Humanity needs balance, not extremes

There is much to write about in Parashat Naso. The parasha describes the Nazir, the ordinary person yearning to feel closer to the Divine. The Torah directs him or her, in response to a binding speech-act, to refrain from worldly pleasures for a limited period of time. The Torah also obligates the Nazir, at the end of their period of abstinence, to bring a chatat, a cleansing of sin offering. The parasha also describes the ordeal of the Sotah, a woman who must undergo the public humiliation of drinking a potion of water, soil from the Mishkan, and a piece of dissolved parchment inscribed with Hashem’s name with ink. She must uncover her hair. If she were indeed an adulterer, the potion rendered her barren. If her husband’s jealousy was misplaced, then the potion had no effect. The Kohen proclaimed these outcomes, to which the Sotah must respond, “Amen v’Amen” before drinking. Indeed, this ritual was so upsetting that by the time of the second Mikdash, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai discontinued it. It is doubtful if the ritual ever took place at all. The parasha also describes the dedication of the Mishkan through its initiation ceremony. A leader from each tribe brings a set of dedicatory gifts and offerings, enabling the Kohanim to start their service, maintaining God’s presence at the center of Israel’s camp.

I prefer to read the episode of the Sotah completely as a metaphor. Perhaps we are all the Sotah. Building a relationship with another human being is so tenuous, so fragile. A misunderstood word, a slight glance, a misreading of a mood, can call into question the other’s loyalty. We are currently living through a horrifically escalating war in Israel, the result of decades of indignities, fear, and terror. Rather than leaders facilitating processes through which Palestinians and Israeli Jews would have opened their hearts and listened to each other’s humanity, they squandered those opportunities in the name of military power, or religious ideology, or facts on the ground, or unabashed hatreds. I fear the relationship can almost no longer be repaired; it might not have any future. In the language of the Sotah, the potion that Jews and Palestinians are now drinking is causing cultural, ethnic, and existential infertility.

The Mishkan, God’s sanctuary in the center of the camp of Israel, could only be constructed in a world that God would want to inhabit. If there is impurity, such as extremism that leads to the destruction of human life, the sanctuary becomes defiled and God’s presence retreats. Parashat Naso describes the dedication of that sanctuary. The Levites were tasked with the responsibility to disassemble and carry the parts of the Mishkan. Essentially, they were holy schleppers. Why would such simple, manual labor be holy? The Ramban, 14th century Spain, explained why carrying the individual parts of the Mishkan was such a sacred task. He described a way of thinking about the relationship between the object, the activity and the person. He wrote:

The Ramban’s explanation leads to his final comment: “so that no one would lighten his load by passing it on to someone else.” The Mishkan, God’s house, is only as strong, is only as stable, as those willing to carry it. And every one of the carriers must shoulder their responsibility fully. Carrying the house of God is a sacred task. And that task is hard, and heavy. It is weighty. It bears down on each individual, but is made possible through the willingness of the collective to participate in keeping that house stable and strong. Every tribe dedicated that house. They all made the same offerings. Every individual in the families of the Leviim were called by name. Every task was named. Every stanchion was marked for its place and function. The most delicate, sacred items were carried by hand, on shoulders and not in wagons.