As you know,
Clara and I have two children. As with
many parents who have more than one child, we found that the two were as
different as night and day when growing up.
Both are in university now. They
both attended a Jewish high school, but up to year eight they attended public
schools. They were always two of only a
handful of Jewish kids in their various schools.
Our son always reveled in his
Jewish-ness. Whenever his teachers
invited me to make a presentation on some Jewish occasion in his class – as
usually happened a few times a year because I was the local Jewish chaplain –
he would take delight about his Abba coming to class to share with the
other children something that was special for us. Occasionally Clara would go to class to make
the presentation, in which case our son got to show off an additional special
possession: his Israeli mother!
But our daughter had a different attitude. She used to dread such occasions. She didn’t want to be singled out as
different from her classmates. And she
would be especially embarrassed if it was her Ima who went to class to
make the presentation. She didn’t want
her classmates to get a good look at her ‘foreign’ mother.
Many Jewish parents can doubtless relate to this experience. We want our children to take delight in our
unique traditions. But we don’t want those
traditions to seem onerous to them. And we
understand that children often loathe being different from their peers. Understanding how important it is for growing
children to develop healthy peer relationships, we try to minimize those
differences, and help them fit in and make friends.
And yet…in this week’s Torah portion we read: Be holy; for I, the Lord your God am Holy.
‘Holy,’ in this context – kadosh in Hebrew – means set apart,
distinctive, reserved for a specific purpose.
So here, in the 19th chapter of Leviticus, we’re told that
we’re davka to be different.
And the reason we’re to be different, is because God has a unique purpose
in mind for us – a special calling, if you will. If we are just like everybody else, how can
we serve a unique purpose?
Much conflict in Jewish life today, focuses on what this unique purpose
is. Traditionally, it is to serve as
witnesses to God’s Presence and God’s Love in a world of capricious gods whose
cults often terrorized their adherents.
In our day, in our particular Jewish circles, we often see our purpose
in other terms: standing up for the
oppressed, for justice, for ethical values.
There’s also ample conflict concerning exactly what form our
distinctiveness should take. Are we to look
different from other people? The
other day as the sun was setting over Surfers Paradise, Clara and I – wearing
indistinct street clothes – were out walking and passed Rabbi Gurevich, the
local Orthodox rabbi and several of his sons walking towards their shule for
the evening service for the Eighth Day of Pesach. They were, of course, all dressed
distinctively in their black suits and hats.
Anybody would know on sight exactly who and what they
are. In contrast, Clara and I were
entirely anonymous. I won’t say we felt
self-conscious, but it did get me to thinking.
Some of the specifics as to our distinctiveness that are detailed in the
19th chapter of Leviticus have to do with appearance: the way we groom and dress ourselves,
avoiding gashing of the skin and tattooing.
And they also have to do with occult practices: avoiding communication with the dead,
fortune-telling, and other forms of occult.
Well, there we go – to hell in a handbasket! Whilst Jews my age are probably only rarely
tattooed, I’m guessing that amongst those 20 years younger many are. So I don’t sport any “tat’s.” But…I’ve been known to amuse myself by
reading a horoscope here and there.
But also included in the list of distinctions, are things that are
likely to resonate more deeply. For
example, the practice of leaving the corners of one’s field un-harvested, and
of not gleaning the fields or vineyards.
For those of us not engaged in agriculture, we usually read these as
requiring that one set aside a portion of one’s increase for the less
fortunate.
So there is a principle beyond dispute; we’re supposed to be holy, set
apart, distinctive, reserved for a specific purpose. But the details of exactly what that purpose is,
and exactly what form that distinctiveness should be, are the stuff
of long discussions into the night.
And the important thing is that
we have these discussions.
Different Jews will arrive at different solutions to the questions posed
above. But we are used to a high degree
of ‘noisiness’ in Jewish life; we are used to having plenty of disagreement on
the details, even when we agree on the broad principles.
So what about my daughter, who when younger did not want to stand out as
a Jew? Thankfully, she got past that
stage. It helped that she attended a
Jewish high school. Last week, at uni in
Boulder, Colorado, she needed little prompting from Clara and me to seek out a
Seder to attend. And when we Skyped with
her later in the week, she was munching on matzo in her dorm room. Talking with her, watching her in the webcam
as she dribbled matzo crumbs on the desk in front of her, we thought: Yes!
No comments:
Post a Comment