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May 16, 2025 - 18 Iyyar 5785 Parashat Emor - Imperfectly Perfect
Dear Friends, Let's face it: the Torah is old, like, at least a few thousand years old. So, if newsworthy happenings and pop culture items are rendered obsolete and outdated just months after they occur, how could that not occur many times over with the words of Torah? Of course, that is precisely what happens. On the one hand, as we've discussed in recent weeks, the preservation of a sacred text over multiple millennia creates countless opportunities to appreciate the constancy and universality of human nature over the eons we have existed. On the other, as a document subject to historical scrutiny and criticism, like any other literary contribution, the Torah is also a specific product of its cultural milieu, with commandments and traditions that have not aged particularly well, and with which we are obligated, all the more so, to struggle and wrestle. For me, one such passage appears in this week's Torah portion, Parashat Emor. As we continue reading through what is essentially the instruction manual for the High Priests, we read the following section (Leviticus 21:17-23): "Speak to Aaron and say: No man of your offspring throughout the ages who has a defect shall be qualified to offer the food of his God. No one at all who has a defect shall be qualified: no man who is blind, or lame, or has a limb too short or too long; no man who has a broken leg or a broken arm; or who is a hunchback, or a dwarf, or who has a growth in his eye, or who has a boil-scar, or scurvy, or crushed testes. No man among the offspring of Aaron the priest who has a defect shall be qualified to offer יהוה’s offering by fire; having a defect, he shall not be qualified to offer the food of his God. He may eat of the food of his God, of the most holy as well as of the holy; but he shall not enter behind the curtain or come near the altar, for he has a defect. He shall not profane these places sacred to Me, for יהוה have sanctified them." And here's where, especially as a rabbi and student of Torah, I strive, like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, to see the different sides of a verse like this. On the one hand, when speaking of the sacred offerings made by the priests to God on behalf of the entire Israelite nation, it makes sense to demand the highest level of purity attainable from both the one making the offerings and the offerings themselves. After all, it is God we are approaching, and we should do all within our power to purify ourselves and our offerings to the extent possible, so that we can honestly and authentically say we have done, and brought, the absolute best we could. On the other hand, there are moments in prayer and our lives - and, I believe even when the Torah was being compiled - where we know we have made every effort within ourselves to bring the best of who we are and what we have to offer the world, but that, notwithstanding, the final product and output leaves something to be desired, probably on God's behalf, almost certainly on our own. We all have moments in our lives - in work, prayer, with our families - where we muster the mental and physical strength to do the best we can, to do what we need to do, and still know, in the end, that we have come up short in the expectations of others. Sometimes, as folks say, good enough is good enough, or at least it should be. That's my first problem with this passage. The second is related, insofar as the specific expectations and definition of purity laid out here are not only difficult to maintain throughout the generations, but can seem rather superficial and petty as well. Shouldn't God, of all beings, care more about the intentionality and clarity of mind of the offerer than whether he has a hunched back? Shouldn't the knowledge and attention to detail of the sacrifices the priest is to make supersede having a growth in his eye or a temporarily broken limb? Couldn't there actually be an even greater significance to these holy offerings if they come from someone not quite "whole" themselves? After all, and perhaps most importantly, aren't we all flawed in some way? Don't we all have some shortcoming - either momentary or permanent; mental, physical, or spiritual - that might, under a strict reading of the above, preclude us from serving God? While the striving towards spiritual and other forms of purity is understandably commanded, and certainly laudable in the service of God, if none of us is, or ever will be, perfect, the question then becomes: are any of us actually ever worthy to do so? Of course we are, as long as we are doing and giving our best, to the fullest of our ability. That's what should matter most. And, for me, it does. May we be inspired to do and bring our best, to acknowledge our shortcomings and flaws in efforts to improve upon them as much as is humanly possible, and to be content knowing we have given our all to the service of God and humanity. Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Joshua Strom
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