Bechukotai: Oy LeRasha, Oy Leshkheino

Some things should be only said in whispers and in tears. I ask your forgiveness for our expression here, given the limitations of the form in which sermons must be offered.

We give humble thanks to God for our own wellbeing, and we give appreciation to our own security committee and officers for working so hard to keep us safe.

What occurred this week in Uvalde was nightmarishly evil, heartbreaking quite beyond comprehension and words. When we consider our gravest nightmares, we find that what happened in Uvalde surpasses them with a searing and terrifying specificity, much, much worse than what we imagined. The concrete realization of vague terrors is much more arrestingly painful and horrible.

That action should and must be taken, goes without saying. What form such political action should be is left to your conscience. I can’t force my own thoughts and opinions on anyone, nor would it be my place anyway.

Instead, I would like to address a certain, specific, aspect of a shabbat and week that follows such horrors. I will present Torah for your consideration. I hope that as you formulate your own decisions, actions and words, you will find the following useful to consider.

Primo Levi offers a tokhecha, a rebuke, in the preface to his classic work, If This is a Man. He calls upon us, those who merely read about what he and all those like him went through in Auschwitz, to “meditate that this came about''. He continues:

I commend these words to you.

Carve them in your hearts

At home, in the street,

Going to bed, rising;

Repeat them to your children,

        Or may your house fall apart,

May illness impede you,

May your children turn their faces from you.

He borrows the style of rebukes which appear in our Torah, much as they do in today’s reading, though he rather holds back, considering what he went through and the source. The Torah reads rather more harshly:

(יד) וְאִם־לֹ֥א תִשְׁמְע֖וּ לִ֑י וְלֹ֣א תַעֲשׂ֔וּ אֵ֥ת כׇּל־הַמִּצְוֺ֖ת הָאֵֽלֶּה׃

(טו) וְאִם־בְּחֻקֹּתַ֣י תִּמְאָ֔סוּ וְאִ֥ם אֶת־מִשְׁפָּטַ֖י תִּגְעַ֣ל נַפְשְׁכֶ֑ם לְבִלְתִּ֤י עֲשׂוֹת֙ אֶת־כׇּל־מִצְוֺתַ֔י לְהַפְרְכֶ֖ם אֶת־בְּרִיתִֽי׃

(טז) אַף־אֲנִ֞י אֶֽעֱשֶׂה־זֹּ֣את לָכֶ֗ם וְהִפְקַדְתִּ֨י עֲלֵיכֶ֤ם בֶּֽהָלָה֙ אֶת־הַשַּׁחֶ֣פֶת וְאֶת־הַקַּדַּ֔חַת מְכַלּ֥וֹת עֵינַ֖יִםוּמְדִיבֹ֣ת נָ֑פֶשׁ וּזְרַעְתֶּ֤ם לָרִיק֙ זַרְעֲכֶ֔ם וַאֲכָלֻ֖הוּ אֹיְבֵיכֶֽם׃

(יז) וְנָתַתִּ֤י פָנַי֙ בָּכֶ֔ם וְנִגַּפְתֶּ֖ם לִפְנֵ֣י אֹיְבֵיכֶ֑ם וְרָד֤וּ בָכֶם֙ שֹֽׂנְאֵיכֶ֔ם וְנַסְתֶּ֖ם וְאֵין־רֹדֵ֥ף אֶתְכֶֽם׃

(יח) וְאִ֨ם־עַד־אֵ֔לֶּה לֹ֥א תִשְׁמְע֖וּ לִ֑י וְיָסַפְתִּי֙ לְיַסְּרָ֣ה אֶתְכֶ֔ם שֶׁ֖בַע עַל־חַטֹּאתֵיכֶֽם׃

(יט) וְשָׁבַרְתִּ֖י אֶת־גְּא֣וֹן עֻזְּכֶ֑ם וְנָתַתִּ֤י אֶת־שְׁמֵיכֶם֙ כַּבַּרְזֶ֔ל וְאֶֽת־אַרְצְכֶ֖ם כַּנְּחֻשָֽׁה׃

But if you do not obey Me and do not observe all these commandments,

if you become sick of My laws and disgusted by My rules, so that you do not observe all My commandments and you break My covenant,

I in turn will do this to you: I will wreak misery upon you—consumption, fever that cause the eyes to pine and the body to languish; you’ll seed fields for no reason, because your enemies shall consume them.

I will set My face against you: you will be routed by your enemies; those who hate you will control you. You will be on the run (terrified), even when no one gives chase.

And if, for all that, you do not obey Me, I will add sevenfold suffering for your sins,

and I will break your proud glory. I will make your skies like iron and your earth like copper

A plain reading of our Parasha reveals the connection between sin and suffering, though to simplify this would be a crime both as moral beings and as readers of Torah. But, without delving into the manifold and serious questions that arise when we consider such a connection, the general point stands. There is some connection between suffering and sin and we must plainly feel a sense of not only mourning but of responsibility for the nightmares that take place in our own society^[1].

To be clear, I refer here exclusively to us and our own responsibility, however indirect, in these things.  I am certainly not- God forbid- suggesting in any way that those who died and suffered did so for their own sins. Please, please, do not take that to be my meaning. That would be a monstrous, wrong, assertion. Rather, we turn our gaze upon ourselves. When we look at ourselves, what have we done, what could we have done better? What can we do in the future?

אָמַר רָבָא, וְאִיתֵּימָא רַב חִסְדָּא: אִם רוֹאֶה אָדָם שֶׁיִּסּוּרִין בָּאִין עָלָיו — יְפַשְׁפֵּשׁ בְּמַעֲשָׂיו, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״נַחְפְּשָׂה דְרָכֵינוּ וְנַחְקֹרָה וְנָשׁוּבָה עַד ה׳״.

Rava said- though you might share this tradition in the name of Rav Chisda- if a person sees that he suffers, let him examine his actions. (Brakhot 5a)^[2].

I do not suggest that we immediately uproot our homes and move to where others need us now, nor do I suggest that we immediately empty our bank accounts and neglect our own families, friends, and community. That would be unwise, impractical, and quickly rather more a hindrance than helpful. Rather, I mean that we must understand that we are responsible- in ways direct and indirect- for the goings-ons of our time and place. We make the culture- when necessary the counterculture- that informs all of the people we come into contact with.

וְעַתָּ֗ה אִם־שָׁמ֤וֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ֙ בְּקֹלִ֔י וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־בְּרִיתִ֑י וִהְיִ֨יתֶם לִ֤י סְגֻלָּה֙ מִכָּל־הָ֣עַמִּ֔ים כִּי־לִ֖י כָּל־הָאָֽרֶץ׃

וְאַתֶּ֧ם תִּהְיוּ־לִ֛י מַמְלֶ֥כֶת כֹּהֲנִ֖ים וְג֣וֹי קָד֑וֹשׁ אֵ֚לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֥ר תְּדַבֵּ֖ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

Now then, if you will obey Me faithfully and keep My covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all the peoples because, all the earth is Mine. And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words that you shall speak to the children of Israel.” (Ex. 19:5-6).

We are commanded to be a nation of priests. What does this mean? Rabbi Avraham the son of the Rambam passes on to us a tradition he received from his own father:

ופירוש ממלכת כהנים שהכהן של כל עדה הוא המנהיג שהוא הנכבד שלה והדוגמה שלה שאנשי העדה ילכו בעקבותיו וימצאו את הדרך הישר על ידו ואמר ״תהיו אתם בשמירת תורתי מנהיגי העולם היחס שלכם אליהם כיחס הכהן אל עדתו ילכו העולם בעקבותיכם ויהיו מחקים את מעשיכם ויתהלכו בדרכיכם״ זה טעם שקבלתי בפירוש (מקרא) זה מן אבא מרי ז״ל.

The meaning of a “kingdom of priests” is that each community has a leader which is most honored in it, and serves as its exemplar that people in that community follow, and they find the straight path through him. And it says “you must be, in keeping My teachings, the leaders of the world. Your relationship with others must be like the relationship of a priest to his people. Let the world follow in your footsteps, imitate your actions, and walk in your ways.” This is the meaning I received as an explanation to this verse from my father and teacher of blessed memory.

And why did Hashem command us to play this role?

כי לי כל הארץ- Because all of the world belongs to Him and He cares what happens to its inhabitants.

There is an interesting nuance to Rabbi Avraham’s point. We have a unique role to play, and we play it mostly through our actions, by keeping Torah. At first glance, this seems rather inwardly focused, parochial, and unhelpful. If the Torah desires for us to change the world, why does it not call for a much more direct program? Why do we not circulate with leaflets, make Torah robo-calls, and why do we teach our classes in our own homes instead of in places of worship and offices populated by other groups, where we might reach them?

We may come up with several reasons why Judaism does not endorse these modes of behavior but we focus on one: The way to make a difference is not necessarily to speak of high ideals^[3]. The way to make a difference is to be the difference. Our actions, our habits, the cultural assumptions they rest upon and indicate, the results they bear, these are all social contagions.

When we are cruel and indifferent to others; when we gossip, curse, or demean; when we look all the way down from our high horses: these are contagious behaviors. Not just in our own homes and shul, but in our places of work, in zoom meetings, in the supermarket.

And so too with our kindnesses. When we are kind; when we smile; when we share sympathy and extend leeway to those who stumble or do not have the right words or know the accepted social cues; when we open our homes, our hearts, our minds: these things are contagious.

The exemplar shares positive contagions. I’m afraid it’s all too easy to picture in our minds many forms of behavior that are not quite as useful and do not quite make a positive difference in the world. Whatever we choose to do- and God made us each different- we must do so within the contours of our law and tradition.

Avraham was the paragon of kindness. Yitzchak, restraint and inner-strength. Yaakov managed to pass on his values to all of his children^[4], so much so that, while no two minds are alike^[5], while we each may take different perspectives, we all do so alongside the commitment to Torah and specifically because of our commitment to our relationship with God.

The reading this morning began with an admonishment to walk in the ways of God’s statutes and fulfill them.

אִם־בְּחֻקֹּתַ֖י תֵּלֵ֑כוּ וְאֶת־מִצְוֺתַ֣י תִּשְׁמְר֔וּ וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָֽם

Rashi notes that this is seemingly repetitive: We are first told to walk in the ways of God’s statutes and then to keep His commandments, which both amount to the same thing. He resolves this problem by citing the Sages that, indeed, את מצותי תשמרו refers to the observance of the commandments. However, ואם בחקתי תלכו instructs us to toil in Torah. So much of life is easier said than done. We cannot simply wave a wand and make the world as it should be; we cannot merely tell the truth or share our understanding; we certainly cannot rest on our laurels, assuming we have enough character and knowledge. We must toil in Torah, consider each note and instruction, take them on, greet new challenges, and become more virtuous. We must hold dear to the process which refines us and then orms the kind of community Rabbi Avraham Ben HaRambam refers to.

I think it would not do to pass the day without making a note of Yom Yerushalayim but I  am afraid I have used most of my allotted time. I will say this briefly, then:

If suffering makes us turn and examine our actions, if it makes us complain and pray, then great divine kindnesses must also be met with thought, prayer, and action. We must assess what happened, though it is so remarkable that it defies easy explanation. We must thank God, and joyfully so, for the incredible victory Israel experienced, for possession of our most sacred and dear places. And we must turn this gratitude, prayer, and praise into action. We must appreciate Israel, Jerusalem, and Har Habayit and know we are responsible for their physical and spiritual standing and wellbeing.

Shabbat shalom.