Liminality, Betwixt and Between: Parshat Vayikra

THE END OF LIVES WELL-LIVED

On the last day of March, we were made aware of four deaths in our community. Although all four of the people who died were elderly, and their deaths followed illness, it is still shocking when one attends two funerals within an hour, makes three shivah calls, and at the funeral of one of our close friends, are informed that there is a fourth death, this time the sibling of one of our long-time members. This of course led many of us to reflect on endings and the life lived between birth and death. By coincidence, it was the end of the month of Adar, and also the beginning of a new month, Nissan. And on the same Shabbat that we heard about three of the deaths, we had a huge bar mitzvah for a child who grew up in our synagogue. It was a joyous occasion, amidst sadness. The weekend was one big lesson in liminality.

WHAT IS LIMINALITY

You might want to check out the definition of liminality in Wikipedia, as I did. The word comes from the Latin, limen, which is a threshold. I had to explain the concept for more than 40 years when I taught English. I would give many examples. Deaths, Births, Marriages, all sorts of rites of passage, from one stage to another. One leaves an old status and enters a new one. In a sense you get a new identity. For instance, since my husband’s death, I am no longer referred to as the rabbi’s wife, but as the rabbi’s widow. And I must admit, I am still not used to this new status. In contrast, when you get married, some women are still carried over the threshold by their husbands as they enter their new home. And let us not forget the blood on the lintels around Passover (which is coming around the corner). Without that blood on the threshold, the firstborn in all households would have been killed.  Blood itself is liminal, it signals both life and death. The concept of liminality is relatively new, developed in the early twentieth century by the folklorist Arnold van Gennep (d. 1957) and later taken up by Victor Turner (d. 1983).

During liminal periods of all kinds, social hierarchies may be reversed or temporarily dissolved, continuity of  tradition may become uncertain, and future outcomes once taken for granted may be thrown into doubt. The dissolution of order during liminality creates a fluid, malleable situation that enables new institutions and customs to become established. 

We are a country in waiting. We are waiting for those who were kidnapped by Hamas to be returned. We are glued to the media, trying to make sense of it all—only to realize that there is no way to understand the core evil (chamas) in a group of people who have no decency, shame or even humanity. We sigh a lot. We keep busy, each in our way. We are in a liminal state, betwixt and between, on the threshold, one foot in life, the other in the grave. We attend funerals and visit people who are sitting shivah (for seven days). We move between hope and despair. There is no way out—no endgame. One day at peace, the next day at war. One day we all were celebrating the beginning of the Torah, and the next day, the end of a life we thought we knew.

And  we are still in this primeval world, when light is receding from the world and darkness is taking over. God created both good and evil; I would like to believe that the forces of good will prevail. But now when we are in this liminal state, it is too soon to predict which way the wind will blow. At the end of the book of Exodus, we have God’s Cloud of glory hovering over the Ohel Moed. Our lives are insecure, in a cloud.  The forces of evil have gone too far; they have to be stopped, but the getting there will be arduous and a long trip awaits. The unendurable suffering has continued and there seems to be no ending from this liminal, existential state of not knowing. There is no God to provide us with road maps. Leadership is incoherent and threatening. This describes the uncertainty many are experiencing.

BEGINNING ANEW

There is also liminality as we finish one one book before moving on to the next. We finished the Book of Shemot (Exodus) and this week we are starting the Book of Leviticus (Vayikra).  When we end one book, there is often a verbal or topical connection that leads us directly into the next book, so that there is continuity. Are there verbal or topical connections that give us some continuity between books?  Last week’s parshat pekudei ended as follows:

When Moses had finished the work, the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the Presence of God filled the Tabernacle. Moses could not enter the Tent of Meeting, because the cloud had settled upon it and the Presence of God וּכְב֣וֹד יְהֹוָ֔ה  filled the Tabernacle. When the cloud lifted from the Tabernacle, the Israelites would set out, on their various journeys; but if the cloud did not lift, they would not set out until such time as it did lift. For over the Tabernacle a cloud of God rested by day, and fire would appear in it by night, in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys (Exodus 40: 33-38).

This week’s parsha begins as follows:

God called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying: Speak to the Israelite people, and say to them: When any of you presents an offering of cattle to God: You shall choose your offering from the herd or from the flock. If your offering is a burnt offering from the herd, you shall make your offering a male without blemish. You shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, for acceptance in your behalf before God. You shall lay a hand upon the head of the burnt offering, that it may be acceptable in your behalf, in expiation for you (Leviticus 1: 1-4).

PROS AND CONS OF CLOUDS

Here the obvious connection is the Tent of the Meeting (Ohel Moed). We ended Exodus with a description of the Ohel Moed and how Moses could not go into the Tent because God’s presence is in there. Presumably the priests would be able to see His presence. It seems as if God’s presence is also outside the tent, because of the cloud which was always in view for everyone to see (or at least to sense). It would seem in Leviticus that God is still in there speaking to Moses and that no one can enter the tent. Offerings have to be brought to the entrance of the tent. There is no mention of the Cloud! The altar will be outside the tent, but God will be able to smell the pleasant odor of the sacrifice from within the tent.

Is it good that there are no clouds mentioned in Vayikra? When we say that the sky is cloudy, we are in a state of uncertainty. Will there be rain? When we say the future is cloudy, we imply that we do not know what will be. It makes us anxious. In a country where so many people are suffering from direct or indirect PTSD we search for light, not clouds. When we have irresponsible governments, with leaders who are unpredictable, it is difficult not to be pessimistic.

Robert Alter’s words about the ending of last week’s parsha are prophetic when read today:

We have been left with a sense of harmonious consummation in the completion of the Tabernacle, likened by allusion to the completion of the tasks of creation; but the condition in which the Israelites find themselves remains unstable, uncertain, a destiny of wandering through arduous wasteland toward a promised land that is not yet visible on the horizon. The concluding words of Exodus point forward not to the priestly regulations of the Book of Leviticus, which immediately follows, but to the Book of Numbers, with its tales of Wilderness wanderings, near catastrophic defections, and dangerous tensions between the leader and the led (Commentary on Ex. 40: 38).

What I always found most interesting was that Moses could not enter the Ohel Moed when God’s Presence, i.e. the Cloud was in it. Did that mean that the Cloud was something physical? According to Ramban (Nachmanides) it would seem so:

AND THE CLOUD COVERED THE TENT OF MEETING etc. Scripture is stating that the cloud covered the Tabernacle from all sides, with the result that the building was covered and hidden in it.

AND THE GLORY OF THE ETERNAL FILLED THE TABERNACLE, this means that it was filled completely with the Glory, for the Glory rested within the cloud inside the Tabernacle, just as it is said with reference to Mount Sinai, unto the thick darkness where God was. It states further on that Moses was not able to come into the Tent of Meeting — even to the door, because the cloud covered it, and he was not permitted to come into the cloud. Moreover, the Glory of the Eternal filled the Tabernacle, so how could he enter it? The reason for this was so that Moses should not go in without permission, but instead God would call him and then he was to come into the midst of the cloud, just as He had done at Mount Sinai, as it is said, and He called unto Moses on the seventh day out of the midst of the cloud, and then it says, And Moses entered into the midst of the cloud.

It would seem that sometimes Moses needs permission to enter, and other times he is welcome. The comfort we can find in the Book of Leviticus is that the future will be less cloudy if we observe the laws and follow the rituals clearly laid out. There is expiation for sin—bring a sacrifice, and all will be well. You have a disease, separate yourself from the people, and then cleanse yourself with water and all will be well. I know that this is too simplistic, yet it is appealing, because there are answers and certainty. Sacrifice offers closure: and end to the liminal state.

While thinking about clouds and our mortality, because of so many deaths in our community, I recalled a poem that made an impression on me when I read it in college, many, many years ago. It was written by William Wordsworth (1770-1880) when he reflected on immortality, but was really a reflection on our mortality. I excerpted some lines and what led me to reread this was his use of the “clouds of glory”.

Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore; —
Turn wheresoever I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

            The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, wherever I go,
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor’s sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong.
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting…
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home…

The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man,
Forget the glories he hath known…
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave…

          To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed, without the sense of sight
Of day or the warm light…

To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

PHYSICAL BUILDINGS FOR WORSHIP VS. SACRIFICIAL WORSHIP

Wordsworth’s famous poem expresses for me that even though the Sanctuary was our home, the further away we are from our origins, that is, as we age, the “intimations of immortality” recede. Moses has just completed an important job, yet he is not invited  to be at one with God in his home. However, in the opening of Leviticus, וַיִּקְרָ֖א אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה Moses is called and is welcomed into God’s home.  In this book there will be less focus on building a physical space for God; instead, there will be practical laws and rituals. Is this to show us that we need both physical places as well as laws to maintain our traditions? Or is it an implicit critique of holy buildings?

I’m not sure if all of the sacrificial rituals and laws in Vayikrah solve the problem of intimacy with God. Yet the word for sacrifice in Hebrew is korban with its root קרב.  A korban קרבן is meant to bring us closer karov קרוב to God. Since Hebrew is a root-based language, there are many associations with the k-r-v/b root. To name just a few: relatives (kerovim); near or close to (karov); battle (kerav). To bring near (le-karev); soon (be-karov); innards of animals/people (kirbayim) gizzards (kurkevan). And if you want you can play around with the roots and letters, something called sikul otiot, and then you get grave (kever) and rot (rakov).

In a small country like Israel, we are all expected to make sacrifices (le-hakriv); we send our kids to the army. We are all related (kerovim); we often do not give the other space or time to express his/her views and stand too close (karov). We are perennially involved in battle (kerav), both external and internal. And if we are not careful, we will dig ourselves early graves (kever) for each other as the country rots (rakov).

GUILTY AS CHARGED

In the middle of the parsha we read:

If it is the anointed priest who has incurred guilt, so that blame falls upon the people, he shall offer for the sin of which he is guilty a bull of the herd without blemish as a sin offering to the LORD (Leviticus 4:3).

When I read this verse, I immediately asked “Why should the blame fall upon the people if it is the priest who is the guilty party?” This describes the way the world runs? Our leader is guilty and we suffer? When a leader sins, the blame falls upon the people.

Rashi on this verse writes:

When the High-priest sins this is the guilt of the people (i. e. it results in the people remaining under a load of guilt), because they are dependent on him to effect atonement for them and to pray on their behalf, and now he himself has become degenerate and can thus not expiate for them, wherefore they remain under guilt 

 A priest who sins, causes the people to incur guilt. How? By causing them to follow his lead and then also causing them inadvertently to sin. A sinning priest, who is impure (not through a deliberate act but because of some accident) puts the entire community at risk. His impurity/is catching and infects everyone. That is why he has to expiate his sin. He is responsible and accountable for what he has done. In its commentary on the verse “So that blame falls upon the people”, the commentator to The Jewish Study Bible writes:

Corporate guilt for the crimes of leaders is assumed elsewhere in the Bible. In this case, because the high priest is the representative of the people, his sins of commission are accounted to the people as a whole, and since he serves on their behalf in the innermost sphere of sanctity, his misdeeds contaminate the Tabernacle interior by his very presence there (p. 212).

It is time that our leaders take responsibility for their crimes, so that their sins of commission will stop contaminating all of our society. Perhaps in some rosy future, the wolf will share a bed with the lamb and all will be well. In the meantime, we can reflect together with Wordsworth who ended his poem as follows: “To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

Shabbat shalom