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12 MAY 2022
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Parshat Emor:
Is Yom Tov about the Seasons or History? BY GAVRIEL COHN
Our Festivals, discussed in this week’s sedra, are composed of a curious combination of two entirely distinct aspects. They are a blend of both our national history and of the agricultural present. Pesach occurs during the spring, when the barley ripens. Yet Pesach, of course, also marks our dramatic exodus from Egypt. Shavuot celebrates the wheat harvest, the last of the grains to ripen and be reaped, but also of when we were given the Torah at Mount Sinai. Sukkot is the holiday of the ingathering of the fruits, “when you gather in the crops of the Land.” Yet Sukkot also commemorates how God housed “the Jewish people in booths when he took them out of Egypt” and through the desert. Why do our Festivals contain this dual mixture? What is the relationship between the seasons and Jewish history, between working the land and commemorating what God did for our nation? Perhaps God intended to superimpose these religious events onto what were
Emor RABBI DR RAYMOND APPLE
LINEAGE
The sidra begins, “Say to the kohanim the descendants of Aaron”. The definition of the kohanim as descending from Aaron seems too obvious to need iteration. We know who they are! We know their lineage! Why specify the obvious? Three answers: First, everyone should remember their origin; no-one is without a past. Second, remembering your lineage will guard you from sin: in the Torah, Joseph had a mental image of his father and recognised that he could not now commit a transgression. Third, if you have lineage you should make yourself worthy of it: your ancestors live in you. A great Jewish author was the child of a woman who refused to have an abortion but died in childbirth, and in later years the child’s father said to his son, “Be worthy of her sacrifice!” Yes, sometimes you wish you could throw off your ancestors and start with a clean slate, but life doesn’t allow that
already, by nature, agricultural days of happiness and harvest in order to redirect the Jewish People’s joy to serving God, so that they would not be blindly rejoicing in their own bounty and success. These days of agricultural plenty were transformed into events and days of focusing on what God had done for his people, and not just on the produce of that year’s yield. Indeed, countless cultures and countries celebrate the seasons and have established holidays; arguably, what makes Judaism unique is that our holidays are anchored in Monotheism, on appreciating the Divine (based on Bechor Shor and Sefer Emet le’Yaakov). Such may be one answer. However, there is perhaps another way of understanding why our festivals are composed of these two parts, agricultural and historical. Springtime, the harvest, and the ingathering of the crops are, in a way, very personal, self-absorbed times. Everyone is busy working their own fields and surveying their crops, happy and proud of what they have managed to grow that season. One’s sense of brotherhood and their relationship to God could weaken; one could lose sight of others and of the divine hand involved in one’s life. Yet letting these bonds grow looser would not only be
tragic, but also a distortion of reality. Really, every farmer enjoying their successful harvest should step back and appreciate that it was only because of the miraculous journey of their ancestors, guided by God, that they have been able to come to this land in the first place. Only due to their nation long ago leaving Egypt, the kingdom of slavery, receiving the Torah, the Constitution needed to cultivate the land, and weathering the howling desert winds under divine protection could they have come to cultivate their fields in the first place. This is precisely what each farmer reminds himself of when he offers his first fruits to the Kohanim at the Temple, having to declare in the Bikkurim ceremony: “An Aramean sought to destroy my forefather, and he went down to Egypt. There he became a great nation. The Egyptians treated us cruelly and afflicted us, and we cried out to God; He saw our affliction and brought us out from Egypt with signs and with wonders. And He brought us to this place, and He gave us this Land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now, behold, I have brought the first of the fruit of the ground which You, God, have given to me.” This wider, boarder appreciation, the historical component of our Festivals,
A flame cannot burn by itself: it has to be attached to something. That “something” has to be stable in and of itself, not propped up by chips of wood or pebbles. option. If the kohanim are descendants of Aaron they have to acknowledge their background.
a womanly verb whilst “dabber” is more masculine.
TWO WAYS OF SPEAKING
The kohanim had the duty of making sure that the sanctuary lights burned properly (Lev. 24). The kohen gadol was in charge and had to “arrange the lamps upon the pure candlestick” (Lev. 24:4; see also Ex. 31:8). A pure candlestick? One can understand pure water, pure food, pure love, pure devotion… but a pure candlestick? The view of Rashi is that it is described like this because the metal of the candlestick was pure gold, not a strange jumble of other substances; or perhaps the word “pure” means that it had been cleaned and any residue removed. Another commentator explains that the lamps had to rest upon the candlestick itself, unsupported by chips of wood or pebbles. A good practical explanation, but if we
The verb that gives its name to the portion we read this Shabbat is “emor”, “say”. Generally the Torah uses the word “dabber”, “speak”. In English we tend to think the two words are interchangeable, but that is an unwarranted conclusion. Actually, saying is softer and gentler than speaking, which is more peremptory and authoritarian. In line with the notion of Kohelet (Chapter 4), there is a time for everything, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to rejoice and a time to lament. There is a time to say things gently and a time to speak unhesitatingly. Being gentle is loving and persuasive; being tough is unequivocal and leaves no room for misunderstanding. The rabbinic sages tell us that “emor” is
PURE LIGHT
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ensures that we realise how we came to have such success. In the midst of our own private agricultural success, we must remember that it is only because we are part of a nation with a remarkable story, whose journey and lives are all intertwined, that we merit to enjoy the plenty that we do. Understanding this, in turn, will allow us to look out for others and embrace our entire people, transforming this would-be private time of indulgence into one of community and chesed. As the Torah instructs us: “You shall rejoice in your Festivals, you, your son, your daughter, your manservant, your maidservant, the levite, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow who are within your cities... you too were a slave in Egypt... Your God will bless you in your produce and in all the work of your hands, and you will be only happy.” (For the unique “bein adam le’chaveiro” emphasis mandated during the Festivals see further: Meshech Chochmah, Parshat Emor and Rambam, Hilchot Shevitat Yom Tov, 6:18). Gav works as an Account Executive in Public Relations. The views expressed here are entirely his own. Questions? gavcohn@gmail.com
regard the sanctuary appurtenances as symbols we notice something precious in this interpretation which we might otherwise have missed. A flame cannot burn by itself: it has to be attached to something. That “something” has to be stable in and of itself, not propped up by chips of wood or pebbles. If we remember that the Bible often tells us that Torah is light, we see that Torah, like the lights, must have a firm foundation. Once we prop the Torah up by means of, for example, superstition, it loses its intrinsic capacity to guide the minds of people who think. Maimonides is the supreme example of a Jewish philosopher who had no time for folk superstitions but was certain that there was pure (that word again!) reasonability in religious belief.
Rabbi Raymond Apple was for many years Australia’s highest profile rabbi and the leading spokesman on Judaism. After serving congregations in London, Rabbi Apple was chief minister of the Great Synagogue, Sydney, for 32 years. He also held many public roles, particularly in the fields of chaplaincy, interfaith dialogue and Freemasonry, and is the recipient of several national and civic honours. Now retired, he lives in Jerusalem and blogs at http://www.oztorah.com
