FEATURED JOBS
Comments (0)William Butler Yeats wrote, “Bald heads forgetful of their sins/Old, learned, respectable bald heads …” These two lines from his 1917 poem “The Scholars” proceed in uncomplimentary tone towards the elderly, especially older scholars. Despite being almost 50 years old at that point, a youthful hubris is projected by Yeats’ word choice. Strong language is common in Yeats’ writing.
Similarly, Leviticus doesn’t mince its words. This week, we begin the third book of the Torah with Parshat Vayikra. Initially, we may be taken aback at Leviticus’ straightforward approach to sacrifice, especially animal offerings. Why such graphic language? Why were our ancestors religiously called to these practices?
Similarly, we may initially be bothered by Yeats’ sarcastic description of his elders, especially those of us with certain hairlines (myself included). However, the poet is talking about more than hair and we are drawn to the phrase “forgetful of their sins.” Vayikra and other Torah portions, in part, address the same human characteristic, “forgetful of their sins.”
Our ancient practices sought to structure a society where our transgressions would not be forgotten.
Biblical Judaism provided a template for remembering and processing our sins. Repentance is one goal of the Vayikra’s practices. Within a structure of regular communal offerings, Israelites were given the possibility of a religious practice that would bring them back in line, spiritually and ritually, with appropriate and acceptable behavior. The forthright nature of these practices would make it hard for individuals to be “forgetful of their sins.”
Equally important, the sacrifices would make it possible for community members to move beyond their transgressions, without merely ignoring them. The practices may seem distant today, but, most likely they were familiar and powerful then.
I saw that sense of distance from Leviticus’ approach to repentance several years ago. I was teaching Comparative Biblical Interpretation to ministers. The course met in the spring and I selected to familiarize them with contemporary Jewish Torah commentary by passing out a weekly Parshat Hashavua column, not unlike this one. Each class, I handed out a different rabbi’s interpretation of that week’s reading from Leviticus and proceeded to a discussion based in Genesis, Exodus, a prophet or, possibly, Psalms. After a few weeks, one student asked politely, “Do you really read Leviticus every week?”
Their unfamiliarity with the Jewish lectionary cycle was compounded by their particular distance from the Torah’s third book. I don’t believe the same question would have been asked as quickly or with the exact same quizzical tone had it been a fall semester and the Parshat Hashavua columns interpreted Genesis.
Jews, throughout the centuries, have learned from reading these very words, even as we may not currently share in the same practices.
Annually, we read through the entire Torah. However, our thoroughness is not the only aspect of our reading our ancient text. We are open to the lessons of our ancestors and those who have commented on these texts. We face similar religious needs. Reading Leviticus each year can help us avoid being “forgetful of sins.”
Repentance is not just left to the High Holidays or to the other prayers for T’shuva. The human need to face personal actions in a communally sanctioned framework exists across all ages. Our repentance comes through prayer and reflection; asking forgiveness and acting more appropriately. The distance between Leviticus and this modern format is not as large as some might think.