(I'm Late, I'm Late, for a Very Important Torah Portion) Shmita

Photo: Ariel J Friedlander

This week's Torah portion, no, stay for a moment, do, is Behar-Bechukotai (Leviticus 25:1 - 27:34).  (NB things happened, and I didn't post this in time, but am still putting it up to help me remember)

Sometimes it is a challenge to find contemporary relevance in the ancient text. This morning, we read about letting one's fields lie fallow every seventh year. This practice is commonly known as Shmita. I am a person of the city, as members of my family have been for generations. We have read about ploughshares and pruning hooks (Isaiah 2:4), but probably couldn't recognise one and certainly wouldn't know how to use them. At first glance, my contemporary experience makes Shmita seem rather esoteric.

It is also taught that the mitzvah/commandment of Shmita is traditionally an obligation for Jews living in the land of Israel. Of course there's no reason why, just because one is not obligated to do something, that one cannot choose to do it. Not obligated does not mean forbidden. And there's also no reason why, just because one isn't a farmer, one cannot find a way to give the Earth a bit of a rest.

Perhaps, living out of touch with the seasons and cycles of the land in which we live, we don't realise just how much damage we have already done, and how it is escalating. Our planet needs relief from our constant and devastating demands. The next Shmita period begins on Rosh Hashanah of next year (2021), so we have some time to plan. In 2014-15,  I remember that L's teacher, Rabbi Debbie Young-Somers, decided to try and live, along with her family, for the whole year of Shmita without buying anything new, e.g, furniture, kitchen items, clothing, etc. She felt strongly that, "the continual purchasing many of us practice now, easily becomes mindless and is hugely damaging to the earth." (Jewish News 02.02.19) It's not an easy way to live, because it asks us to let go of our need for instant and spontaneous gratification. Not forever, but long enough to give the Earth a break. Maybe we should consider doing it in some form or other.

If you're not sure if it's worth it, now we are beginning to be allowed outside again, just look at the difference after only a few weeks. The sky is clear, the air is fresh, the rivers are clean ... the pandemic that has ravaged the human community, and kept us from much of the behaviour that regularly poisons the natural world, has allowed the Earth to begin to heal. I fear we shall soon forget this blessing, but hope that we might be inspired to find ways to help it to continue. Learning more about Shmita may be a way to go.

Here's a link to Hazon & the Shmita project if you'd like to read more about it.

Meanwhile, I just want to note how incredible it is that we happen to be reading this particular Torah portion exactly when our contemporary lives are dealing with themes embedded in this ancient text. Maybe it is coincidence, or maybe, just maybe, the reason the Torah has endured so long is because, as Ben Bag Bag said over 1500 years ago, "Turn it over and (again) turn it over, for all is therein." (Pirkei Avot 5:22). 

Shavua Tov!

leviticus

thinking about the ways that people interpret the torah after reading about the possibility that the conservative movement in the us might actually start to accept g/b/l/t rabbis, i then came across the following bbc world service broadcast written by my dear father:

"More than thirty years ago, I shared a bed with a Catholic priest and a Methodist minister. It was a small bed-and a long night. Just the same, I would not have forgone that experience for all the tea in China. And we didn't even have tea in that small cottage in Selma, Alabama. We had spent the night in the black ghetto of that town in order to join in the Civil Rights March from Selma to Montgomery. The next morning, I would walk alongside Martin Luther King, the Nobel Prize Laureate Ralph Bunche, and my own teacher and friend Professor Abraham Heschel. It was all part of a statement of support for the persecuted black community in the United States which would be heard and seen throughout the world. But, the night before, we discovered solidarity and religious faith in the family bed of our hosts who insisted that they would sleep on the floor. It meant so much to them to have us as their guests. And it was important to us as well.

What can a rabbi, priest, and minister discuss together on a night like that, when sleep is almost impossible? We should have talked about the shared dream, the hopes to achieve full civil rights for dispossessed and persecuted minorities. Or we could have talked about dangers: during the afternoon, some rifle shots had been sent in my direction. The rednecks roaring by in their car had only intended to scare me; and I could have assured them that they had succeeded in this. But what DID the three of us talk about that night? We talked shop, of course-about the Bible, and how to interpret the sacred texts.

Oddly enough, one text we did discuss was read in our synagogues this week: Leviticus 19. The first words in it define all of that text: kiddoshim t'h'yu 'You shall be holy, because I the Lord your God am holy'. The three of us, clergymen in different traditions, strive after holiness. As a rabbi, I had less problems than the others. Rabbis are not really holy. When I am not in town, any lay-person in my congregation can take the service, read from the Torah, give the sermon and pronounce the blessings. Rabbi means 'teacher', not a holy man. In any event, the three of us, interpreters of that shared sacred text, knew that we could find a definition of holiness in these lines. The text is very clear here. It turns to the Ten Commandments, and lists them with new interpretations which make us aware that to be 'holy as God is holy' means to be compassionate and merciful and to spend our lives in ethical actions. That is the only way to acquire holiness, although my colleagues on that night could disagree with me to a certain extent. 'A hermit in the desert, a monk or a nun in an enclosed order can be very holy', was their argument. In the end I suggested that this training might make them holy-but only if they then served the community and the world.

But there were subtleties in the Biblical text which all of us enjoyed. 'You shall not curse the deaf, or put a stumbling block before the blind' is an absolutely marvellous text. We could argue that a deaf person is not damaged by a curse he or she will never hear; and that a blind person will stumble over an obstacle on an unfamiliar road without realising that it was not bad luck but malice which caused a fall. But the key to the passage is the final sentence: "v'ahavta rea-cha kamocha, ani adonai", 'You shall love your neighbour as yourself; I am the Lord.' God reaches out to every human being; and we are taught to see others as ourself, to recognise each human being as an aspect of God. Then, ethical actions unite us, and we become like God: HOLY.

In the morning we went out to march with Martin Luther King towards freedom."

why, she cried in a fit of naivety, why is it so hard not to do to each other what is hateful to us? gut shabbes