56 years ago, my step father and his wife had a son who was born with severe disabilities.  He was placed in an institution as an infant, and, to this day, has never been visited by any of his relatives. 

In this week and next week’s Torah portions Tazria and Metzora, we also witness the somewhat cold treatment of those in the Israelite community who present with physical defects and blemishes.  The text is matter of fact and seemingly void of empathy for those who have the misfortune to be plagued by that which is determined to be impure.

In her book, Judaism and Disability, Judith Abrams explains the role of the priests and ritual purity in the day-to-day workings of the temple, along with the implications of these for people with disabilities. The Temple was understood to be a place where Heaven and Earth overlapped and the priests operated in the Temple's most dangerous zone, so the codes dealing with ritual impurity existed for the priests' safety. "To survive in such a dangerous position, the priest had to be fit for the company of angels,” writes Abrams. 

In the sacrificial society of the ancient Israelites, life in its purest form, was symbolized by 1.  An absence of the taint of death (i.e., ritual impurity), 2. The embodiment of perfect human life (the blemishless priest), 3. The perfect sacrificial animal, and 4. Senses fully stimulated by incense, bells, and loaves.

This helps to explain why there was a need to banish those who were imperfect from the community.

After the fall of the Temple, some vestiges of the ancient practices continued to be honored - such as the priestly benediction. It was thought God's presence comes and rests on the priests, so congregants should look away or they might die. Thus, the sages who protected and nurtured Judaism after the fall of the Temple gave instructions that the hands of those giving the blessing should be as inconspicuous as possible, free of deformity or blemish. Over time, the oral code known as Tosefta softened this teaching: If everyone is used to how the blesser's hands look, then he can still give the blessing.

What Abrams outlines in her book is that, over time, Judaism has shown a continued evolution in thinking with regard to people with disabilities, balancing respect and awe of God's holiness with real-life human concerns.

Beginning in the very book Leviticus that outlines such harshness of treatment for those who are disabled, we read:

You shall not insult the deaf or place a stumbling block before the blind (Leviticus 19:14) And, we find in Proverbs (31:8), speak up for those who cannot speak, for the rights of the unfortunate.  Speak up, judge righteously, and champion the poor and needy.

Ben Azzai taught in Pirkei Avot (4:3), do not disdain any person; do not underestimate the importance of anything.  For there is no person who does not have an hour, and there is not a thing without its place.

In the Jerusalem Talmud, Rabbi Yochanan said: Each of the 40 days that Moses was on Mount Sinai, God taught him entire Torah.  And each night, Moses forgot what he had learned.  Finally, God gave it to him as a gift.  If so, why did God not give the Torah to him as a gift on the first day?  In order to encourage the teachers of those who learn in a non-traditional manner.

And, in the Mishneh Torah, we are told one who sees … people whose physical nature is distinct must recite the blessing, “Blessed are you, God, Sovereign of all worlds who creates variety in life.” 

In 1959, Rabbi Isaac Herzog, chief rabbi of Israel, insisted rabbis accept people with deafness since it is obvious in modern times that deaf people can both learn and communicate.

And, in our own times, we find that Judaism has continued to make strides with regard to attitudes towards disability.  We only need search the internet to find a plethora of Jewish organizations dedicated to healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and alleviating the pain of those who are suffering. 

Indeed, my own son, who works with autistic and down’s syndrome youth, has actually found that he gains energy from finding ways to connect with those who are differently abled.

Kenneth Kaplan, my step-father’s son is now middle-aged and continues to live in the same facility, financially supported yet physically and emotional abandoned by his family.  May Judaism continue to evolve in its treatment of the imperfect so that the tragedy of Kenneth Kaplan’s life need never be repeated.

Like many of us, my life has included numerous instances where I have been faced with the issue of forgiveness.  But, I’ve never quite been able to reconcile the literature and advice on the topic with the reality of each betrayal.  For each time we are wronged both the wrong doing and our state of mind are altered, requiring us, to respond in a different way.

In this week’s Torah portion, Shmini, the Israelites are given instructions on how to atone for their sins.  In order to receive God’s forgiveness for their transgressions, very specific sacrifices must be made.  These are what God requires in order for him to bestow forgiveness.

But, our tradition actually tells us a variety of things with regard to granting forgiveness.

Isaiah tells us, “Remember not the former things.  Consider not the things of old.”
The prophet felt that forgetting and forgiving is part of the circle of repentance.   He taught not to dwell on the past.  And, he asked us to focus instead on the future as the thing that illumines the present. 

The Talmud says, “The quality of forgiveness is one of the finest gifts God bestowed on our ancestor Abraham and his seed…and it means forgiving before someone has even asked for forgiveness.”

Moses Maimonides had a different idea about forgiveness.  He said that for sins committed against another person, one is never pardoned unless that person compensates his or her neighbor and makes an apology.

In Rabbi David Cooper’s book, God is a Verb, forgiveness in the Kabbalistic tradition is described as God’s most excellent gift for each of us to utilize.  Cooper explains that, “for the Kabbalist, forgiveness does not mean we need to embrace someone who has done a despicable act against humanity.  Rather, it is focused on the degree to which we hold on to our anger or our negative feelings."

Even our liturgy has weighed in on the topic.  In the bedtime Shema, to be recited every night before retiring, we say “I hereby forgive everyone who offended me or angered me or sinned against me today.”

In his book Seven Prayers that will Change your Life, Leonard Felder says we grant forgiveness every evening in case, God forbid, anyone who may have sinned against us will not be able to make full atonement.  We should not take such forgiveness to the grave – and we never know when death will come upon us.

But, in contemplating the duplicity of my father or the disloyalty of my ex-husband, none of these forgiveness instructions resonated with me.  And, then, not too long ago, I came across Rabbi Karyn Kedar’s book, The Bridge to Forgiveness, and the forgiveness fog that plagued me finally lifted.

In her poem The Bridge, Rabbi Kedar says:

Forgiveness is a path to be walked.
There are steps along the way: 
loss, anger, acceptance, learning,
forgiveness, restoration.

So, just as Elisabeth Kubler Ross introduced us to the stages of grief, finally acknowledging that grieving is a process, Rabbi Kedar tells us that forgiveness, too, is a journey.  She says that “Forgiveness is not condoning the wrong in the world or the offenses we experience in our lives.  It is not forgetting.  Rather, it is a state of mind.  Forgiveness is actually a decision about how to live.  Forgiveness is regaining control over your life. You acknowledge the loss of innocence, trust, faith, inner light.  You rage against the crime that was committed.  And you accept, with self-love, the story that has become your life.”

Back in our parshat Shmini, we watch as Aaron’s son’s are consumed by fire having presented God with the incorrect sacrifice.  What this tells me is that the God of this portion was still struggling with the stages of forgiveness and, that we, too, need to accept where we are on the quest.  As Rabbi Kedar says, “Forgiveness does not spontaneously bubble forth, erasing all evil and wounds.  It involves intention, purpose, vision.  It is a path to be discovered, an expectation that there is another side to the pain and diminishment that we have suffered….It is always about finding what you have lost, restoring a sense of wholeness.”

We need to remember that forgiveness is a paradigm shift that may take hours, days, years or a lifetime…and it is completely individual depending on person and circumstance.  May we each journey on the path to forgiveness, in our own way, and ultimately find a bridge that leads us to restoration and peace.

Shabbat Shalom

My friend, who has been a religious school educator for a decade, recently told me that she had been awarded a month’s sabbatical.  During these 30 days off, she will be exploring innovations in the Jewish world and bringing back a renewed sense of spirit to her congregation.  She told me that she was thinking of spending the time in California and I immediately rattled off the names of two west coast congregations that I knew were pushing the envelope in terms of engaging the Jewish community.  Later that day, she sent an email to these two groups asking for an appointment in June.  The response from one of these organizations went as follows:  “We would love to meet with you, however, as requests for meetings are so frequent we ask for a $360 donation.”  And, by the way, this email came directly from the rabbi.

In the book Sacred Intentions, Rabbi Kerry Olitzky says that within the Jewish community, we depend on one another.  This mutual dependence is what unites us and gives us strength.  We are there for each other because our togetherness makes it possible for us to stand and be strong.

The Mishnah tells us “Do not separate yourself from the Community” for we are obligated to participate in the work of the community even though we are not required to see its completion.  Furthermore, we need not personally benefit or receive credit for the work that we contribute to the whole.

According to Rabbi Lori Forman, Judaism is especially cognizant of the relationship between individuals and the community.  In our highly individualized society, it is all too easy to remove ourselves from the community.  After all, our days are busy dealing with our individual needs as well as the needs of our employees, our constituents, our friends and family.  And, these commitments take a lot of energy.  Yet when we work together with others to solve a communal problem, we commit ourselves to being part of something grander than ourselves.  Granted, this takes time, patience, and creative thinking.  But, our tradition does not let us off the hook because the task is difficult.  One Midrash says that “At a time when the community is in need” one should not say, “I will go home and peace be to you,” but rather one should “participate in alleviating the community’s troubles.” 

In this week’s Torah portion Vayikra, we are inundated with instructions regarding animal sacrifices which are, at times, painful, to read.  And, yet, might we take this idea of sacrifice, of giving up something of value, as a metaphor for behavior in our own lives?  Might we glean from this parsha that our unique wisdom might be given through sacrifice for the good of the community?  According to the Talmud, a person who has knowledge has everything, and if we have everything, might we not share with others who have less?

In his book “Finding a Spiritual Home,” Rabbi Sydney Schwarz profiles the ever growing number of cutting edge synagogues that are coming to understand the particular tastes, inclinations, and values of the new American Jew.  These congregations are beginning to break the mold of the out-dated synagogue-center and are beginning to chart the course of the next stage of the American synagogue.  It does the Jewish people a disservice for these ground breaking institutions to not willingly and wholeheartedly share both the successes and challenges they encounter on the path to innovation.

The following story is a Chasidic tale edited and translated by Arthur Green and Barry W. Holtz .

Once in a tropical country, a certain splendid bird,
more colorful than any that had ever been seen,
was sighted at the top of the tallest tree.

The bird’s plumage contained within it
all the colors in the world.

But the bird was perched so high
that no single person
could ever hope to reach it.

When news of the bird reached the ears of the king,
he ordered that a number of men
try to bring the bird to him.

They were to stand on one another’s shoulders,
until the highest man could reach the bird
and bring it to the king.

The men assembled near the tree,
but while they were standing
balanced on one another’s shoulders,
some of those near the bottom decided to wander off.

As soon as the first man moved,
the entire chain collapsed,
injuring several of the men.

Still the bird remained uncaptured.

The men had doubly failed the king.
For even greater than his desire to see the bird
was his wish to see his people so closely joined to one another.

When the going gets tough, or cumbersome, or time consuming, or just plain inconvenient, some of us, like the California rabbi might choose to walk away from the very community we are trying to help.  I encourage all of you to see the value in the mutual dependence that brings strength to the Jewish community.  And I urge you to commit to sharing and contributing your insights and observations freely and selflessly.

Shabbat Shalom.