Shemini (Leviticus 9:1-11:47) and Haftarah (2 Samuel 6:1-7:17): The JPS B'nai Mitzvah Torah Commentary
24
Shemini (Leviticus 9:1-11:47) and Haftarah (2 Samuel 6:1-7:17): The JPS B'nai Mitzvah Torah Commentary
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Overview
Shemini (Leviticus 9:1-11:47) and Haftarah (2 Samuel 6:1-7:17): The JPS B'nai Mitzvah Torah Commentary shows teens in their own language how Torah addresses the issues in their world. The conversational tone is inviting and dignified, concise and substantial, direct and informative. Each pamphlet includes a general introduction, two model divrei Torah on the weekly Torah portion, and one model davar Torah on the weekly Haftarah portion. Jewish learning--for young people and adults--will never be the same.
The complete set of weekly portions is available in Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin's book The JPS B'nai Mitzvah Torah Commentary (JPS, 2017).
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780827614116 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | The Jewish Publication Society |
| Publication date: | 12/01/2018 |
| Series: | JPS Study Bible |
| Pages: | 24 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x (d) |
About the Author
Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin serves as the senior rabbi of Temple Solel in Hollywood, Florida. He is the author of Putting God on the Guest List: How to Reclaim the Spiritual Meaning of Your Child’s Bar or Bat Mitzvah, winner of the Benjamin Franklin Award for the best religion book published in the United States, and The Gods Are Broken: The Hidden Legacy of Abraham (JPS, 2013).
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Torah
Shemini: Leviticus 9:1–11:47
Okay, we have set up the Tabernacle. We have figured out the rules for sacrificial offerings. It's time to get this whole thing going. Shemini contains the account of the beginning of the sacrificial offerings. But something goes terribly wrong. In the midst of the dedication, Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, are mysteriously killed.
As Aaron continues to mourn for them, God commands the Israelites regarding the animals that they will be permitted to eat and those that will be forbidden. These laws contain the basis for the laws of kashrut (dietary laws), also known as "keeping kosher."
Summary
• On the eighth day of the priests' dedication ceremony, the Israelites are ready to begin the sacrificial offerings. In some ways, this is where Judaism starts, at least biblical Judaism — with its system of sacrifices. (9:24)
• Something awful happens. Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, bring offerings that God had not commanded. Fire consumes them. Moses makes an attempt to explain what has happened to them, but Aaron is simply frozen in silent grief. (10:1–7)
• God prohibits the use of intoxicating beverages by those who bring offerings. This is one way of making a distinction between "the sacred and the profane," which is a major theme of the book of Leviticus. (10:8–11)
• God gives Moses and Aaron the rules for permitted and forbidden animals. These animals are permitted: land animals that have cloven hoofs and that chew their cud; fish that have fins and scales and are not scavengers; birds that fly and that are not birds of prey. And these animals are prohibited: land animals that either have cloven hooves or chew their cud, but not both; water animals that crawl rather than swim; birds that don't fly; birds of prey. Animals that have died on their own rather than being slaughtered are also prohibited. These laws form the basis of the laws of kashrut. (11:1–47)
The Big Ideas
• Eight is a sacred number in Judaism. It seems to be the number connected to "dedication." Ritual circumcision happens on the eighth day. The festival of Hanukkah lasts for eight nights. And the process of dedication of the priests in this Torah portion lasts for eight days. Why eight? Perhaps because eight is the number of notes that brings us to the octave — the completion of the musical cycle. Eight means wholeness and holiness.
• Biblical Judaism expected conformity. The deaths of Nadab and Abihu remain a much-debated mystery. But one thing is clear: they brought offerings that God had not commanded. In other words, they innovated and got "creative." While many modern Jews value the idea of creativity and innovation in worship and Jewish life, this is not the biblical model. Those who stray from the rules can sometimes suffer.
• Ritual life requires clearheadedness. That is why God prohibits the drinking of alcoholic beverages in the ancient Tabernacle. You cannot be drunk and do your religious duties. While wine and alcohol are enjoyable (when you are of the proper age!), we should avoid getting drunk. It not only blocks clear thinking; in certain situations (like driving), it can be dangerous, even fatal.
• Jewish life requires some kind of regulation of what we eat. Some people choose to observe biblical kashrut — eating only the animals that are permitted and not those forbidden by the Torah. Some people choose to only eat animals that have been ritually slaughtered. Some people choose to separate meat and dairy. These are all acceptable Jewish choices because they remind us that Judaism allows us to sanctify everyday acts, especially eating.
Divrei Torah
The Nadab and Abihu Murder Case
It is time for this week's episode of "Law and Order: SVU [Sacrificial Victims Unit]."
But, in all seriousness, a real tragedy happens in a flash. Here's the scene: The Israelites have built and dedicated the Tabernacle. There has been a full description of the sacrificial system and a seven-day ordination ceremony for the priests. Now the sacrifices can begin. On the eighth day, the people will use the sacred altar for the first time. It's like taking the whole system out of the box, setting it up, and plugging it in. What could possibly go wrong?
This is what goes wrong: Nadab and Abihu, Aaron's sons, decide to offer incense — "alien fire" that God has not commanded. Then fire flares from God and consumes them.
Who did it, and why? In the words of the classic movie Casablanca: "Let's round up the usual suspects." But let's first admit that the Torah itself suggests that this is divine punishment for a breach of protocol, as harsh and as inexplicable as it may seem to us.
So perhaps God did it. Nadab and Abihu were violating the sanctity of the Tabernacle, and God punished them for not following exact instructions, and perhaps to set an example.
The sages try very hard to find fault with Aaron's sons, since the Torah has little to say about what happened. They were drunkards. They were rebellious sons. A passage in the Talmud even suggests that "they were eager for Moses and Aaron to die so that they could take over as priests."
Does the punishment fit the crime? Perhaps we are trying too hard to explain what went wrong. It was simply an accident. You know what they say: "stuff happens."
But another problem is the harsh way that Moses reacts to the tragedy. "Then Moses said to Aaron, 'This is what the Lord meant when He said: Through those near to Me I show Myself holy, and gain glory before all the people'" (10:3).
Gee, Moses, you have a nice way of comforting people. First of all: When had God said that? And what does it mean — that those who are chosen for responsibility have to adhere to strict standards? Can't people make mistakes? And what is this thing about "gaining glory"?
"And Aaron was silent" (10:3). Aaron cannot, or will not, say anything to his brother. How shall we interpret Aaron's silence? Was he just numb with grief, still in a state of shock and not able to respond? Was he merely submitting to the divine will? Or were Moses's words simply too much for him to bear?
The contemporary author André Neher writes: "People can accept that God keeps silent, but not that others should deign to speak in His place."
Sometimes in the face of tragedy, truly, there are no words.
Warning: Pork-Free Zone!
One of the greatest American Jewish heroes was Rabbi Joachim Prinz. He gave the opening address right before the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. spoke at the famous March on Washington. But here's a quote of his that never made the history books. Rabbi Prinz once explained why he refrained from eating pork: "It is a dietary predilection of my ancestors for which they frequently gave their lives."
No doubt about it: pork has a negative reputation among Jews. What's one of the worst ways to insult a Jew? Call him or her a chazir (pig). Tyrants used to torture Jews by forcing them to eat pig. In Maccabean times, "the armies of Antiochus, ruler of the Syria's Greek dynasty, the Seleucids," splashed pig's blood in the Temple to desecrate it. Jews in Spain were called Marranos, "pigs."
So, yes, one reason for not eating pork is that Jews were tortured and forced to eat it.
But there's more. Avoiding pork helps establish controls and boundaries in life. Not every appetite is worthy of being satiated. In this sense, kashrut becomes a metaphor for life. The whole world is not mine. I cannot always spend money the way I want, say anything I want, abuse the earth according to what I think I want. Judaism is about making what we do every day into something holy. It is about our minds and it is about our stomachs. Jewish life means sacrifice. It means the conscious curbing of our appetites.
One last thing: Is there a deeper reason why certain kinds of animals are forbidden? A kosher animal must have cloven (split) hooves, and it must chew its cud. Why is this important? Although many people have wondered and many theories abound, the historical reasons are lost to antiquity. That, of course, does not stop the Rabbis from providing explanations.
Foods are symbolic. The split hoof reminds us that Judaism recognizes division — land/heavens; light/darkness; humanity/God; Isaac/Ishmael; Jacob/Esau; Rachel/Leah; Joseph/his brothers; Moses/Aaron; Israel/the nations; Shabbat/the workday week; holy/profane.
And the chewing of the cud? Animals that chew their cud are called ruminants, and a similar word, ruminate, means thinking things over and over again. (We often say: "Here's something to chew on" or "I'm having trouble swallowing that idea" or even "Do you have to bring that up again?") The ancient Jewish philosopher Philo writes: "Just as a cud-chewing animal draws up food and chews on it, so the student, after receiving wisdom from the teacher, constantly calls up each thing that he has heard."
There you have it. Jews are ruminants. Jews take wisdom and think about it and bring it back up again and chew on it, never happy with what we have learned, always looking for a way to better understand it and to refine it. We even ruminate on what we eat.
Connections
• What do you think happened to Nadab and Abihu? How would you solve this murder mystery?
• What is your opinion of what Moses said to Aaron? Do you agree with his words? Do you think they were comforting?
• In what kinds of situations have you chosen to be silent and not say anything?
• There has been a resurgence of popularity in various forms of kashrut. Why do you think this is so?
• How compelling do you find the historical argument regarding kashrut — that it is a way of responding to the pain of our ancestors? What other traditional practices or prohibitions might fall into this category — things we do or don't do because of our ancestors' suffering?
• One theory of the origin of kashrut was that it separated the ancient Israelites from the other nations of the world. Is that reason still valid today? If that reason is still desirable, what other ways might we adopt that would make us distinct from other peoples today? If it isn't desirable, what has changed in modern Jewish identity that has rendered it less so?
• What do you ruminate on?
CHAPTER 2The Haftarah
Shemini: 2 Samuel 6:1–7:17
Do not, do not! mess around with holy stuff. That seems to be one of the messages of this week's Torah portion. Nadab and Abihu fail to take their sacred responsibilities seriously, and they are consumed by fire. A similar thing happens here in 2 Samuel (which is how the haftarah is linked to the Torah portion): King David is bringing the ark to Jerusalem, the city that he conquered from the Jebusites. By bringing the ark to Jerusalem, David was solidifying his control over the city and establishing it as his political and religious capital.
What a wild celebration it is, complete with music and dancing! But in the midst of the festivities, something terrible happens. One of the oxen pulling the cart with the ark in it stumbles, and it looks as if the ark is going to fall. (If you have ever seen someone almost drop a Torah scroll, then you know how scary this can be.) A well-meaning man, Uzzah, reaches out to steady the ark, and God strikes him down. Like the story in the Torah portion, we are hard pressed to understand the tragedy, but the lesson about breaching boundaries seems clear, if brutal.
(Let's not forget that the ancient Israelites believed the ark had magical powers. There is a famous scene in the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark in which Nazis who steal the ancient ark actually melt!)
Three months later, David decides to move the ark again, and once again, there is music and dancing. This time, however, King David gets so wrapped up in the dancing that his robe opens up, giving everyone a glimpse of, well, you know. ... David's wife Michal scolds him over this breach of dignity, with sad results. David does not take kindly to her criticism. Their relationship is never the same; in fact David apparently has little to do with Michal from then on.
King David: The Dancing Fool
In 1987, songwriters Susanna Clark and Richard Leigh wrote a song, "Come from the Heart," which contained the following lyrics: "You've got to sing like you don't need the money, love like you'll never get hurt. You've gotta dance like nobody's watchin', It's gotta come from the heart if you want it to work."
If anything could summarize the life and soul of King David, that song would be it. David was probably the most complex character in the entire Hebrew Bible — a king, warrior, lover, poet, musician, and, apparently, a spirited dancer as well.
David is so enthusiastic about bringing the ark to Jerusalem that he just goes wild. The music is loud. The spirit is contagious. David dances. He actually whirls around in circles, which is a mystical kind of dance, the kind of dance that Sufi Muslim whirling dervishes do. It's not just a dance to show that you're happy; it's a dance that makes you want to jump up and touch God (if that could be possible).
And then, along comes David's wife Michal, and she gets real sarcastic with him. She feels it is beneath the king's dignity to make a spectacle of himself in front of everyone. By the way, although the Bible says little about her, according to the sages she was one tough woman. The Talmud says: "Michal wore tefillin [which traditionally women did not do] and the sages did not attempt to prevent her."
David retorts that he was happy to do what he did, that he would do it again — and, by the way, "I'm the king now — and your father, the late King Saul — isn't." Ouch. (And, by the way, notice that the text never identifies Michal as being David's wife, only as the daughter of Saul — King Saul, who had been insanely jealous of David. Perhaps that was more important to her identity than being David's wife. You think that maybe Michal was perhaps carrying a grudge on behalf of her late father?)
The story ends sadly. It says that Michal didn't have children. We don't know why. Was it because David refused to sleep with her again after that incident? We hear nothing more about Michal, even though much is said about David's other wives.
Even though he was the king, David showed passion. He could let go of his role and simply have fun. This is very rare, even and especially today. For example, Queen Elizabeth of Great Britain is known for her stiff upper lip and not showing much emotion — neither joy nor sorrow. But not so David. Zvi Kolitz writes: "David had both the ability to transform a nation and the power to be himself. As a king he knew the importance of decorum, but he also knew the power of simplicity and the sincerity of true passion."
But there is something else about David that we learn in this portion. Let's remember that his motive for bringing the ark to Jerusalem was pure, as was his wanting to build a temple for God. "Here I am dwelling in a house of cedar, while the Ark of the Lord abides in a tent" (7:2). For all his grandeur and power, David was actually humble. He did not think it proper that his house should be greater than a house for God. While God, through the prophet Nathan, conveys to David that his request to build a temple for God will be denied (although granted to his son Solomon), God establishes a covenant with David that his line will rule Judah for generations.
You have to love David. He is a mighty king and yet he is perhaps the most human person in the entire Bible. His accomplishments, and his mistakes, were huge ... and he never forgot how to dance.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Shemini (Leviticus 9:1–11:47) and Haftarah (2 Samuel 6:1–7:17)"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Rabbi Jeffrey K. Salkin.
Excerpted by permission of UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA PRESS.
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Table of Contents
General Introduction Shemini: Torah Commentary Shemini: Haftarah Commentary