May 4th: Acharay Mot
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Two chapters from this week’s Torah portion are traditionally read on Yom Kippur. Leviticus Chapter 16 tells of the ancient Yom Kippur “scapegoat” ritual in which the High Priest “places the sins of the people on a goat” and sends them and it out to Azazel (a desert dwelling demon.)
Leviticus Chapter 18 explains the laws of consanguinity through a rather long list of prohibited sexual relationships. Among them:
“Do not uncover the nakedness of your father’s wife; it is the nakedness of your father.”
“Do not uncover the nakedness of your father’s sister; she is your father’s flesh.”
“Do not uncover the nakedness of a woman and her daughter; nor shall you marry her son’s daughter or her daughter’s daughter and uncover her nakedness: they are kindred; it is depravity.”
These many prohibitions are summarized in Verse 24: “Do not defile yourselves in any of those ways, for it is by such that the nations that I am casting out before you defiled themselves. Thus the land became defiled; and I called it to account for its iniquity, and the land spewed out its inhabitants.”
The rabbis who chose the High Holy Day Torah readings were obviously concerned about sexual immorality and wanted to make sure that people knew what not to do, but there is another paradigm being presented. We are each part of various categories, and these categories determine which behaviors are acceptable for us—and which are not.
In the chapter about the scapegoat, the classifications are certainly part of the ritual. Two goats are presented to the High Priest, and based on lots, one is consigned to Azazel and the other to holy sacrifice. Before that, the High Priest does three levels of atonement—one for each of three categories: himself, his family, and all Israel. Of course, the category of priesthood allows him—and only him—to enter the Holy of Holies. Category determines proper and improper behavior.
Think of the categories into which we fall—and how these classifications are germane to our lives. Some things are appropriate for children, others for adults. Some places are reserved for males, others for females. Some spaces are reserved for members or employees. (Like some restrooms!) Sometimes these separations seem appropriate, and sometimes they seem arbitrary—or even oppressive. Sometimes, it is just a matter of impolite labeling. I remember, for example, visiting the House of Commons in London and, because we were not Commonwealth citizens, being directed to the “Strangers’ Gallery.”
Though we do not like unjust discrimination, some discrimination between categories of people is necessary for security or efficiency or matters of privacy. Though the White House in Washington, D.C., is “the people’s house,” most would consider its limitations on access to be important for national security. How different it was in 1829 when, at Andrew Jackson’s inauguration, thousands of citizens from the frontier traveled for an open house at the White House. They “made themselves at home” so enthusiastically that they had to be lured outside with bowls of liquored punch on the lawn. When the new president grew tired of the revelry, he apparently had to escape out a window. Admission these days is much more limited.
Sometimes, our categories dictate when our actions or opinions are appropriate or allowed. In legal proceedings, only certain people have standing, while others are welcome to their opinions but have no legal power to participate. The same is true for professional qualifications—in medicine, law enforcement, insurance, real estate, or electrical installation. Only those who have proved their competence and are licensed are allowed to practice. From time to time, such questions may be re-addressed. For example, as late as the 1970s, the American Medical Association considered chiropractors and osteopaths “quacks,” but they were ultimately admitted to the realm of qualified medical professionals.
There are also categories dictated by job description or jurisdiction. The Sheriff of Centre County is limited in where he can enforce the law. The synagogue office manager is not expected to write the D’var Torah—and should she be asked, may well wish that she could “stay in her own lane.” That would certainly be my thought if I were asked to figure out the congregational budget or fix our computers. While sometimes restrictive, our categories or job descriptions offer us definitional guidance in what we should or should not do. Sometimes, staying within our definitions is challenging, and we may stray into other people’s domains. For example, House Speaker Mike Johnson or Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer may have opinions about individuals who lead prominent universities or Middle Eastern nations, but hiring or firing such people is not in their job descriptions. Some professors and students may have opinions about the investment portfolios of university endowments, but such financial decisions are not theirs to determine. Despite the “ownership” various stakeholders feel, actual ownership/authority is quite limited. In the case of students, their limited knowledge, responsibility, and temporal horizons make such limits appropriate. The same goes for alumni. I may be unhappy with the Hebrew Union College’s decision to phase out rabbinic education at the Cincinnati campus, but I was ordained forty-two years ago and am not the one balancing the books or raising the money to keep the institution solvent. Such decisions are not “in my lane.”
Sometimes we feel stifled by categorizations that limit our autonomy, and some would suggest that true freedom means ending such definitions of powers and prerogatives. I understand the frustration, but I wonder about decisions made by people who are unqualified or unconnected or not responsible for the consequences. Does the intensity of their feelings or the number of internet signatures they can assemble or the noise they can make or the celebrities who endorse their cause determine what should be done? Not all categorizations and limitations are just, but many are vital to the safe and responsible functioning of our institutions and families.
Though the Torah is speaking about consanguinity, the principle is much more expansive. We are each part of a number of categories, and sometimes these categories provide us guidance as to what is and is not appropriate behavior. When the categories are unjust (see verse 22), they need to be challenged. But, in so many other cases, knowing where we fit in—and our subsequent responsibilities—can be very helpful.