Rashbi’s Double Standard – Emor 5785

Who has been to the city of Tzfat in the north of Israel? Tzfat, or Safed in English, is known as the “city of clouds” and is the highest city in Israel. It’s situated in the Golan and is famous for its artist colony, as well as its connection to Jewish mysticism. It’s one of Judaism’s four holy cities along with Jerusalem, Hebron, and Tiberius. 

One of the most well-known personalities of Jewish history associated with Tzfat is Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, or Rashbi as he’s popularly known. Rashbi was one of Rabbi Akiva’s students and is popularly credited, albeit inaccurately, with the authorship of the Zohar, the foundational work of Jewish mysticism. He is quoted extensively in the Mishna and the Gemara, and on Lag B’Omer thousands of people visit his tomb on Mount Meron close to Tzfat, which is also the site of a large bonfire- one of many- that is lit in his honor.

There is a story about Rashbi which, in my interpretation, is connected to our parsha this week, parshat Emor. To escape the Roman persecution against the Jews, both Rashbi and his son Rabbi Elazar are said to have hid in a cave for 12 years, living off of dates and carobs and spending their time in prayer and study. At the end of 12 years, the prophet Elijah appeared to them and said that it was safe to come out of the cave. However, upon doing so, Rashbi looked around and saw that the people were engaged not in Torah study, but in cultivating the land and manual labor. In his eyes, this was unfathomable. Why would anyone choose to do anything else BUT study Torah?

As a result of his anger and antipathy, the story continues that fire started to blaze out from Rashbi’s eyes. He turned the surrounding land and its fruit to embers. Then he and his son heard a heavenly voice saying, “Have you come out to destroy My world? Go back to your cave!” They returned to the cave for another twelve months, and left it again only after they heard the same heavenly voice calling them to leave. This time, they came out with a different outlook on life. Seeing a Jew carrying two bunches of myrtle, rushing home on Friday afternoon, they asked him what he was going to do with the myrtle.

“It is to adorn my house in honor of Shabbat”, the man replied.

“Would not one bunch of myrtle be sufficient to fill your house with fragrance?”, they asked.

The stranger replied, “I am taking two bunches, one for the commandment to ‘Remember the Sabbath day’ and the other for the commandment to ‘Keep the Sabbath day holy.”

Upon hearing this, Rashbi said to his son: “See how precious the precepts of the Torah are to the Jewish people!”

I like this story for several reasons: Rashbi and his son’s dedication to learning Torah, the illustration that anger can be destructive, Rashbi’s changed attitude the second time he emerges from the cave, and also the tradition of decorating our homes with plants for Shabbat. (It’s also a tradition to decorate with plants for Shavuot, which we’ll celebrate in two weeks.) 

Besides all that, the most resonant part of the story for me today is that Rashbi’s willingness to make separation between people- between those who study Torah and those who (at least at the moment he sees them) do not- brings hardship to the world. Having such a double standard can be detrimental. Our parsha teaches in chapter 24 verse 22:

מִשְׁפַּ֤ט אֶחָד֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָכֶ֔ם כַּגֵּ֥ר כָּאֶזְרָ֖ח יִהְיֶ֑ה כִּ֛י אֲנִ֥י יְהֹוָ֖ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם׃

“You shall have one standard for stranger and citizen alike: for I יהוה am your God.”

This, paradoxically, is the inverse of one of the main lessons of Leviticus- that making certain distinctions is how we maintain standards of holiness. Isn’t that what the dietary laws of kashrut are ultimately about? However, when it comes to kavod ha’briyot– human dignity- there is no distinction with regards to preserving and enabling it. 

This is also true with regards to the law of the land where we live- a famous rabbinic dictum states “dina d’malchuta dina”– “the law of the land is the law”, interpreted to mean that Jews are bound to follow the civil law of the country in which they live. When it comes to basic societal behavior- how we view and treat each other- we’re no better or worse than any other person, whether they be Jewish or not according to the Torah.

This commandment to have one standard for Jews and non-Jews alike is given after a puzzling and disturbing episode in our parsha.  At the end of chapter 24, an Israelite man fights with a man whose mother is an Israelite and father is an Egyptian. In the midst of the scuffle, the one whose parents are from two different peoples pronounces the ineffable name of G-d, and is thereby guilty of blasphemy. The offender is then communally stoned to death. 

It’s a graphic episode that illustrates a communal dictum taught elsewhere in the Torah- that of lex talionis, or the law of retaliation, which is presented in an abridged form in our parsha: “fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth” (24:20). When we analyze this through a different lens, we see that it speaks to basic similarities between all people, despite all the other trappings of diversity. 

Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai longed for a society in which Torah was not only prized above all else, but also was the exclusive pursuit of the entire community. But Torah, as beautiful and as lofty as it is, is not meant to exist in a vacuum. We need both Torah and other human activity in the world.  

Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah famously teaches in Pirkei Avot:

.אִם אֵין קֶמַח, אֵין תּוֹרָה. אִם אֵין תּוֹרָה, אֵין קֶמַח

“If there is no flour, there is no Torah. If there is no Torah, there is no flour.” 

We can’t learn Torah unless we’re able to sustain ourselves, and we can’t sustain ourselves unless Torah is in our lives. Torah goes hand in hand with human endeavor to the point where parents are commanded in the Talmud, in tractate Kiddushin, to teach their children a trade. This is so important that the Talmud teaches: “One who doesn’t teach their child a trade is considered as if they have taught them thievery.”

Both of these things- Torah study and human endeavor- are necessary for us, and the world, to flourish. And that, I claim, is the more suitable separation we need to make, and not that made by Rashbi. It’s not about dedicating all of our time to Torah study necessarily, but making a kevah– a set time- for it, whether on Shabbat or at another time. Put another way (and I acknowledge that others may feel differently), consider Torah like you would a TV show or a movie that you turn on while you’re also doing other things. You could hear it in the background no matter what you’re doing, but it’s not necessary to ALWAYS sit down and watch with rapt attention (although again, yes, you should make time for this). 

Interpreted another way, doing things that are not specifically studying Torah, when done right, is putting Torah into practice. The Talmud in tractate Shabbat (127a) teaches: 

“These are the actions from which a person derives benefit both in this world and the world to come: honoring parents; performing deeds of lovingkindness; coming early to the study house in the morning and evening; welcoming guests; visiting the sick; accompanying the bride to her wedding canopy; burying the dead; probing the meaning of prayer; making peace between one person and another; and the study of Torah is equal to all of them.”

However we choose to bring Torah into the world- through study, or through action, or ideally a combination of the two- we should remember that there is more that unites us than separates us, as hard as it is to realize sometimes. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s making distinction between himself and others, despite leading initially to disaster, was one episode in a life that remains overall an exemplar of what it means to be a scholar. We can emulate his love of Torah, while also busying ourselves with the sometimes-banal tasks of life and earning our way in the world. That, I argue, is what it means to live a life of Torah. If we’re able to bring Torah into our actions that even, on the surface, are not “Talmud Torah”, or formal Torah learning, we still are making room for Torah in our lives and in the world. May we each find room for Torah, in whatever form it takes, learn from it, and then put it out into the world and our community.