to be extinguished before the holy day began. As a result, they spent their Sabbaths huddled under covers and eating cold food. The Rabbis, who were strict but not literalists, reasoned that the prohibition against kindling fires on Shabbat did not exclude fires lit beforehand. In fact, to emphasize this point, they instituted a ritual in which candles were/are lit before Shabbat so that they could burn on into the evening.
Another reason to “negotiate” ancient laws is that they may assume conditions that are no longer present. Think of the dozens and dozens of laws detailing the sacrificial worship system. When the Temple stood, they were applicable, but, when the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE, they became impossible to observe. The Rabbis could have simply scrapped the sacrifice-oriented worship system, but instead they chose to repurpose the mitzvot, crafting what has become our prayer-book worship tradition. Is our Amidah an avoidance of the ancient sacrifices, or is it an adaptation that promotes reverence and praise and a drawing-close to the Holy One? As the Prophets and Psalmist themselves explain, God does not need the meat or blood; what God wants is attention, appreciation, and morality! Thus the repurposing and reconfiguring of the worship system was not escaping or eluding it; the prayer book worship captured the spiritual essence in the sacrificial system and reconfigured it to enhance our worship of God.
One can also identify a number of laws that were only meant to be observed once or for a limited period of time. Painting the doorposts of the houses on the very first Passover is an example. As we read in this week’s special portion, Hachodesh, “…the Israelites shall slaughter the lambs at twilight. They shall take some of the blood and put on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they are to eat it.” (Exodus 12.6-7). This was not a mitzvah to repeat but to remember. There are also the many laws about the Mishkan, the “tent temple” in which our people worshipped in the wilderness and for the years before the Temple was built in Jerusalem. Though these mitzvot occupy many chapters in Exodus and were very important then, they have not been applicable for many centuries.
There are also those laws which are too general and call for practical adjustment. In those same instructions for the original Passover, God gives this general rule: “The Israelites…shall take a lamb for each family—one lamb per family.” Then, however, the Lord seems to pause and rephrase the mitzvah. “But if the household is too small for a lamb, let them share it with a neighbor—based on the number of persons who will eat the lamb.” (Exodus 12.3-4) One can imagine someone raising his/her hand and questioning the original mitzvah: “What if there aren’t enough people to eat a whole lamb? Should we cook more than we can eat and be wasteful?” The narrative does not include this detail, but God seems to anticipate the objection and issues the clarification before the question can even be asked. Even God understands that some general instructions need adjustments to fit individual situations.
Though there are clearly great principles and mitzvot in the Halachah (Jewish Law), Rabbinic legal discussions and decisions are almost always case-based: we know the general rules, but how are they to be applied in a particular situation—one which is different enough to raise questions?
The quip with which we began is true enough. We Jews are always negotiating with the obligations that Tradition has bequeathed to us. However, there is a sacred point to it all. Halachah is and has always been a living body of law—one in which God and humans work on their relationship. There are times for strictness, and there are times for liberality. There are times for earnestness, and there are times for tranquil joy. There is always the commanding Presence of the Eternal, but how we humans are to understand, approach, and live in relationship with this Presence is matter of continuing conversation.