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Parashat Tetzave - Exodus 27:20-30:10
A conversation between Adam Frank, Conservative rabbi, and Amy Klein, Reconstructionist rabbi You shall make holy garments for your brother Aaron, for honor and adornment... They shall make holy garments for your brother Aaron and his children, for priestly service to me... Dress your brother Aaron and his children, anoint them, ordain them and consecrate them to serve me as priests. (Exodus 28:2,4,41) ADAM: The name of Moses appears in every Torah portion of the last four books of the Torah except one - this week's portion - Tetzave. It cannot be by coincidence, then, that this parasha is dedicated to describing the distinct garments that separate the kohanim (ministering priests) from the rest of the People of Israel. Moses was the undisputed leader of the Israelites in the desert, and this parasha, by its complete exclusion of his name, emphasizes that the priests are the undisputed 'sacred vessels' of Jewish worship to God. Just as the mishkan (tabernacle) is a sacred space distinguished by its unique physical appearance, so too the kohanim are distinguished as sacred by their unique physical appearance. The materials and the colors of the priestly garments are the very same as those used in the building of the mishkan. Imagine the sight of the kohanim clothed in identical fashion to their stage of performance! The words of this parasha are emphatic in describing the beauty and preciousness of these garments, while not one word is mentioned of the personal attributes, character and intellect of the people who wear them. For those of us who are uncomfortable with unequal social status, perhaps the de-emphasis of the kohen as a person can help us to see that the kohanim are merely instruments necessary for service, and are not aristocracy. AMY: I quite like your definition "instruments of service" (klei avodah). In his commentary, Samson Raphael Hirsch (19th century bible commentator, philosopher, rabbi and father of modern Orthodoxy) teaches that 1) lekhahano li - to serve me (Exodus 28:1-4) always means to set someone up to function as a priest, not to be a priest; 2) bigdei kodesh - holy garments (28:2) are "garments of the Sanctuary," showing the wearers as standing in service of the sanctuary; 3) lekhavod - for honor (28:2) usually referring to the weight by which the spiritual and moral content of a person impresses itself on others (since 'honor' and 'weight' share the root k-v-d) - here is the "real character of the garments"; and 4) the ephod (a girdle or, in modern Hebrew, a bullet proof vest) means "girded for service" or "ready for action" to serve God. Nonetheless, while agreeing with the above, I still conclude that the kohanim are aristocracy given that the office is not based upon merit but rather heredity. The fact that the clothes make the, in this case, man, highlights that the wearer can be completely incompetent. We are left to rely on clothing to work magic in the event that the wearer is spiritually insensitive and/or morally bankrupt. That is truly a lot of "weight" to place on clothing. ADAM: You make a great point about the kohanim being, in fact, aristocracy because the office of priest is inherited rather than merited. In the synagogue where I grew up, I remember seeing a friend of mine ascend the bima during high holiday services and duchen (perform a remaining vestige of priestly function by blessing the congregation while covering his head and torso with a tallit). The only time we ever see the tallit worn tent-like over a person is during this ceremony - how eerie that garments are still used to separate between the 'classes' in the community. I felt both envy and relief that it was he and not I that had that duty. Speaking of which, three weeks ago we read in Parashat Yitro that the Children of Israel are to be a mamlechet kohanim v'goy kadosh - a kingdom of priests and a holy nation - for God. Historically, the observant Jew has been distinct and even identified by the unique clothing that he/she wears on the street, most noticeably the kippa and modest clothing. Are the Jewish people as a whole an aristocracy because of the hereditary nature of membership? Or, must there be some merit upon which to bestow this 'chosen' privilege? AMY: Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of the Reconstructionist approach to Judaism, rejected chosenness on a number of grounds that I find quite convincing. Being the chosen people implies a God who chooses and loves. I do not believe in a supernatural God who chooses and loves one people over all others or who commands the creation of priestly clothing, including a pouch to hold the urim and tumim, magic stones that reveal the will of God to the High Priest in answer to a yes or no question. In addition, all nations have a story promoting their own greatness and our story of election by God is a psychological crutch understandable when it was written but no longer necessary in a time of Jewish success. Similarly, implementing a sacrificial system of worship, with all the priestly accoutrements, is understandable and glorious in its historical context but its time has long passed. Most importantly, however, "We cannot fail to recognize in the claim of Jewish superiority a kinship and resemblance to the similar claims of other national and racial groups which have been advanced to justify oppression and exploitation." (Mordecai M. Kaplan, The Meaning of God in Modern Jewish Religion, p. 95) In this way, the priestly class pales in potential for abuse when compared to the idea of chosenness. While expressing humility before the Divine by wearing a kippa and dressing modestly are positive behaviors, much more important is an integrity of thought and practice that resists privilege. ADAM: I fully agree with your application of anachronistic practice regarding the role of the kohanim. The kohanim served as an instrument in the service to God during the period of the mishkan and the Temples. After the destruction of the Second Temple and the elevation/innovation of prayer and study as the method of worshiping God, the necessity of the kohanim was eliminated. Vestiges of priestly practice such as redeeming the firstborn child and duchening in synagogue are in memory, keepsakes if you will, of a time long gone. The social separation and distinction exemplified by the integral priestly attire is now virtually irrelevant to the life of modern Jews. However, the distinction and sense of purpose and mission that imbues Judaism is a continuing, perhaps eternally relevant element of our people. A nation that carries a Torah of meritorious social values and justice while under physical and metaphorical attacks by larger societies racked with social ills and diminishing ethics continues to need the 'psychological crutch' (to use your words, with which I am uncomfortable) of feeling an inherent uniqueness and worth. After all, why not abandon the lifestyle and values that cause others' enmity toward us? Why maintain our unpopular beliefs and practices if we do not think that they are a part of a mission, part of a covenant? Were Jewish history marked by Judaism's abuse of power, mistreatment of the non-Jew, and calls for elimination of others, then that history would demand that we reassess the belief of our distinction. For the Jewish people, our sense of chosenness is not anachronistic, it is lifeblood. As we learn from the attempt by the kohanim to elevate themselves to royalty in the aftermath of the Hanuka story, separation and distinction can be a tool of detriment. But, as we learn from the 3 millennia of Jewish history, when applied responsibly, separation and distinction can maintain rays of light even in the darkest depths. AMY: Jews are still a discriminated minority in many societies. In the United States, however, we have overcome the discrimination that once prohibited our advancement, and in the State of Israel we are that larger society. When shedding the label "chosen," I am not seeking to abandon our particular and quite incredible religious culture with its set of norms and behaviors designed to instill meaning in our existence. That meaning, however, is undercut when we declare our own uniqueness, whether because of who we are or because of the gift we have in the Torah. Meaning derives from pursuing freedom, justice and peace for all, a mission that I must believe is not exclusively ours, or it shall never be achieved. Your image of a "nation that carries a Torah of meritorious social values" is beautiful. In synagogue, the shaliach tzibur (prayer leader) carries the Torah amongst the congregation in preparation for reading its words. The Torah is dressed in the priestly clothing we long discarded for humans, complete with robe, headpiece, breastplate, bells and pomegranates. Perhaps we transferred the clothing to the Torah in recognition that we should never elevate humans one over another, individually or collectively. But even here we are cautious. The shaliach tzibur takes the Torah out of the ark, recites the Shema and Echad Eloheinu and then bows with the Torah at Gadlu la-Adonai iti u'neromema shemo yachdav - "Declare with me the greatness of the Divine, together let us raise God's name" - reminding us that we don't worship the Torah but the Divine. This moment of human clasping the Torah in an expression of humility before the Divine teaches that a unique gift in human hands can be used for good or can be misunderstood, distorted or even exploited to justify elevating ourselves over others. We go forward, however, for only if we undress her, study her words and seek to live by her can we reveal the holiness of the Torah. |