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May 31, 2011 by Baruch.
Of the various duties assigned to Aaron the High Priest and his sons in the Book of Numbers, this week’s portion Naso contains the one that is clearly the most familiar and also the most outstanding. Sacrificial functions were stopped 2,000 years ago with the destruction of the Temple. Conducting the ordeal of the unfaithful wife, or accepting the Nazirite’s qualifications — ancient memories now. But the Priestly Benediction — Birkat Kohanim — continues to this day throughout Jewish life, and is borrowed by non-Jews as well. Some of us can remember hearing it pronounced at President Kennedy’s inauguration.
As one of Aaron’s descendants — authenticated in fact by the DNA Kohanim project — I welcome the opportunity to join my fellow Kohanim in pronouncing this benediction. While it appears in the daily prayers, we do not formally pronounce it for the congregation daily, except in Jerusalem. Everywhere else, its formal delivery is restricted. Oriental Sephardim (those called eydot hamizrakh, hailing from the Eastern Mediterranean and North African countries) pronounce it at Sabbath morning services. Ashkenazim from Northern and Eastern Europe and the Americas limit its full ceremony to the Musaf services of holidays. The exception to this schedule in some congregations comes on Simhat Torah. Since the Simha — the joyous celebration of Torah — and the reading itself come before Musaf, and since the custom is to give every man in Shul an aliya – an honor to bless the Torah that day during the reading, every honoree gets to make a L’hyim after he comes down from the Bema. That custom includes all the Kohanim, and the Torah expressly bars them from ceremonial action if they are drinking. So in those congregations that follow this custom on Simhat Torah, dukhenen – the public Priestly Benediction — takes place in the early service Shaharit, before any L’hyims.
Not the words alone make this blessing unique, but also the sacred customs and ceremony that goes with them. The words are familiar: “G-d bless you and watch over you. G-d shine His presence toward you and be kind to you. G-d lift His presence to you and give you peace.” According to one commentary, the first line’s blessing comes from above to the recipient below. The second line comes straight on the level of the recipient. And the third line comes from below to the recipient above. The Divine Presence is everywhere, so blessing can and does come from all directions.
In the Torah, the sentences before and after these blessings set a tone for their delivery. Introducing the text of the blessing, Moses is commanded: “Speak to Aaron and his sons, and say: Thus shall you bless the people of Israel. Say this to them.” And after the blessing, the Divine voice continues: “Let them place My name on the people of Israel, and I will bless them.” In reality, we Kohanim do not bless anyone by ourselves. We are a conduit for the words of G-d. That concept is dramatized by the customs of Jewish tradition.
Before we can stand in front of the Ark and pronounce the blessings, we have to prepare. We go to the hall of the synagogue where Leviim (descendants of the tribe of Levi) pour water on our hands. When we re-enter the synagogue we take off our shoes, like Moses at the burning bush. Then we take our places facing the Ark, and pull the tallis up over the head. When the cantor sings out the word “kohanim” we recite a prayer acknowledging the sanctity we inherit from Aaron our ancestor, and our duty to bless our people b’ahavah — with love. As we chant the word b’ahavah we turn toward the congregation. We pull the tallis forward, spreading our hands under it to hold it in front of our faces, separating the middle and ring fingers to form the traditional sign of the Kohanim with the eight fingers in four pairs signifying the four points of the compass.
Of course the congregation does not see our hands since they are under the tallis. So are our faces. No eye contact here. In fact the custom not to look at the Kohanim has the force of law in traditional congregations. An experience at the Wall in Jerusalem lives in my mind in this connection. It was a weekday during Passover, and we were visiting in the holy city. The newspapers announced the annual event of the Priestly Benediction at the Wall, reviving the ancient pilgrimage festival. My sons and I decided to take part. We were among the last Kohanim to arrive and we found the others lined up three deep all along the Wall. Facing us was a packed crowd that numbered in the tens of thousands. The front row of worshippers was no more than 4 feet from us who were in the front row of Kohanim. Prayer leaders — baaley t’filah — stood at lecterns every 20 or 30 feet facing the Wall, but just one had a microphone, so we all listened to him. As he began the Blessing, I saw from under my tallis a little boy of 3 or 4 staring up at us with innocent curiosity in his big round eyes. As the cantor intoned Yevarekhekha and we all echoed him, I saw the boy’s father’s hand come around and cover his eyes. Mustn’t look.
The very fact that the cantor chants every word first, and the Kohanim repeat it, underscores the fact that the blessing does not come from the Kohanim. As the Kli Yokor explains, the cantor’s voice represents the transfer of blessing to the Kohanim, making them a kli maley — a full vessel — and then they have what they need to give the people. An empty vessel has nothing to give, but a full vessel can become a conduit, to transfer Divine favor to those who need it.
And don’t we all?
After the blessing is completed, the Kohanim say another prayer, individually and quietly. They address the Almighty, reporting that they did what He decreed for them to do, and entreat enduring blessing for the people Israel and the Land of Israel.
As the Kohanim leave the Ark and return to their seats, frequently their neighbors in the congregation will shake their hands and wish them Yasher Koach — well done!
Looking forward to our next opportunity — the holiday of Shavuot, this year June 8th and 9th — I hope all my fellow Kohanim will be able to join in this wonderful ceremony, and merit our neighbors’ Yasher Koach.
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May 26, 2011 by Baruch.
The fourth book of the Torah has two names. In Hebrew it is Bamidbar – In the Desert.
Historically, of course, that is where it takes place. Its English name is Numbers, and that
name describes its subject matter, particularly its opening chapters. Here in Chapter 1
Moses is given the task of taking a census with the aid of the elders of each tribe — except
for the tribe of Levi. We learn the total number of men of military age in each tribe, and the
total comes to exactly 603,550 males over 20 years of age. Not counted in this census were
all the women and children, bringing the approximate total of Jews who left Egypt to at least
2 million. Rabbi Hertz remarks on the size of this travelling population and the fact that
they could not expect to survive in the Sinai desert, which even in his day supported only
about 10,000. No wonder they lived on manna for 40 years.
But here we still did not count the members of the tribe of Levi. Only in Chapter 3 do we read about them. Their census was taken by families, each Levitic clan with its special duties — carrying the holy ark, the table, the Menorah, the altar, the curtains and tent-poles that formed the Tabernacle, in fact all the portable articles that activated ancient worship wherever the people camped. This responsibility was limited to Levi, not to any other tribe. Levite males aged one month and up are counted. They will do their service in the Tabernacle, not in the army. Why? What is so special about Levi? Certainly their original ancestor was not distinguished as holy. Jacob’s dying message to his sons describes Simon and Levi as “brothers sharing weapons of violence” (Gen. 49:5). True, Moses and Aaron came from the tribe of Levi, but later in this same book of Numbers we read of a Levite named Korach who led a rebellion against Moses. The tribe was not above political wrangling. So how does this tribe rate a permanent military deferment, and special religious status?
This special status survived through the entire Biblical and Talmudic periods of our history, and vestiges of it remain with us today. Traditionally the second aliyah laTorah — the second of the honors to be called to the Torah reading in the synagogue — belongs to a Levi. When a baby boy is a first-born, if either parent is a Levi the Pidyon haBen — redemption ceremony — is not required. That ceremony, of course, takes place at the age of one month, the same age at which Levite males were counted in the desert.
Perhaps we can find the reason for this special Levitic status in two of the dramatic events described in the Torah. One is the famous 10th plague in Egypt, the death of the firstborn. Since the firstborn sons of the Israelites were spared, they acquired the status of family priesthood.
The other event is the crisis of the Golden Calf, recounted in the Book of Exodus. When Moses comes down from receiving the Commandments on Mount Sinai and finds the people dancing around the idol, he smashes the tablets of the Law, and in his fury he calls out “Who is for G-d, come to me!” And who answers the call? The sons of Levi. (Ex. 32:26)
Now in Numbers we read that Moses must take a special count of all the firstborn sons of the other 11 tribes, and substitute the Levites for them. As the Kli Yokor commentary points out, this is the significance of the statement here where G-d is quoted as saying “All the first born belong to Me.” Instead of a family priesthood, however, there will be a communal hereditary priesthood. So every little Levite takes the place of a little Israelite. As it happens, the number of firstborn Israelites comes to 22,273. The total of Levite males is an even 22,000. So the additional 273 have to be redeemed for 5 silver coins each — exactly the amount of the Pidyon haBen to this day. In fact, now we can buy Pidyon haBen coins specially manufactured for the ceremony.
If you are a family of Israelites — no Cohen or Levi involved — and you are expecting a male first child, you can look forward to a ceremony that goes back more than 3,000 years.
Our history lives with us in many ways.
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May 1, 2011 by Baruch.
What could the Torah possibly have to say about tattoos? Quite a bit, actually. In Torah times, other cultures used tattoos for ceremonial purposes. A tattoo could proclaim the wearer’s dedication to a pagan deity, and a cut in the skin with or without a resulting image was part of mourning customs. The Book of Leviticus, in chapter 19, specifically prohibits “seret lanefesh” — cutting your flesh for the dead — and “k’tovet kaaka” — imprinted marks on your body. The people of Israel were cautioned not to participate in pagan rites.
In chapter 21, at the beginning of this week’s reading, Aaron’s son the Cohanim are told the limits of their mourning: they must not contaminate themselves by contact with dead bodies outside their immediate family, namely mother, father, son, daughter, brother and unmarried sister, to which the rabbis added the wife. No one else. And they are further reminded not to scratch their skin as a sign of mourning.
Looking around today at a widely tattooed generation, we see all kinds of significance visualized on people’s skin — from military symbols like cannons and anchors, to patriotic images from Old Glory to the Statue of Liberty, to religious icons of various kinds. Men and women put their love for each other just outside their hearts. Musicians display their instruments on their arms. Gang members show their allegiance on their torso. The examples go on and on.
Are some of the tattooed generation Jewish? Sure. Are they violating a Halacha – a Jewish law? Yes, but that is probably not the only Halacha they are violating. An interesting question comes up, for them and other tattoo-wearers, when conditions change in their lives and the commitment they witnessed on their skin doesn’t exist any more. One physician I know does a great service to former gang members by removing their tattoos. I would venture to say that more than one Bal T’shuva who returns to Jewish life finds those tattoos embarrasing and gets them removed.
Poskim — rabbinical authorities — have to rule on what counts as a permament tattoo and therefore a violation, and what does not. If you have no paper and you write a note on your hand with ink, no problem. Later you wash it off and it is gone. Similarly if you get your hand stamped at an amusement park so you can get back in, it does not constitute a violation.
One thing we must all acknowledge. Violations, in the last analysis, are more than skin deep. Let tattooed Jews reclaim tradition. Those marks can be erased.
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