World Union of Progressive Judaism e-letter

Jews of all denominations tend to talk about ourselves in collective terms: ‘Progressive Jews’; ‘Liberal Jews’; ‘Reform Jews’; ‘Reconstructionist Jews’; ‘Orthodox Jews’; ‘Chassidic Jews’; ‘Secular Jews’; ‘Cultural Jews’; ‘Socialist Jews’; ‘Radical Jews’ …. Some of these terms connect with actual organisational structures – like the ‘World Union for Progressive Judaism’. Meanwhile, ‘Chassidic Jews’, for example, encompass dozens of different sects, and ‘Secular/Cultural/Socialist/Radical Jews’, embrace millions of variously identified individuals.

And then there are those even larger global catchphrases: ‘The Jewish People’; ‘The People Israel’; ‘K’lal Yisrael’ – ‘All Israel.’ Perhaps, our attachment to these particular all-encompassing terms has its roots in those Torah tales that relate the formation of our ‘people’. We read in the Book of Exodus that the Eternal entered into a covenant with the recently liberated slaves huddled together at the foot of Mount Sinai, and as a result, the rabble became ha-am, ‘the people’, speaking together with one voice (Mishpatim – Exodus: 24:7).

Then he [Moses] took the book of the covenant [seifer ha-b’rit] and read it in the hearing of the people [b’ozney ha-am], and they said [va-yom’ru]: ’All that the Eternal [YHWH] has spoken; we will do and obey [na’aseh v’nishma].

By contrast, in this week’s parashah, Nitzavim, which opens with a re-enactment of the covenant moment, the scene pictures a diverse company (Deuteronomy 29:9-14). Here is a literal translation:

Atem nitzavim ha-yom kull’khem lifney Adonai Eloheykhem – You are stationed today, all of you, before the Eternal your God: your heads, your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man of Israel; /your little ones, your wives, and your sojourner, who is in the midst of your camp, from those who chop wood to those who draw water; / to enter into the covenant of the Eternal your God and into His oath which Eternal your God is making with you today; / in order that He may establish you today for Himself, as a people [l’am] and that He may be for you as a God [leilohim] as He spoke to you, and as he swore to your ancestors, to Abraham, Isaac, and to Jacob. / Not with you alone do I make this covenant, and this oath; / but with those who are standing here today before the Eternal your God, and also with those who are not here with us today.

Atem nitzavim – ‘You are stationed’. The Hebrew root Nun Tzadi Beit, implies, not simply the physical state of standing up, but standing in readiness. We might picture a unit of soldiers standing to attention. But the particular use of the language here also implies everyone’s individual responsibility to stand themselves’ up, as well as a collective endeavour. In the second half of the verse, the message, kull’khem – ‘all of you’ – is underlined by setting out a list that suggests total inclusion of all those who are part of the ‘camp’, including those who are not Israelites. Atem [‘You’ – plural] nitzavim [‘are standing in readiness’], kull’khem, [‘all of you’] – that is, each one of you. A closer reading, however, reveals that ‘all’ are not equal. It is clear that the plural subjects, Atem, ‘You’, who are being addressed, are the male Israelites: ‘your little ones, your wives and your sojourner’ (29:10).

So, kull’khem – ‘all of you’: each and every individual – but not on equal terms. This is not surprising. The text reflects a patriarchal, hierarchal society. The passage repeats the word today – ha-yom (29:9; 11; 14) four times. But that ‘today’ was over 3000 years ago. Nevertheless, we are pulled in to the moment: the Eternal is making the covenant with those ‘who are standing here today’, and also with those, ‘who are not here with us today’ (29:14). We are included – whether we like it or not. But some of those who read this passage today, here and now, may not feel included, and will read accordingly. The passage assumes that women are ‘wives’. What about those women who do not have a husband, or who do not have children, who are single or widowed or divorced or lesbian? The passage also assumes that men are husbands. What about men who don’t have wives, or children, who may be single, or may themselves have husbands? And those who do not fit into the gender binary: who are transgender, gender queer or gender fluid? And those who do not fit into narrow definitions of Jewish status: patrilineal Jews and Jews who are married or partnered to non-Jews. Do those who are not heterosexual men with two Jewish parents – or, at the very least, a Jewish mother – feel that kull’khem, ‘all of you’ includes them, too?

Individuals matter. Since the Age of Enlightenment, individuals have taken centre stage. Individuals, decide whether to opt in or to opt out of existing communal structures, such as synagogues. But those communal structures can make a difference to the decisions that individuals make. They can be inclusive of a diverse range of individuals or focus exclusively on the needs of a narrow constituency. In Between Man and Man, Buber distinguished between collectivity and community (Collier Books, Macmillan, New York, 1965, p.80, p.31):

Collectivity is not a binding but a bundling together: individuals packed together, armed and equipped in common… But community… is the being no longer side by side but with one and another of a multitude of persons. And this multitude… experiences everywhere a turning to, a dynamic facing of, the other, a flowing from I to Thou. Community is where community happens.

We learn in the Book of Exodus that erev rav, a ‘mixed multitude’ came out of Egypt together with the Israelites (Exodus 12:38). Those who stood at Mount Sinai and those who stationed themselves ready to enter the covenant with God, 40 years later, were a diverse ‘multitude of persons’ that became a community. Nitzavim challenges every Jewish ‘collectivity’ to accomplish that transformation today.

In this week’s double Torah portion, Acharey Mot-K’doshim, which spans Leviticus chapter 16 through 20, we find an intriguing ‘sandwich’ of teachings. While Leviticus chapters 18 and 20 focus on a litany of sexual prohibitions, Leviticus 19, the chapter in between, outlines social justice legislation. What is even more intriguing about this juxtaposition is the way in which it highlights a major difference between the approaches of Orthodox and Progressive Judaism that is particularly evident on the most sacred day of the Jewish year: Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur, while Orthodox Jews remind themselves of the sexual prohibitions, and read Leviticus 18 in the afternoon Torah service, Progressive Jews focus on the ‘Holiness Code’ set out in Leviticus 19.

We might conclude from this that while Orthodox Jews are preoccupied with sex, Progressive Jews are preoccupied with justice. Of course, it is impossible to generalise in this way! However, one thing is clear: by failing to pay attention to the rules about sex in Leviticus chapters 18 and 20, Progressive Jews have in the past, left the interpretation of these rules – not least the infamous prohibition against sex between men (Leviticus 18:22;20:13) – to traditional commentators.

As Progressive Jews, we need to include sex in our arena of ethical concern in order to ensure that LGBT individuals and couples are not ostracised and excluded. But not only for this reason: We need to extend our concern with ethical behaviour to include sex because, regardless of gender and sexual orientation, we should all be subject to the same rules of sexual conduct.

As is apparent from the preamble to the sexual prohibitions at the beginning of Leviticus chapter 18, the prohibited sex acts have nothing to do with ethics, and everything to do with setting apart the people Israel from all other peoples. We read (18:3-4):

You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt, where you dwelt, or of the land of Canaan, where I am bringing you… / You shall keep my laws and my statutes… I am the Eternal.’

In view of the absence of ethical consideration in Leviticus chapters 18 and 20, we are bound to turn to Leviticus 19 for guidance. Here we find the verse, which according to Rabbi Akiva, a leading second-century sage, was ‘the great principle of the Torah’ (Sifra 89b): Leviticus 19:18:

V’ahavta l’rei’akha kamokha; Ani Adonai

You shall love your neighbour as yourself; I am the Eternal

The ‘great principle’ of the Torah, proclaiming the primacy of love, mutuality and reciprocity, provides the ethical framework for a code of sexual behaviour. So what happens when we apply the criteria of love, mutuality and reciprocity to the sexual prohibitions? In the context of these criteria, the expression gillui ervah, ‘uncovering nakedness’, which is used in Leviticus 18 and 20 in connection with incest and in reference to sex with a menstruating woman, suggests not only sexual intimacy, but vulnerability and danger. Within the world-view of Torah, blood is a powerful substance, and contact with it is taboo. From the vantage point of ‘love your neighbour as yourself’, the danger associated with ‘uncovering nakedness’ has more to do with the potential for exploitation involved in ‘uncovering’ a person’s ‘nakedness’. In the words of a contemporary rabbi quoted anonymously: ‘Very simply, it means making a person completely vulnerable and then not taking care of them in their nakedness.’

Interestingly, the expression ‘uncovering nakedness’ is not used in the Torah in connection with other categories of prohibited sexual behaviour outlined in Leviticus 18 and 20: adultery, sex between men, and bestiality. In these examples, the more neutral term ‘lying down’ is employed. Clearly, none of these cases entails the danger of blood contact or a built-in asymmetrical power dynamic. Indeed, in the case of two men lying down together, perhaps there may be an implicit assumption that the independent male subject is not in a position to exploit his equal – another male. But, at a deeper level, ‘uncovering nakedness’ refers not only to who is involved, but to what is involved. Even if the parties concerned are equals, any sexual encounter which entails exposing and exploiting another person’s vulnerability is ‘uncovering nakedness’. Such an inclusive, egalitarian approach makes it possible to apply the same ethical criteria to the broad spectrum of sexual acts.

The juxtaposition of Leviticus chapters 18, 19 and 20 is not accidental. Rather, it suggests that the sex rules should be understood in the context of the ethical regulation of relationships. And yet, to this day, halakhah, Jewish law has failed to consider the implications of this juxtaposition for sexual ethics. By paying attention to the Leviticus sandwich, Progressive Judaism has the opportunity to develop a framework for an inclusive, egalitarian approach to sexual behaviour.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue

www.rabbiellisarah.com FB & T: @rabbiellisarah

Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’ (Deuteronomy 16:20): a favourite Torah dictum of Progressive Jews. It is found in parashat shof’tim, which opens by outlining the system for administering justice in the context of D’varim, the fifth book of the Torah, also known as ‘Deuteronomy’ – from the Greek, Δευτερονόμιον, Deuteronomion, meaning ‘Second Law’. Deuteronomy takes the form of a series of sermons, delivered by Moses at the end of the Israelites’ forty-year journey through the wilderness. The book stands on its own within the Torah as a document reiterating laws, retelling the people’s story, and recounting their journey. Ostensibly, discovered during the reign of King Josiah of Judah, around 620 BCE (2 Kings 22:1; 8), critical scholarship of the text argues that the book was composed around that time to reintroduce the people, led astray by Josiah’s grandfather, Mannaseh (2 Kings 21:1ff.), to the central teachings of the Torah, as part of a comprehensive programme of reform.

Context is everything. And as we read the Torah, the context for our reading is also important. So, Shof’tim opens by heralding impartiality in justice, a principle that remains at the core of our understanding of justice in democratic societies today. Moreover, towards the end of the portion, in a section dealing with the rules of war, we find a very particular prohibition against destroying the fruit-trees of one’s enemy during a siege on their city (Deuteronomy 20:19-20). Extended by the rabbis into the principle, bal taschit, ‘Do not destroy’, prohibiting any needless destruction or waste (Babylonian Talmud: Shabbat 67b; Chullin 7b, Kiddushin 32a), bal taschit has become the basis of contemporary Jewish ecological ethics.

And there are other passages in Shof’tim that remain relevant for our lives today – concerning, for example, the role of witnesses (19:15-20) – and those that may seem more remote from our experience, such as the special rules relating to the Levitical priests and the tribe of Levi (18:1-8), and the absolute rejection of what were considered the ‘abhorrent’ practices of other peoples (16:2-5; 18:9-14).

But connections and disconnections between ‘then’ and ‘now’ apart, one particular verse seems to transcend differences in time and space: Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice you shall pursue’. The establishment of law codes and the legal apparatus – mishpat – involves skilled administrators, jurists, judges: shof’tim – from the root, Shin Pei Tet, to ‘judge’. Tzedek, on the other hand, is based on the root, Tzadi Dalet Kuf, to be ‘just’, or act ‘justly’. Our parashah opens by declaring that judges, shof’tim, are obligated to dispense ‘just judgements’ – mishpat-tzedek (16:18). And then, the additional insertion of the imperative, tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’ into a passage dealing principally with mishpat, suggests that it is not sufficient to confine ‘justice’ to a formal legal system. Just as the judges, shof’tim, must execute mishpat-tzedek, the obligation to ‘pursue’ justice devolves upon all the individual members of society. Passages in Deuteronomy (25:15) and Leviticus (19:36), for example, exhort the use of ‘just’ measures in economic transactions.

The full implications of tzedek emerge when we consider the related noun, tz’dakah, used elsewhere in Deuteronomy (24:13) in the context of an act of ‘righteousnous’, and later developed into the obligation to give a portion from our wealth to others (Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Matanot Aniyim, ‘Laws about Giving to Poor People, 10:7-14). Tz’dakah is often translated as ‘charity’ – but tz’dakah is radically different in substance: while charity, based on the Latin, caritas, is giving motivated by feelings of care and love of others, tz’dakah expresses the mitzvah, ‘commandment’, to give irrespective of our feelings, which are, by definition, volatile, and may change.

Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’. There is no reason except for the need for emphasis, for tzedek to be repeated. Moreover, in classical Hebrew, the usual syntax of a sentence would require the verb to come first: tirdof, ‘you shall pursue’. And so we have a double emphasis: Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice you shall pursue’. There are so many ways of interpreting this double emphasis for our own times: Tzedek, tzedek: both, in our own locality, and in the country we inhabit; both, in our own nation, and in the wider world. Injustice is not just a feature of tyrannical regimes; it can also be manifest in democratic societies that formally practice the kind of impartiality that Shof’tim presents as a model. The individual has a responsibility to act everywhere.

Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue: pursue, not simply ‘do’ or ‘keep’ – the usual verbs associated with the mitzvot, commandments, first outlined in the Torah. Justice is not an inert matter, waiting for us to find it; justice is beyond our immediate reach – we have to chase after it, be prepared to struggle, journey, and keep journeying, perhaps, for years. Think about the conflict between Israel and Palestine, and the decades of effort dedicated by so many tzadikim, righteous people, to the pursuit of justice for both peoples: justice, justice, you shall pursue: justice for Israel and justice for Palestine.

Significantly, the injunction to ‘pursue’ is mentioned elsewhere in TaNaKh in connection with peace. We read in Psalm 34:14: ‘Seek peace and pursue it’ – bakkeish shalom v’rodfeihu. In the context of the heart-wrenching morass of the on-going Israeli-Palestinian conflict, we are challenged to pursue peace and justice. Indeed, the one cannot be meaningfully realised without the other: no peace without justice; no justice without peace. So many justice-and-peace-pursuing people have said it already – but it needs to be repeated; just like the original quotation in Shof’tim – just like the Book of Deuteronomy itself. Taking our cue from another famous Deuteronomic passage, the Sh’ma (6:4-9), let us take the exhortations to pursue justice and peace to heart, and repeat them, and speak of them, and act on them, again and again, never giving up, even if our goal continues to elude us.

WORDS: 982

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue, UK

Author of Trouble-Making Judaism (David Paul Books, London, 2012)

www.rabbiellisarah.com FB & Twitter: @rabbiellisarah