Self-image as destiny / Shlach Lecha

It doesn’t matter how much talent, strength, and ability you have if you cannot recognize it in yourself. What is more, when we believe we lack talent, strength, and ability, we are certain that the whole world recognizes the truth of our deficits. How many people’s lives have been obstructed and even devastated – or perhaps never even left the starting gate – because of inaccurate self-perceptions?

Three months into the Wilderness experience, and crisis hits. Moses sends out twelve spies – leaders of the twelve tribes – to reconnoiter the land of Canaan and bring back a report:

When Moses sent them to scout the land of Canaan, he said to them, “Go up there into the Negev and on into the hill country, and see what kind of country it is. Are the people who dwell in it strong or weak, few or many? Is the country in which they dwell good or bad? Are the towns they live in open or fortified? Is the soil rich or poor? Is tit wooded or not? And take pains to bring back some of the fruit of the land.” (Numbers 13:17-20)

Forty days later, the twelve spies return with this report:

[The land]… does indeed flow with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. However the people who inhabit the country are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large; moreover, we saw the Anakites there. Amalekites dwell in the Negev region; Hittites, Jebusites, and Amorites inhabit the hill country; the Canaanites dwell by the Sea and along the Jordan. (Numbers 13:27-29)

There are two ways to hear this report. The first is that the land is rich and abundant and the people who live there will be a challenge to conquer. The second is to hear the report as the Israelites did. The lushness of the physical landscape is eclipsed by the fierceness of its inhabitants. Terror fills the hearts of the Israelites and they are paralyzed by fear.

Caleb attempts to offset the pessimistic mentality that is going viral through the Israelite camp. He assures the people that they can overcome the inhabitants and gain possession of the land, but his words are too little and too late, because fear rules the hour.

We might wonder: if God has instructed the people to enter the land and take possession of it in accord with the promises of the Covenant, then surely God knows they will be able to succeed. This is, after all, the same God who overpowered Pharaoh, brought plagues upon Egypt, brought Israel out of slavery, parted the Reed Sea, and brought Israel to Mt. Sinai. Why would the people believe the report of ten men over that of God? How can fear so quickly and easily creep into their joints and souls and dominate their heads and hearts?

Perhaps the answer lies in the way the Israelites understand the report of the spies, and how it affects their self-image:

But the emissaries who had gone up with [Caleb] said, “We cannot attack that people, for it is stronger than we.” Thus they spread calumnies among the Israelites about the land they had scouted, saying, “The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers. All the people that we saw in it are of great size; we saw the Nephilim there – the Anakites are part of the Nephilim – and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” (Numbers 13:31-33)

Seeing themselves as mere grasshoppers, they are convinced that others will see them as small and powerless. The slave mentality holds firm. This generation cannot recognize their strength and ability. How often does this happen to individuals and nations?

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Change and Second Chances / B'haalotekha

The autumn is packed with holy days: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret, Simchat Torah. By the time they have passed, many of us are on holiday overload.

There is a midrash attributed to R. Levi that tells us that God originally intended every month of the Jewish year to feature a festival for celebration. But the incident of the Golden Calf caused God to revoke the festivals planned for the summer months of Tammuz, Av, and Elul. To compensate, Tishrei has two extra holy occasions. The third compensating festival was assigned to Iyyar and it is Pesach Sheni, which we read about in Numbers chapter 9 in this week’s parashah.

Pesach Sheni means “a second Passover” and it comes one month after Pesach. Pesach differs from other biblical festivals, where the “main event” was communal sacrifices. On Pesach, individuals bring sacrifices and share them with their families and friends. The one who brought a lamb to be sacrificed needed to be in a state of ritual purity (taharah). Anyone who had had contact with the dead (for example, by being present in the room when someone died, or by attending to a burial) and had not had time to undergo a purification ritual, could not bring, or eat, the pesach offering. Those who were far from home when Pesach came, and could not return to offer the pesach lamb, were also included among those who needed a “second chance.”
In this weeks’ parashah, the ritual of Pesach is delineated:

The Lord spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, on the first new moon of the second year following the exodus from the land of Egypt, saying: Let the Israelite people offer the Passover sacrifice at its set time: you shall offer it on the fourteenth day of this month, at twilight, at its set time; you shall offer it accordance with all its rules and rites… (Numbers 9:1-3)

Then we are told that those who could not participate raised an objection to Moses:

But there were some men who were unclean by reason of a corpse and could not offer the Passover sacrifice on that day. Appearing that same day before Moses and Aaron, those men said to hem, “Unclean though we are by reason of a corpse, why must we be debarred from presenting the Lord’s offering at its set time with the rest of the Israelites?” Moses said to them, “Stand by, and let me hear what instructions the Lord gives about you.” (Numbers 9:6-8)

Moses brings their concern to God, seeking a remedy:

And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelite people, saying: When any of you or of your posterity who are defiled by a corpse or are on a long journey would offer a passover sacrifice to the Lord, they shall offer it in the second month on the fourteenth day of the month, at twilight. They shall eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs, and they shall not leave any of it over until morning. They shall not break a bone of it. They shall offer it in strict accord with the law of the Passover sacrifice. (Numbers 9:9-12)

B’haalotekha tells us that those who, on the 14th of Nisan following the Exodus were tamei by reason of contact with a corpse or who were far from the Temple, are to be given a second chance one month later.

Today we are not concerned with tum’ah (ritual impurity) from a corpse because everyone is a state of tum’ah and we no longer offer the pesach lamb. Therefore, Pesach Sheni has no practical import – though there are some who make a practice of eating a bit of matzah 30 days after Pesach. Yet there is one observation concerning the nature of Jewish law, and one message I’d like to share with you that derive from Pesach Sheni.

The observation: this is not the only case in which ordinary people question a law, and after Moses appeals to God, the law is changed. The daughters of Tzelophehad question the justice of the laws of inheritance. Upon appeal, God changes the law (Numbers 27:1-11 and 36:1-12). Pesach Sheni and the case of the daughters of Tzelophehad strongly suggest that Jewish law must be flexible in responding to the exigencies of life, responsive to individual and communal need, which changes with time, and responsive to our evolving understanding of justice, compassion, and ethics.

The underlying message of Pesach Sheni – that we have a second chance – is crucial to hear and internalize. So many lives are lived under a cloud of perceived opportunities missed, dreams unrealized, failures that cannot be redeemed. But that is not the case. It’s never too late to forgive someone else, never too late for forgive ourselves. It’s never too late to study Torah or embrace religious traditions. It’s never too late to learn a new skill or pursue a dream. Food for thought this Shabbat.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

The mystery of the red heifer / Parshat Chukkat

On my desk sits a “red heifer” – in reality, it is a bright red plush ox with small horns, so quite possibly male. Close enough for a stuffed animal. It reminds me of the mysterious paradox of the parah adumah (red heifer). Torah tells us that ashes of the parah adumah (red heifer) alone affected ritual purification due to contact with the dead. However, those who came into contact with the red heifer’s ashes because they are involved in its preparation, burning, and cleanup, are made impure through this contact. I don’t pretend to understand this paradox. Even King Solomon, according to the Sages (Numbers Rabbah 19:3) admitted, “I have labored to understand God’s teaching, and have understood it all except the ritual of the red heifer.”

Here are the verses from Parshat Chukkat that describe the ritual of the red heifer:

This is the ritual law that the Lord has commanded: Instruct the Israelite people to bring you a red cow without blemish, in which there is no defect and on which no yoke has been laid. You shall give it to Eleazar the priest. It shall be taken outside the camp and slaughtered in his presence. Eleazar the priest shall take some of its blood with his finger and sprinkle it seven times toward the front of the Tent of Meeting. The cow shall be burned in his sight – its hide, flesh, and blood shall be burned, its dung included – and the priest shall take cedar wood, hyssop, and crimson stuff, and throw them into the fire consuming the cow. The priest shall wash his garments and bathe his body in water; after that the priest my reenter the camp, but he shall be unclean until evening. He who performed the burning shall also wash his garments in water, bathe his body in water, and be unclean until evening. A man who is clean shall gather up the ashes of the cow and deposit them outside the camp in a clean place, to be kept for water of lustration for the Israelite community. It is for cleansing. He who gathers up the ashes of the cow shall also wash his clothes and be unclean until evening. This shall be a permanent law for the Israelites and for the strangers who reside among you. (Numbers 19: 1-10)

How can something that is innately purifying render those who deal with it impure?

A wise and loving friend recently reminded me of something in another context that perhaps sheds light on the paradox of the red heifer. Someone who faces a medical, emotional, or personal challenge – one that evokes pain, anxiety, and fear –needs the “purifying” love of those closest to them. Love and support, however, are costly to those who generously give them; they absorb some of the pain, anxiety, and fear. Perhaps that is the cost of love. But who would have it otherwise?

In ancient times, those who were in a state of tum’ah (ritual impurity) due to contact with a corpse could not participate in the life-affirming rituals of the Wilderness Tabernacle or later, the Temple in Jerusalem, until they were purified. It was through being sprinkled with the ashes of the parah adumah (red heifer) – which brought tum’ah (ritual impurity) to those who made the purification possible – that the impure one could become pure again.

The sustaining love of those closest to us is as enigmatic as the ashes of the red heifer. It is emotionally cleansing and spiritually purifying. It is the touch of God. Could there be a greater blessing amidst such mystery?

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Returning to Sinai / Parshat B’midbar and Shavuot

Ironically, we begin reading Sefer B’midbar (the Book of Numbers) this shabbat. Shavuot, the occasion in our liturgical calendar when we relive our people’s sojourn at Mt. Sinai, where they received Torah and entered into an eternal covenant with God, begins this coming Tuesday at sundown. Yet before that, this coming shabbat, we read parshat B’midbar, which opens with our people preparing to depart Mt. Sinai after the revelation. Seems backwards, doesn’t it?

The Rabbis often explained difficult passages by saying ain mukdam v’ain me’uchar ba-Torah (“there is no early or late in the Torah”) meaning that the accounts in Torah are not always chronologically arranged. That is not our problem here (if, indeed, we have a problem), since reading Parshat B’midbar this shabbat occurs merely as a coincidence of our cycle of reading. However, it would have been nice to celebrate Shavuot – when we will roll the Torah back to Exodus 19 and reread the account of Matan Torah (the Giving of the Torah), and then the following shabbat read Parshat B’midbar.

This occasions several thoughts:

First, for Revelation to be meaningful, it might be sufficient to relive it publicly and communally twice each year – when we read Parshat Yitro (which contains Exodus chapter 19) and with even greater celebration and attention on Shavuot, but it is not sufficient to relive it personally and privately only twice a year. Revelation is continual: it is the ceaseless suffusing of Torah values through our lives so the direction of our lives and the choices we make are informed by Torah and in response to God. It’s difficult to maintain this kind of mindfulness, but there is much in our tradition to help us. Our Torah liturgy – each time Torah is read publicly, but especially on shabbat – is intended to help us achieve a semblance of that experience – perhaps as “booster shots” from one Shavuot to the next. Torah study can help us achieve the experience of Torah al levavcha (“in our hearts”). Private prayer and meditation is grounding for many people.

Second, Parshat Bemidbar begins with an account of a census taken in the Wilderness. Ostensibly for the purpose of determining how many men were available to bear arms and defend the nation, the census reminds us that Jewish spirituality is not a solo sport, it’s a group endeavor. We live in a society that promotes rugged individualism in every realm, from sports to spirituality. But Judaism is a team sport, and life is best lived with other people in healthy interdependent relationships. We count people to make sure everyone counts. The manner in which the Tabernacle was dissembled and transported through the Wilderness by many, many people, each of whom carried a critically necessary part, and then reassembled together, is a magnificent model. Torah comes not only from Sinai, but from the midst of peoplehood and community; that is why when the Israelites set up camp, the Tabernacle is in the center (see Numbers, chapter 2).

Third, for Revelation to have depth and sticking power, we need teachers who will open new doors for us and keep the experience of revelation flowing. For most of us, truly learning Torah doesn’t happen either automatically or by ourselves. Rabbi Yehoshua b. Perachyah taught Aseh l’kha rav, u’k’nei l’kha chaveir (“Get yourself a teacher and acquire a friend to study,” Pirke Avot 1:6). Parshat Bemidbar closes with a description of the election, organization, and service of the Levites, who were charged not only with sacrificial service in the Tabernacle, but also with teaching Torah and leading worship. This is a reminder that we need to find opportunities to learn that will stretch us, challenge us, and help us grow in Torah.

What combines all three observations? They all require effort and, and if we have isolated ourselves, breaking out of our shells and joining with others to study and celebrate.

Shabbat shalom and Chag sameach.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Slavery in the Torah / Behar-Bechukkotai

We close out the Book of Leviticus with this week’s double portion: Behar and Bechukkotai. In parshat Behar we find laws concerning indentured servants and slaves. It’s hard to know if we should be relieved and inspired, or chagrined and embarrassed. How do we resolve the contradiction between ancient institutions (such as slavery, but slavery is not the only troubling institution permitted or required by Torah) and the elevated ethical values that seem utterly at odds with these institutions?

We read in parshat Behar that Torah places restraints on the institution of indentured servitude, encouraging the redemption of one who, because of financial straits, must sell himself into servitude. Having known the suffering of slavery, the Israelites are prohibited from enslaving one another. We would like to see this prohibition extended to non-Israelites, but the Torah does not go this far. It further instructs that when Israelites are pressed into indentured servitude by foreigners, they should be redeemed by their families.

Torah does not obliterate servitude and slavery, which were rife in the ancient world, but rather limits them and continually reminds us to show compassion to others, strongly suggesting that slavery should fall by the wayside, For it is to Me that the Israelites are servants: they are My servants, whom I freed from the land of Egypt, I the Lord your God (Leviticus 25:55).

How can Torah, which teaches that each and every human being is created in the divine image, countenance slavery? Why didn’t Torah abolish slavery once and for all, in one valiant, dramatic, radical sweep?

It has often been explained that ancient agricultural economies would have collapsed without the staples of indentured servants and slaves. That claim was made far more recently when our own country faced the debacle of the Civil War in the mid-19th century. Torah, the explanation goes, limits slavery, promotes redemption of indentured servants, and lays a groundwork for eventually ending all slavery and servitude as a matter of justice and compassion, rather than legislative caveat.

And so we find in the Mishneh Torah of the Rambam (Moses Maimonides) the laws concerning slavery couched in ethical terms that rely on us to “do the right thing.”

It is permissible to work a non-Jewish servant harshly. Yet, although this is the law, the way of the pious and the wise is to be compassionate and to pursue justice, not to overburden or oppress a servant, and to provide them from every dish and every drink.

The early sages would give their servants from every dish on their table. They would feed their animals and their servants before sitting to their own meals. Does it not say, As the eyes of the servant to the hand of his master; as the eyes of the maid to her mistress [so our eyes are towards the Lord our God...] (Psalms 123:2).

So, too, you should not denigrate a servant, neither physically nor verbally. The Torah made him your servant to do work, not to be disgraced. Do not treat him with constant screaming and anger, rather speak with him pleasantly and listen to his complaints. Such were the good ways in which Job took pride when he said, Did I ever despise the judgment of my servant and my maid when they argued with me?... Did not my Maker make him, too, in the belly; did not the same One form us both in the womb? (Job 31: 13, 15)

For anger and cruelty are only found among other nations. The children of Abraham, our father – and they are Israel, to whom the Holy One, blessed be God, has provided the goodness of Torah and commanded us righteous judgments and statutes – they are compassionate to all. This is one of the attributes of the Holy One, blessed be God, that we are commanded to emulate: God has compassion for all God has made (Psalms 145:9).

Furthermore, all who have compassion will be treated compassionately, as it is written, God will give you compassion and God will have compassion upon you and multiply you (Deuteronomy 13:18).

(Mishneh Torah, Laws of Indentured Servants 9:8)

Rambam has faith that those who take Torah seriously, internalizing its values, will come out on the side of compassion and justice. August Bondi, an immigrant to Nebraska from Austria in 1848, was active in the Free State movement, which advocated that Nebraska become an anti-slavery state. The vote was stolen by heavily armed pro-slavery factions, and Bondi joined John Brown’s raid in 1856. Bondi survived the battle and continue to champion the anti-slavery movement. Michael Heilprin immigrated from Europe in 1858. A biblical scholar, critic, and writer, he was appalled by the infamous proslavery sermon preached by Rabbi M. J. Raphall from the pulpit of Congregation B’nai Jeshurun in New York City on January 4, 1861. A week later, Heilprin published a passionate editorial in opposition (you can read it here). Heilprin rightly distinguishes what Torah permitted in the ancient world from the values it inculcated and later traditions that teach us to create a better world. Rabbi David Einhorn was among those who did just what Rambam trusted many Jews would do. He spoke vehemently and vociferously against slavery from his pulpit at Har Sinai in Baltimore. In 1861 an angry mob threatened him with violent – tarring and feathering – and he fled to Philadelphia But he did not relent in the pursuit of Abolition. These three, and many more, fulfilled Rambam's expectation.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Flasks, wine, and bodily perfection / Parshat Emor

In this week’s parashah, we learn that in order to minister at the altar in the Tabernacle, the priests (the sons of Aaron) must be free of any physical defects:

The Lord spoke further to Moses: Speak to Aaron and say: No man of your offspring throughout the ages who has a defect shall be qualified to offer the food of his God. No one at all who has a defect shall be qualified: no man who is blind, or lame, or has a limb too short or too long; no man who has a broken leg or a broken arm, or who is a hunchback, or a dwarf, or who has a growth in his eye, or who has a boil-scar, or scurvy, or crushed testes. No man among the offspring of Aaron the priest who has a defect shall be qualified to offer the Lord’s offering by fire; having a defect, he shall not be qualified to offer the food of his God. (Leviticus 21:16-21)

The classical commentaries seek to understand each defect specified: Rashi thinks a boil-scar is scurvy. Nahmanides thinks the growth in the eye is a cataract. Gersonides goes so far as to say that any deviation from the norm is considered a defect even if it does not impair the individual’s ability to perform priestly functions. None thinks to ask a question that is obvious to modern sensibilities: Why does a priest need to be a perfect physical specimen of a human being?

Before we jump to condemn the Torah for its “ancient,” “primitive,” “outmoded” emphasis on human bodily perfection, we would do well to acknowledge that the ideal of physical perfection is as alive today as it was in ancient times. Each day we are bombarded with images of physical perfection on TV, in movies, in magazines, on billboards, all over the internet. Never mind that many of these are air-brushed images and hence a only virtual perfection. Every day throughout America people spend literally millions of dollars on products and even surgical procedures to improve their looks and hide their blemishes.

All this occurs simultaneously against the background of a growing realization that characterizing physical differences as “defects” is offensive. Moreover, the belief that there is, as Gersonides claims, a “norm” is often an illusion. Yet, Torah holds not only that there is a state of perfection for animals (Parshat Re’eh says they must be without mum, “defect”) failing which they cannot be offered on the altar, so too must the sons of Aaron who minister at the altar be without mum (“defect”). Torah’s dictate does not pertain beyond the altar: it applies only to animals sacrificed and humans who make the offerings. Physical perfection is not a Jewish ideal. Quite to the contrary: learning, wisdom, compassion, and a yearning for justice are Jewish ideals.

In fact, our Rabbis celebrated individuality and difference. Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5 tells us:

[Only one human being was created at first] to proclaim the greatness of the Holy One blessed be God because a human being stamps many coins with one mold and they are all identical. But the Holy One blessed be God stamps us all from the same mold of the first man yet each of us is unique.

Rambam (Moses Maimonides) in Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Berackhot 10:12, drawing on B. Berakhot 58b) writes:

One who sees… people with disfigured faces or limbs recites the blessing, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who makes people different.” One who sees a person who is blind or lame, or who is covered with sores and white pustules recites the blessing, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who is a righteous judge.” But if they were born that way [i.e. with the disability], one says, “…who makes people different.”

Rabbi (and some say R. Meir) taught us:

Do not look at the container but rather at what is in it. You can find a new flask with old wine and an old flask that does not hold even new wine. (Pirke Avot 4:27)

We must learn to look within, to see the divine spark in each neshamah (soul). Then we will glimpse the face of God.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

God and humanity: who's imitating whom? / Parshat Kedoshim

When we read Western literature we know just where to find the climax. It’s in the penultimate chapter, very near the end, with just enough after it to resolve unanswered questions. But Biblical literature is often structured differently: the essence is in the middle. Picture Mt. Sinai, its peak in the center. Hence many scholars have pointed out that the central “high point” of Torah – the Five Books of Moses – is Leviticus. Leviticus delineates the rites and requirements of the sacrifices made in the Mishkan, and later in the Temple in Jerusalem. Ironically, Leviticus has the least amount of narrative (only two small portions) and is weighed down with rules and rituals.

Leviticus itself has a fascinating structure, but for our purposes here, let us consider the book as another Mt. Sinai. The peak is chapter 19, which has been dubbed “The Holiness Code.” It begins:

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the whole Israelite community and say to them: You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy. (Leviticus 19:1)

The content of chapter 19 is a mix of laws that we moderns would say fall into various (and sometimes overlapping) categories: ethics, rituals, agricultural laws, social legislation, and business law. These categories are meaningless to the Torah because everything we humans do matters to God. There is no distinction between ethical and ritual laws for the Torah. It is all a matter of aligning our lives and behavior with God’s vision of the world as it should be.

The phase, You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy encapsulates a radical idea: we can be, and should be, like God. How is that possible? Is not God wholly other, completely removed, at a far distance from us and our world? Not at all! God is as near as the air we breath and continuous reality in our lives to the extent that we permit God into our lives.

Our Sages went further and offered and even more radical notion: Not only do we imitate God, but God imitates us! In the Talmud, R. Yochanan learns from a verse in Isaiah that God prays, muh as we humans pray. This leads to a question we might well be inclined to ask: what prayer does God pray?

R. Yochanan says in the name of R. Yosi: How do we know that the Holy One, blessed be God, prays? Because it says: Even them will I bring to My holy mountain and make them joyful in My house of prayer [literally: “the house of My prayer”] (Isaiah 56:7). It does not say “their prayer” but rather “My prayer”; hence [we learn] that the Holy One, blessed be God, says prayers.

What does God pray? R. Zutra b. Tobi said in the name of Rab: “May it be My will that My mercy may suppress My anger, and that My mercy may prevail over My [other] attributes, so that I may deal with My children through the attribute of mercy and, on their behalf, stop short of the limit of strict justice.” It was taught: R. Ishmael b. Elisha says: I once entered into the innermost part [of the Sanctuary] to offer incense and saw Akathriel Yah, the Lord of Hosts, seated upon a high and exalted throne. God said to me: Ishmael, My son, bless Me! I replied: May it be Your will that Your mercy may suppress Your anger and Your mercy may prevail over Your other attributes, so that You may deal with Your children according to the attribute of mercy and may, on their behalf, stop short of the limit of strict justice! And God nodded to me with his head. From this we learn that the blessing of an ordinary person must not be considered lightly in your eyes. (Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 7a)

Did you guess the answer to the question: what prayer does God pray? Are you surprised that God prays for self-control? What an exquisite and remarkable view of God! It is one thing to conceive of God as a model for human behavior, but here the Rabbis imagine human behavior as a model for God.

This is a dynamic view of God. This is not the God of Maimonides: the Unmoved Mover, the First Cause, the Active Intellect. This is a God who engages in deep relationship with people and the world God created, who cares deeply, loves intensely, and seeks self-improvement – teaching us to care deeply, love intensely, and seek self-improvement. You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy.

Dr. Yochanan Muffs writes in The Personhood of God (pages 192-193):

It is almost tragic that in order to liberate the religious from religion, the God of the common faith from the God of supernaturalism, it should be necessary to demythologize religious literature, thus draining off its poetic power, and to depersonalize religious doctrine, thus draining it of its educational power. A model of divinity that does not partake of personhood can hardly be expected to cultivate personhood in man. Further more, a boring and unevocative model, no matter how correct philosophically, is certainly of little “world-creating” value. The problem, therefore, of the modern religious humanist is how to demythologize the model without sapping its poetic force and psychological profundity.

I believe that many of these pitfalls could be avoided if we remythologized our theology rather than demythologized it. Fully realizing that the anthropomorphic God is to a very great degree a projection of man’s understanding of his own psyche (not merely of his own intellectualized and abstracted ideals), we must turn up the mythical decibels of the old personal God.

Parshat Kedoshim offers us a doorway into that process. Shabbat shalom.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman