BARUCH COHON BLOG

 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.

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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Here is a subject I don’t usually write about.  But recent national news stories about the L.A. Dodgers and their treatment at the hands of both owner Frank McCourt and commissioner Bud Selig strike me as downright disgusting.Between Selig and McCourt, major league baseball is taking a major lethal beating.  Isn’t it time to get some real changes made?  Baseball is not only a business, it is also a sport.  Our national sport.  And it is in trouble.  A big part of that trouble comes from years of exploitation.  Inflate the gate, inflate the take, inflate the salaries.  From a public perspective — called “the fans” — what does baseball really need?
As one fan for the better part of a century, I now see most of my games on TV.  That shows me a few things that are hard to see from the bleachers.  Like bad calls, splintering bats, spectator interference — as well as great catches up close, and telling facial expressions.  I submit that MLB needs these three improvements:
1-the instant replay.  Every manager should have a quota of opportunities to protest a call, whether it is safe or out, a ball or a strike.  And every umpire should have a quota of permitted mistakes.  Let the camera provide the evidence.  And let the penalties mandate responsibility.
2-better wood for the batters.  The crack of bat on ball is a great sound, and I would hope the majors will never have to go to metal bats.  But the bats we have are breaking much too often.  Is anyone researching different trees to use?
3-and most important: a new commissioner.  Bud Selig has a difficult job, no question.  He approached it as an owner, and runs it as an owner.  Crusty old Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis had his “shticks” but he did run it as a sport.  I don’t think you would catch him manipulating the leagues by moving a team he happened to own — in this case the Milwaukee Brewers — from the American to the National in order to raise its income by playing the Cubs more often.  His decisions since then, from the Pete Rose case to the more recent drug cases and the economic troubles of both the Mets and the Dodgers, are questionable to say the least.  Although we share a Jewish heritage, i cannot defend some of his actions.So what about McCourt?  Let him sell out, settle with Jamie and go into another business.  Maybe Steve Garvey’s group can do a better job.  They deserve a chance.
Play ball!

This week, following all the excitement of Passover, we turn to the section called K’doshim — the holy ones — and read a wide variety of teachings and laws.  All of them, whether sacrificial rites, legal principles, ritual practices or family standards, are calculated to make us holy people, just as the Divine lawgiver is holy. 

So what is a holy person?  Someone detached and aloof, too lofty to engage in any common human activity like marriage or business or labor?  A “holy Joe?”  Not in the Torah.  These chapters in Leviticus define holiness in very down-to-earth terms.  Take just a few. 

Each of us is told to “fear your mother and your father, and keep the Sabbath.”  And in the spirit of our agricultural ancestors, all of us are charged not to glean, but to “leave the corner of your field for the poor.”  In business, “do not steal or lie or deceive your fellowman… do not swear falsely by G-d’s name… and when you hire a day laborer, pay him that day, do not let his work stay with you until morning…”  These are hardly lofty or detached images. 

Our commentators have a great deal to say about them.  One of the most interesting interpretations is Rashi’s word about the very first of the above quotations.  He asks why, in the Ten Commandments, we are told to “honor your father and mother,” putting the father first; and here we are told to “fear your mother and your father,” putting the mother first.   Human nature, and specifically a child’s nature, provides the answer.  A child, says Rashi, tends to fear his father.  Maybe Rashi heard a frustrated mother threaten “wait till your father comes home!”  Traditionally the father wielded the punishment.  But the mother provided  nourishment and comfort, so the child would honor his mother.  Therefore the Torah balances the child’s experience with some wisdom: teach yourself to honor your father and fear your mother.   Then Rashi speculates on the sequence of respect for parents and keeping the Sabbath, all in the same sentence.  And he suggests that yes, we should respect our parents, but if your father tells you to break the Sabbath, don’t listen to him!  The Sabbath takes precedence even over parental authority.  In fact, we know that the only time we may — we must — break the Sabbath is to save a life.

Perhaps the most challenging of Torah terms is the concept of G-d-fearing.  Is our G-d some kind of supernatural ogre waiting to afflict us?  Of course not.  And this Sedrah gives us a beautiful definition of the concept.  “Do not curse the deaf, and before a blind man do not place a stumbling-block.  You shall fear your G-d.”  The deaf cannot hear your curses, but G-d does.  A blind pedestrian cannot see you trip him, but G-d can.  Again rabbinical interpretation extends the concept.  Tripping the blind can be both physical and mental.  Taking advantage of someone’s ignorance is equal to place that stumbling-block.  To which we might well add some variations on cursing the deaf — like gossip, slander, character destruction.  The victim might not hear you, but your own personality will be degraded just as will your victim’s reputation.

On the positive side, we have the shining principle: “in righteousness shall you judge your fellowman.”  Don’t favor the poor, and don’t grovel to the rich.  Do justice.

These are some of the qualities the Torah calls holy.  No monasteries.  No lonely oracles on distant mountains.  Just ordinary humans treating each other right.  What a great definition.      

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“The life of Sarah was one hundred years, and twenty years, and seven years.”  So says the Book of Genesis.  And the commentators wonder why the arithmetic?  Why not just give the sum — 127 years?  One answer is that Sarah lived in such a way as to extend the beauty and innocence of childhood and youth into her old age.  As beautiful at 100 as she was at 20, and as innocent at 20 as she was at 7.  No small achievement.  She died beloved and virtuous.Now Abraham has the sad duty to bury his wife. “Abraham came to eulogize Sarah, and to weep for her.”  He set the pattern for every worthy funeral service: first to celebrate a life, to admire the good qualities and the worthy deeds, to recall the joy and the love and the humor, in fact to praise that life — as long or as short as it was — and after that to mourn.   In memory our loved ones live on with us.   As Abraham taught.Mourning customs vary from one culture to another, of course.   I cannot comment on other people’s practices, but in my Jewish tradition we have customs that make powerful sense to me.  The first week after the funeral — called “shiva” (seven days) — is a time of deep mourning.  The bereaved family is expected to do nothing for themselves; others in the community come to help them, to bring them food, to hold services in their home where they remain, not going to work or school or shopping.  A seven-day candle burns in their home to symbolize the spirit of the deceased.  For the rest of the month — called “shloshim” (thirty days) — the mourners resume their daily duties but they do not visit the grave, and they stay away from frivolity such as shows, parties or other entertainment, which would be false to their own feelings.  Ten more months of mourning follow, during which the family members say “Kadish” (a prayer that accepts life on its own terms) in memory of their departed.  Traditionally it is the male direct relatives — son, father, and for the first month a brother  — who are obligated to do this in public services three times a day.   In many families women also take part, at least on the Sabbath.  And then comes the “yortzite” (the anniversary of death) when we encourage families to gather and honor the memory of their loved one by drawing together.  Frequently the first anniversary is the day chosen to place a stone on the grave.   We extend the act of memory with Yizkor (memorial) prayers on four annual Jewish holidays: Passover, Shavuot, Yom Kippur and Shmini Atzeret.  In traditional synagogues those who have living parents are invited to leave the room while those prayers are recited.  And we light 24-hour candles in their honor, remembering that “the human spirit is the light of G-d.”Back to Abraham and his relevance to our time.   He owned no land when Sarah died, so he needed to acquire a grave site.  The Torah tells of his negotiations with Ephron the Hittite to buy the field where the Cave of Machpelah is located, which became the cemetery for all the original ancestors of Israel — Sarah, Abraham, Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob, Leah.  I visited that cave in Hebron when it was a peaceful site, and the millenial memories moved me.  Now enemies deny the historic connection with my ancestors.   And the city survives frequent violence.  But the connection is there.  They lie there.  The Cave of Machpelah remains a sacred spot in their honor.   Hebron is rightly part of Israel as it holds the remains of the first Jews.  We still remember them, just as we remember those who were much closer to us.In memory they live.##