The following dvar torah was delivered at Westchester Reform Temple as an introduction to the afternoon Torah reading on Yom Kippur 5777.
This afternoon, we’ll be reading a passage from the Book of Leviticus that’s known as the Holiness Code. As early as the 2nd century CE, commentators recognized that in many ways, this passage closely resembled the Ten Commandments. Like the Ten Commandments, the Holiness Code is a compact collection of instructions given by God to the Israelites on how to live lives of value and purpose. In fact, several of the Ten Commandments have direct counterparts in the Holiness Code: you shall honor your parents, observe Shabbat, you shall not steal, swear false oaths, or worship idols. Additionally, the Holiness Code ends in the way that the Ten Commandments begin: with a reminder that God brought the Israelites out of the Land of Egypt. With these many parallels in mind, classical commentators have often referred to the Holiness Code as an expanded version of the Ten Commandments.
But these many similarities notwithstanding, the Holiness Code differs from the Ten Commandments in one important way: where the Ten Commandments are structured and orderly, the Holiness Code is freeform and meandering. The Ten Commandments are organized around the nice round number 10—the basis of our counting system. The Holiness Code, by contrast, is rather unwieldy, containing the seemingly random number of 31 commandments.
In addition to the number of commandments, the two sets of laws differ in how they are organized. You’ll recall that the Ten Commandments were given on two tablets of stone: five commandments on one tablet, five on the other. The first tablet contains laws that concern humans and God—laws like: you shall not worship idols, you shall not swear falsely by God’s name—what we might broadly refer to as “religious” laws. The second tablet contains laws that concern humans alone—laws like: you shall not murder, you shall not steal—what we might broadly refer to as “ethical” laws. The Holiness Code, by contrast, knows of no such strict division between the religious and the ethical. It is a disorderly amalgamation of laws concerning every sphere of life: from worship to commerce, the legal system to family relationships, agriculture to social welfare.
But despite its seeming disorderliness, the Holiness Code does have a unifying message. The passage is punctuated throughout with the phrase, “I am the Eternal your God.” It is as if the Holiness Code is saying: “All these many diverse spheres of life—worship, commerce, the legal system, families—all of these are of equal concern to God.” Where the Ten Commandments creates a false dichotomy between the religious and the ethical, the Holiness Code teaches that there can be no such separation.
There’s a certain irony here. The word “holy”—in its Biblical sense, kadosh—means “separated.” A helpful example: the seventh day is called “holy” because it is unlike the other days of the week—it’s separated, distinct from the rest. Similarly, the Holiness Code should, as its name indicates, teach us how to separate, how to distinguish between one kind of action and another. And yet, both in content and in form, the Holiness Code teaches the exact opposite: that we reach for holiness not by separating one sphere of life from the others, but rather, by acting as if all parts of our lives were of equal concern to God.
We might say that the Holiness Code speaks the language of systems theory: that what happens in one part of our world affects what happens in the entirety of our world—that the way we engage in commerce affects the way we treat our families affects the way we structure our legal system. In this year of social upheaval, the Holiness Code reminds us that there are no simple solutions to problems: that police body cameras are no remedy for the implicit racial bias in all of us, that global terrorism is as much about climate change as it is about geopolitics.
Wouldn’t it be nice if our world looked more like the Ten Commandments: neat, clear, easy to follow? But despite their appeal, the Ten Commandments are the religious vision of our childhood. The Holiness Code insists on treating us like adults—insists that what happens in one part of our world affects the entirety of our world, that every action has an impact.
In 5777, let us hear the Holiness Code when it asks us: what impact am I making?
Kein y’hi ratzon.
This afternoon, we’ll be reading a passage from the Book of Leviticus that’s known as the Holiness Code. As early as the 2nd century CE, commentators recognized that in many ways, this passage closely resembled the Ten Commandments. Like the Ten Commandments, the Holiness Code is a compact collection of instructions given by God to the Israelites on how to live lives of value and purpose. In fact, several of the Ten Commandments have direct counterparts in the Holiness Code: you shall honor your parents, observe Shabbat, you shall not steal, swear false oaths, or worship idols. Additionally, the Holiness Code ends in the way that the Ten Commandments begin: with a reminder that God brought the Israelites out of the Land of Egypt. With these many parallels in mind, classical commentators have often referred to the Holiness Code as an expanded version of the Ten Commandments.
But these many similarities notwithstanding, the Holiness Code differs from the Ten Commandments in one important way: where the Ten Commandments are structured and orderly, the Holiness Code is freeform and meandering. The Ten Commandments are organized around the nice round number 10—the basis of our counting system. The Holiness Code, by contrast, is rather unwieldy, containing the seemingly random number of 31 commandments.
In addition to the number of commandments, the two sets of laws differ in how they are organized. You’ll recall that the Ten Commandments were given on two tablets of stone: five commandments on one tablet, five on the other. The first tablet contains laws that concern humans and God—laws like: you shall not worship idols, you shall not swear falsely by God’s name—what we might broadly refer to as “religious” laws. The second tablet contains laws that concern humans alone—laws like: you shall not murder, you shall not steal—what we might broadly refer to as “ethical” laws. The Holiness Code, by contrast, knows of no such strict division between the religious and the ethical. It is a disorderly amalgamation of laws concerning every sphere of life: from worship to commerce, the legal system to family relationships, agriculture to social welfare.
But despite its seeming disorderliness, the Holiness Code does have a unifying message. The passage is punctuated throughout with the phrase, “I am the Eternal your God.” It is as if the Holiness Code is saying: “All these many diverse spheres of life—worship, commerce, the legal system, families—all of these are of equal concern to God.” Where the Ten Commandments creates a false dichotomy between the religious and the ethical, the Holiness Code teaches that there can be no such separation.
There’s a certain irony here. The word “holy”—in its Biblical sense, kadosh—means “separated.” A helpful example: the seventh day is called “holy” because it is unlike the other days of the week—it’s separated, distinct from the rest. Similarly, the Holiness Code should, as its name indicates, teach us how to separate, how to distinguish between one kind of action and another. And yet, both in content and in form, the Holiness Code teaches the exact opposite: that we reach for holiness not by separating one sphere of life from the others, but rather, by acting as if all parts of our lives were of equal concern to God.
We might say that the Holiness Code speaks the language of systems theory: that what happens in one part of our world affects what happens in the entirety of our world—that the way we engage in commerce affects the way we treat our families affects the way we structure our legal system. In this year of social upheaval, the Holiness Code reminds us that there are no simple solutions to problems: that police body cameras are no remedy for the implicit racial bias in all of us, that global terrorism is as much about climate change as it is about geopolitics.
Wouldn’t it be nice if our world looked more like the Ten Commandments: neat, clear, easy to follow? But despite their appeal, the Ten Commandments are the religious vision of our childhood. The Holiness Code insists on treating us like adults—insists that what happens in one part of our world affects the entirety of our world, that every action has an impact.
In 5777, let us hear the Holiness Code when it asks us: what impact am I making?
Kein y’hi ratzon.
No comments:
Post a Comment