Monday, December 28, 2020

Hope as an Ethical Imperative 2020 - Barbara Breitman

Hope as an Ethical Imperative
An Offering in Honor of Stefan Presser

Minyan Dorshei Derekh, December 12, 2020, 3rd Night of Hanukkah

Barbara E. Breitman

Before the election, like many of you, I was engaged in a variety of GOTV activities as well as getting trained to be present at a polling place on Nov 5 to support people whose right to vote might be challenged. Though my experience at the polling place was, fortunately, uneventful, my sense of how critical it was that I be out fighting to protect our democracy and voting rights was and is very strong. My hope that our democratic process would withstand the threats against us, that every legal vote would be cast and counted, was the only outcome I allowed myself to imagine. My hope for that outcome was not a feeling, but an existential position, an ethical imperative. It is sobering, if not shocking, that even after the election, our democracy is still at risk. 

As we face with urgency not only the divisiveness and suffering in this country caused by centuries of economic and racial injustice, and as we are living through climate change and a pandemic rooted in climate change, I would like to share a Midrash from Genesis Rabbah, that I first heard from Rabbi Ari Lev Fornari, that speaks powerfully to this moment.

The Midrash asks: 

How did Noah manage to survive the flood and live to see his children exit the ark, thus begetting a new generation of humanity?
How did Moses go from fleeing from Pharaoh to plunging him into the sea?
How did Joseph go from being shackled in prison to a governor in Pharaoh's court?
How did Mordechai go from being ready for the gallows to executing his executioners?

In other words, what made it possible for Noah and Moses, Joseph and Mordechai to transform the life-threatening situations in which they were living into a radically transformed reality?

​Fortunately, the midrash doesn't just ask the question.
It offers an answer. It says that for each of these biblical characters, the answer is the same.
אֶלָּא רָאָה עוֹלָם חָדָשׁ
It was because they could see a new world. An Olam Hadash. 

(Genesis Rabbah 30:8)
Each of these biblical characters was able to imagine new ways of being and living. Their vision strengthened them, gave them direction and enabled them to meet the challenges of their historic moment and to prevail by creating a radically new and different reality. 

The midrash teaches that it is our moral imagination, our ability to envision the world we hope to live into, that makes it possible to transform our current situation and bring a new world into being. The contemporary Indian author and human rights activist Arundhati Roy echoes this ancient Midrash as she speaks directly out of and into our current situation:

Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to “normality”, trying to stitch our future to our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists. And in the midst of this ... despair, it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. ......Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can ....(be) ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

Hope as an ethical imperative means having faith in the power of an ethical/spiritual vision to guide our action and activism toward revitalization, justice and compassion. Hope is an ethical imperative because when we face extraordinary challenges, despair drains us of energy and commitment. Taking a stand for our hoped-for outcome, empowers our work toward it.

In a 2011 commencement speech at the University of California, Berkeley, Amory Lovins, a physicist and international visionary for a Green transition, said: “We work to make the world better, not from some airy theoretical hope, but in the pragmatic and grounded conviction that starting with hope and acting out of hope can cultivate a different kind of world worth being hopeful about.....Fear of specific and avoidable danger has evolutionary value....But pervasive dread, lately promoted by some who want to keep us pickled in fear, is numbing and demotivating. When I give a talk, sometimes a questioner details the many bad things happening in the world, all the suffering and asks how dare I propose solutions: isn’t resistance futile? The only response I’ve found is to ask, as gently as I can: “I can see why you feel that way. Does it make you more effective?” 

Joanna Macy, much beloved Buddhist teacher and long-time environmental activist says: “Active hope doesn’t require our optimism. We can apply it even....where we feel hopeless. The guiding impetus is intention, we choose what we aim to bring about, act for, or express. Rather than weighing our chances and proceeding only when we feel hopeful, we ....let our intention be our guide.” “Active hope is a practice. is something we do rather than have. .... First, we take a clear view of reality; second, we identify ... the direction we’d like things to move in or the values we’d like to see expressed; and third, we take steps to move ourselves in that direction.”

I’ve heard Macy put forth a version of the following question when she speaks about the dire situation of the Earth: if a dearly beloved family member or friend is dangerously ill and you know death is a real possibility, would you walk away, give up and do nothing for them because you don’t feel hopeful about their survival? How can we do that in relationship to our beloved Mother Earth?

In 2012, in her book Active Hope, Macy put forth a vision that is ever more critically meaningful today. She describes three world shaping stories that co-exist uncomfortably at this moment in our nation: 

1. The first Is “Business as Usual’...the view that economic growth must continue and that for a market economy to grow, we need to consume more and more than we already do. In this perspective, climate change is irrelevant to the dramas or choices of our personal lives. 

2. The Second story is the “Great Unraveling”. According to this story, the world we’ve been accustomed to living in, is in the midst of unraveling. The world our children and grandchildren will inherit will be radically different than the world we grew up in. The conditions of the next generation will be much worse than for people living today because of economic decline, natural resource depletion, climate change, mass extinction of species, world-wide pandemics, social division, increasing numbers of climate refugees and war. This is the story that punctures the illusion we can continue with business as usual; it is the story penetrating our consciousness and breaking through denial ever more fiercely these days. The pandemic has brought climate change up close and personal to privileged folk in the first world.

The stories of Business as Usual and the Great unraveling are contrasting accounts of the state of our world. The story of Business as Usual is increasingly being disrupted by the reality of the mess we are in. The pandemic is part of that mess and it is crucial that we understand how the pandemic is rooted in climate change and the economic growth story. This will be true, whether or not a vaccine helps us out of our current crisis in the coming months.

3. The third story is the ‘Great Turning’, a story that has begun to catch on more and more: the commitment to act for the sake of life on Earth as well as the vision, courage and solidarity to do so. This involves a rethinking of the way we do things, and the creative redesigning of the structures and systems that make up our society. This is the enormous challenge of our moment. The ethical imperative is to give ourselves to that story so it can act through us, breathing new life into what we do and what we demand and expect of ourselves, our government and our leaders. 

Such a profound transformation requires that we keep reading, learning, talking with each other, sharing ideas and practices, working together and supporting each other to make changes in our lives and insist that our government turn the gigantic ship of state toward policies and action that are in alignment with the truths about the mess we are in. Hope as an ethical imperative is not a solo practice. It must be a communal practice, a societal practice, a global practice. I know there are people in this community with far more knowledge than I have about the ecological transformation necessary for our survival and have been engaged in activism on this issue for years. We need each other for learning, for motivation and for inspiration. We need to be able to see with new eyes together to find and do our part to create an Olam Chadash. 

Our nation is also at a crucial point of inflection about race, brought about not only by the persistence and greater visibility of systemic police violence but also because we can see that economically vulnerable populations, mostly black and brown people, have been more devastated by the pandemic. One of the gateways between this world and the next that has been opened by the pandemic has to do with race. I have been oriented and guided by far-seeing social justice activists who are articulating ethical and spiritual visions for American futures we must fight for.

Here is the vision of Valerie Kaur, a daughter of Sikh immigrants who is now a civil rights activist connected to Rev William Barber and the Poor Peoples’ campaign. She shared these words on November 4, 2020, on the eve of the November election. 

Our nation is in transition. These last convulsive years are part of a larger transition in our country. In the next 25 years, the number of people of color in this country will exceed the number of white people for the first time since colonization. And we are at a crossroads. Will we birth a nation that has never been? A nation that has never been in the history of the world, a nation made up of other nations. A nation that is truly multi-racial, multi-faith, multi-cultural, where power is shared and we strive to protect the dignity, the wellness, the safety of all. Or will we continue to descend into a kind of civil war? Into a power struggle with those who want to return America to a past where only a certain class of people hold dominion.

This power struggle has been going on for a very long time in this country. The founders of our nation crafted the US constitution to consolidate power for white Christian men of an elite class. The rest of us were simply not counted in “We the people...” .....
And yet the founders had invoked words that even they could not constrain: justice, freedom, equality, the guarantee of life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. These were magical words that ...seized the imagination of people for whom they were never meant. In every generation, black and brown people, and white accomplices have risen up in movements to unleash the magic of these words, to bleed for these words, to expand these words so “We the people” would include more and more and more of us.

This brings me to you. These last four years, you have wept, and prayed, and grieved, and marched and raged, and fought and now you have voted and gotten out the vote. Now I ask you to stay in the labor. Stay in the labor with love. Because America, our America is a nation that is still waiting to be born, and the only way that we will birth that nation is if we do so with love.

Love calls us to look on the face of anyone and say you are a part of me I do not yet know. Love calls us to be brave with our grief and take in those wounded and neglected and abused, as our own flesh and blood. To harness our rage in the face of injustice because the purpose of divine rage is not vengeance, but to reorder the world. Love refuses to leave anyone outside our circle of care. For we are one family, even those who vote against us. For the only way we will birth an America for all is if we leave no one behind. So let us vow to be brave with our love, love for others and love for ourselves. For you matter. Your life matters and the only way we will last is if we let joy into our bodies and breath. Sing, dance, breathe, rejoice, let joy in. Joy will give us the energy for that long labor ahead. Laboring with love and with joy is the meaning of life.

The vision of America as a nation still waiting to be born has animated the creative work of black activists and artists for many decades, like Langston Hughes, Dr. Vincent Harding, Maya Angelou and many others. In his book Is America Possible?, Harding wrote: 

It is precisely in a period of great spiritual and societal hunger like our own that we most need to open minds, hearts, and memories to those times when women and men actually dreamed of new possibilities for our nation, for our world, and for their own lives. It is now that we may be able to convey the stunning idea that dreams, imagination, vision, and hope are actually powerful mechanisms in the creation of new realities—especially when the dreams go beyond speeches and songs to become embodied; to take on flesh, in real, hard places.

Still, oppressive structures, ideologies and beliefs that have existed for centuries can become so embedded within us, that they take on an aura of inevitability.  When this happens, our moral imagination is sapped or disabled in ways we are not even aware of.  I recommend that people who have not already, read the book Caste by Isabel Wilkerson.  Wilkerson resurrects the concept of ‘caste hierarchy’ to describe how the dominant white caste, living under the illusion of innate superiority, have used power and terror to keep African Americans in the bottom tier, deemed innately inferior: exploited physically, economically, legally and socially. She shares many stories that describe vividly the ways in which this hierarchy gets internalized psychologically and enacted in social relationships of all kinds.  She explores parallels, overlaps, similarities and shared origins of how an American caste system was constructed and continues to shape our common life in America, differently, but not differently enough, from India and Nazi Germany.  

After the election, I read the words of Ruby Sales, the well-known black activist, who at the age of 6, was the first child to integrate into an all-white elementary school in New Orleans. Ruby is now a 72 yo woman, still an activist, who has dedicated her life to working for social and racial justice. And yet even a courageous activist like Ruby had her vision temporarily occluded because of how caste can get embedded in our souls, how powerful despair can be and how easily we can slide toward it. Listen for the shift in her perspective as she ponders the results of our recent election. Her words were enormously helpful to me, and might well be for you, because, after the election, my vision was distorted in much the same way as hers...until I read her words. 

It is another end of a long and emotional day. Yet this day was different from all other ones in the last four years. Hope is everywhere because we have come through four years of unimaginable despair and grief..... However we are headed towards a new tomorrow where a new horizon dawns.
Yesterday I could not see the clearing, and I slumped for a moment as I focused my eyes on the fact that 55% of White women .... and 58% of White men voted ...[for things to continue as they have for these four years.] These stats captured my mind and spirit. [This is a slight adaptation of her words, altered to leave out he who shall not be named] 
My sight was narrowed by despair because I looked at these stats through the White gaze. It was one that extols and reinforces the power of Whiteness and raises it up to the normative majority even when it is the weakened minority.
In doing so, I diminished our collective power while making us invisible. Instead, I centered White lives rather than our diverse lives. Consequently, I overlooked the important point that the 55% and 58% of White women and men did not represent the total universe of men and women (in America). Rather these statistics only represent a high percentage within White America instead of the broadness of a diverse multi-ethnic and intergenerational America.
Because I fell into this trap of making this group my reference and starting point, I missed the significant and most hopeful meaning of the moment which was right before my eyes in clear sight. It is the new 21st century multiethnic coalition which is larger and ... (more) democratized .....


40% of White men voted for change
43% of White women voted for change
80% of Black men voted for change
91% of Black women voted for change
61% of Latinx men voted for change
70% of Latinx women Voted for change
60% additional races of color voted for change

.... This coalition of men, women, multi-ethnic and intergenerational formation is the evidence of a new 21 century community coalition that destabilizes White supremacy. This new community .... sets in motion the concrete manifestation of a dream that flows toward a multi-ethnic democracy. It is in this new story and vision that we find hope. ...This is the hope to which we must hitch our work. It is this hope that has galvanized generations of Americans who kept on working towards it even in the nation’s worst moments.”

As we gather tonight, on the 3rd night of Hanukkah, it is important to connect with the energy of this holy season and remind ourselves, as Rabbi Arthur Waskow reminds us, that: “Hanukkah was created in a time of resisting tyranny and honoring the resistance with a teaching and a practice: “Not by might and not by power, but by My Spirit, says the Breath of Life.” And the proof of the efficacy of that practice is that One day’s energy, one day’s olive oil, met eight days’ needs! If we resist tyranny and refuse to worship idols, we could learn how to make sure that it could take only a minimum of nature’s energy to serve us... we (can) and need to create social systems that not only sustain us but allow for us and the Earth we’re harvesting to mutually sustain one another. Forever.”

As we continue to light Hanukkah candles this week and celebrate the power of faith and even the possibility of miracles, may we remember that ‘hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a practice that becomes spiritual muscle memory.” (Krista Tippet) 

May the light of these holy days help us see with new eyes, as we find the strength and courage to bring forth the world we hope to live into and pass on to our children and grandchildren, an Olam Chadash. May it be so.

Questions for small group discussion: 

Think of a situation, personal, communal or societal, which is calling for change:

What is the direction in which you would like things to move or what values would you like to express?

If you assume the stance of hope as an ethical imperative, what steps or action could you take that would be in alignment with your hoped-for outcome?

If you are already engaged in working toward an Olam Chadash, please share your experience: how is it changing you? What learning and new perspectives are you developing? Where do you imagine moving next? What experiences have you had through which you felt yourself being part of a force for greater than yourself for good, for justice, for compassion?

Closing song: 

We Shall be Known by Karisha Longaker of MaMuse

We shall be known by the company we keep
By the ones who circle round to tend these fires
We shall be known by the ones who sow and reap
The seeds of change, alive from deep within the earth

It is time now, it is time now that we thrive
It is time we lead ourselves into the well
It is time now, and what a time to be alive
In this Great Turning we shall learn to lead in love
In this Great Turning we shall learn to lead in love

Tuesday, October 20, 2020

Zekie Lieberman's Original Compositions: Adon Olam and Ein Keloheinu

Zekie worked with his tutor Rena Branson and created original music. We all look forward to singing with Zekie and Rena in person one day soon!

Zekie Lieberman's Bar Mitzvah Derash on Bereshit

Mazel tov, Zekie and to your parents Beth Janus and Seth Lieberman, and your sister Nami. We are so proud of you!

Here is Zeke's Davar Torah.

Shabbat shalom. When I was reading through my Torah portion, I noticed something peculiar. Two times, God asked questions, probably already knowing the answers. This captured my attention because why would God ask these interrogations if God is all-knowing? Is there some deeper meaning behind them? The first instance is after Adam and Eve eat from the Tree of Knowledge. God asks Adam where he is and Adam says he heard God and because he is naked, he hides. With only this one question, God asks Adam if he ate from the Tree of Knowledge. But why does God have to question? The second time is after Cain kills Abel. God asks Cain where Abel is. Cain then says, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”. This time God’s response is even more puzzling. God blames Cain when all he has done is ask if he is in charge of his brother. God is correct, but once again, why does God ask and jump to conclusions so quickly? Today, I will be exploring the possibilities of God’s perplexing and repetitive actions. Are there any other times in the Tanach when this happens? Let’s find out.

            What I discovered is that yes, there are many instances when God or God’s angels do something like this. One time this occurs is in Jonah. After God decides not to kill the people of Ninevah, Jonah says that he’d rather die than see the people not get punished. Next, God proceeds to ask what is wrong, when quite frankly, it is obvious! Another example of this is in Vayera. Hagar’s baby almost dies, and God asks what’s wrong. If a friend of yours almost loses someone close, you wouldn’t ask them what’s wrong. If anyone should know social cues, it should be God. Plus, God should have nothing to learn; God should know what’s wrong. But God always has reasons for God’s actions. An additional time is in Vayishlach. After wrestling with God’s Angel, the angel renames Jacob to Israel. Jacob then asks what the Angel’s name is. The angel asks why Jacob would ask. If someone wrestles you and renames you, wouldn’t you want to know his or her name? 

            We know God as an all-powerful, tells-you-what-to-do, serious being. It doesn’t seem like God is the type to laugh. Or so we think. I believe that God is being sarcastic. But this is not just humor, it’s humor with a deeper meaning. God’s strange questions are God’s way of conveying something to us—in these cases, that God is not always so formal. True, God’s questions do not seem like sarcasm, but the Torah would never say, “Gee, I wonder where Adam is.”. Sometimes, we can overlook these moments because the Torah’s way of expressing sarcasm is different, but we have to remember that this position is critical to our understanding of the Torah. 

            Sometimes people today use satire to open a new perspective on people or things. There is a YouTuber named Rob Lopez who made a video about if Airpods commercials were honest. He highlights all the unnecessary features: how they are lost easily, how they fall out of your ear, and most importantly how incredibly overpriced they are. Although the delivery was humorous, it questions why so many people buy this unnecessary product to go into a rich guy’s wallet when there people dying on the streets from hunger. Also, I saw a Key & Peele skit about if teachers got treated like football players. The skit went into an imaginary world where teachers got paid millions a year, there were teacher drafts, and the teacher’s choices of who to call on were competitive. Even though this was comical, it got me thinking. Why do football players get so much more attention? Should we do something about it? This is another example where comedy opened my eyes. Before watching this, I hadn’t really put much thought into it, but it gave me a new perspective.

Now that we think we have the answer, what should we learn from it? What we acquire from this is a more authentic relationship with God. We can look at God as more of someone to relate to, instead of an all-powerful, above us being. Sure, we still need God as our leader, but we will be more likely to want to follow God as someone slightly like us. This makes God more of a friend, as well as a leader. God is already different enough from us that we can distinguish, but this is a slight overlap in personality. After watching the fake Airpods commercial, we are still going to keep using Apple products, but we might rethink why we need all this. Maybe not get every single model every single year—a more authentic relationship with the products we buy. Relating to the Key & Peele sketch, people are not going to all of a sudden stop watching sports, but maybe we can advocate for teachers! There is so much we can learn from satire, even if it first doesn’t seem like it has a deeper meaning. 

For my mitzvah project, my sister Nami and I are creating another way to learn. We want to create an app that will help people decrease their animal product consumption. We know it’s unrealistic to make everyone vegan because it’s intimidating to change your diet so drastically, but if everyone ate slightly less meat and dairy, it would save hundreds of thousands, even millions, of animals. It would also significantly improve climate change. Users will log their food intake and the app gives them a “reduction score”. Whether you are a vegetarian looking to have a little less milk, or a big meat-eater trying to decrease your red meat consumption, the app will help you improve. In addition, the app may include a social aspect, so users can compare scores with their friends, family, or even complete strangers. Users will also be able to earn coupons to vegan or vegan-friendly restaurants or products. While Nami is exploring the coding side, I am focusing on the business side. Whether you want to reduce animal product consumption to help animals, help the planet, or improve your health, SaveDatCow will work for you.

I’d like to thank Rabbi Adam for helping with my D’var Torah, Rena for teaching me the material for today, all the relatives and friends that came here in person, and all the relatives and friends that came through Zoom. I’d also like to thank my sister Nami for helping with the app, the slideshow, and the siddur. Finally, a huge thank you to my parents for organizing the whole event.


Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Tazria-Metzora 5780 - mid-Pandemic

Maria Pulzetti | Reconstructing Judaism  Tazria-Metzora 5780, Minyan Dorshei Derekh
Maria Pulzetti

I’m sorry I’m not in the service with you today.  I miss sharing Shabbat services with all of you, but I’ve chosen, for now, not to use screens or electronics on Shabbat per my longtime practice.  Thank you so much to Tamara for offering to deliver this d’var, which I had agreed to do a couple of months ago, before I realized I would not be able to do so in person.

Here we are in late April 2020, reading this week’s double parsha, Tazria-Metzora, where the Torah sets forth the rules for certain situations – some extremely common, some less so – when a person has to limit contact with others.  The Torah calls this a state of tamei, which we can translate (inadequately) as ritual impurity.  In this state a person can’t touch other people or sanctified objects or porous food containers; clothing, bedding or furniture may require washing if they come into contact with that person; the person can’t go to the Mishkan, the place for communal worship; the person must wash with water; and in the most severe version, the affected person has to live apart from the community.    

It all sounds so familiar.

For all these circumstances, the Torah also sets forth procedures for returning people and objects to a regular, tahor, state.  I want to focus our discussion today on what it means to have a prescribed, routine means of transitioning from a state of limited contact to a state of reintegration, and on the particular reintegration ritual for a person separated from the community due to serious disease.
The ways that a person becomes tamei include childbirth, a skin affliction we’ll call leprosy, menstruation, seminal emission, sex, and irregular male or female discharge.  These are not obscure circumstances!  Menstruating women, couples who’d had sex the prior night, anyone who’d given birth in the past several weeks -- the restrictions on contact were not for a tiny group of the disfavored or most vulnerable people.  On some level the restrictions would fall upon almost every adult at some point, and presumably a pretty high percentage of the population on any given day. 

As I mentioned earlier, the Torah sets forth a reintegration ritual for each situation.  There is always a way to end the state of tamei and return to a state of tahor (ritual access, or the absence of social distancing).  In fact the text is more preoccupied with the return ritual than with the state of tamei itself.  For all of the conditions except leprosy, the Torah specifies an amount of time when the tamei state ends and the ritual may be performed.  For many of the conditions except childbirth, the period is 7 days.  Some of the rituals are private (for instance, bathing in water, washing one’s clothes), and some have a public component requiring sacrifices to be brought to the Mishkan.  The separation from regular contact is thus time-limited and predictable.  Being in a state of tamei is common, short, and fixable.
Reading the text this year, I was drawn to the description of treatment of people with the skin affliction we’ll call leprosy.  The sick person, whose condition is diagnosed by the kohen, has to live outside the camp until the kohen declares that the person has recovered.  Unlike the other conditions, this state of tamei does not have a fixed end date.  The open-ended timeline, the separation from community and from family, the potentially life-threatening illness, and the reliance on a powerful community leader to lift restrictions on mobility evoke so many of the circumstances and feelings we face in the coronavirus pandemic.  Some people will not heal and will not be granted permission to return, and they will die outside their family and community.  For others, the kohen will declare them recovered, and they will reintegrate.

The reintegration ritual is striking.  First the priest prepares a liquid of bird blood and red dye and sprinkles it on the person; the person then bathes, washes clothes, and shaves.  At this point the person may reenter the camp, but must remain outside their tent for seven days.  On the eighth day, the person goes to the Mishkan to offer sacrifices.  (The text provides a less costly sacrifice option, birds, for people who are poor.)  The kohen must sprinkle blood from the sacrifice and dab it on the person’s right ear, right thumb, and right big toe.  The kohen also dabs part of the oil on the right ear, thumb, and toe, and pours the rest of the oil over the person’s head. (Lev. 14:14-18).  The person is now tahor.

This ritual with dabbing sacrificial blood and oil on the ear, thumb and toe occurs only one other time in the Torah: for the ordination of Aaron and his sons, the high priests.  Before that ritual, too, the priests were separated for 7 days.  The ordination ritual, conducted by Moses, included dabbing blood of a sacrificed ram on Aaron’s and his sons’ right ears, thumbs and big toes.  (Lev. 8:23-24).  It also included sprinkling the oil used in the Mishkan on Aaron and his sons.  This process sanctifies the priests.  (Lev. 8:30). 

Why is the ritual for reintegrating the person recovered from leprosy so similar to the ritual for ordaining the high priests? 

Biblical scholar and Rabbi Tamara Eskenazi writes, “Leviticus concentrates on reconnecting the persons who have been isolated and on bringing them back to the center.  The more marginalized the ill persons have been, the greater the effort to bring them back into the fold. . . . Leviticus 14 illustrates the tremendous investment in the social and religious reconnection and rehabilitation of persons formerly stigmatized and excluded by virtue of the disease.  The most marginalized, isolated person is reintegrated with an elaborate ritual, comparable only to that of the ordination of the High Priest.”  So the Torah is teaching us here that a drastic, stigmatizing isolation requires an elaborate reintegration.

The ancient rabbis associate the leprosy diagnosis with death, not only because the disease was serious, but also because the text states that the sick person rends their clothing, an act associated with mourning. (Lev. 13:45).  Because the recovered leper had been in a state so closely associated with death, ritual is necessary to reenter community.  This helps us connect the leprosy condition to the birth- and reproduction-related states of tamei.  Childbirth and acts associated with potential or foregone reproduction also bring humans close to the liminal stages of life, where the boundaries between human action and Divine presence blur.  When people approach those boundaries, too, a period of limited contact followed by reintegration was required.

·         For states of tamei that involved fewer restrictions than leprosy, the reintegration rituals were simpler.  What practices do we have in our community for concluding periods of separation?  What reintegration practices might we envision for emerging from the current period of separation?

·         What can we learn from the teaching that life-threatening illness, isolation and stigma require affirmative and elaborate reintegration rituals?

·         The ancient rabbis and later commentaries blame the sick person for contracting leprosy as a result of sin, in particular lashon ha-ra.  In that framework, the isolation from community is a punishment as well as a means to prevent contagion.  Despite advances in our knowledge of medicine, the association of illness with fault or moral failure continues today.   In what ways do we blame and isolate people with chronic disease [e.g. substance use disorder, severe mental illness, type 2 diabetes, obesity] that some in our society blame on moral failing?  How might we as a Jewish community frame an approach to chronic disease that promotes prevention and healthy behaviors but does not fault those who are sick?

Although the reintegration ritual for leprosy was unusual, one aspect of it is more common, an act that we associate with joy, abundance and G-d’s comfort: pouring oil over the head.  In the Psalm for Shabbat and in Psalm 23, the psalmists praise G-d for pouring oil over their heads.  In Psalm 23, this line is “You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”  May we find ways to ensure that all recovering from serious illness, and all reintegrating after a period of prolonged separation, experience Divine comfort and a cup that overflows.