The person who wrote this piece is not the same one who is posting it. When I wrote it at the beginning of the week, I knew what I was going to write after just a quick glance at a few verses. Something kept me from posting it right away; maybe I missed the last minute pressure of finishing just before Shabbat, or maybe I felt I really should at least read through the parashah. And then, two days ago, a close friend and colleague told me that his daughter has contracted a multiple sclerosis. And then I finally read chapter 28... this week’s installment is dedicated to Deema bat Doris.
I don’t know if I’ll make it to shul this Shabbat, but if the synagogue I do go to reads the entire parashah, I won’t be able to hear shishi, the 6th reading, too well unless I’m sitting right next to the action (which means far from the women’s section, which creates another problem…). The traditional 6th reading, 28:7-69, is the longest aliyah in the Torah, but it is supposed to be read quickly and softly, so as not to upset the worshippers. Wrapped by eight verses of blessing that precede it, and a summary verse of narrative at the end, the core of the reading, 28:15-68, is a tocheycha (warning), telling Israel in minute detail the consequences it faces if it breaks the covenant. A difficult passage, not one for delicate ears.
This commentary, Netivoteha Shalom (Her Paths are Peaceful, not V’chol Netivoteha Shalom, All Her Paths are Peaceful (Proverbs 3:17), because if that were true, we could all go to the beach, with a lot of sunscreen, or better, long sleeve shirts, etc.) is dedicated to dealing honestly with difficult passages; unfortunately, mainstream Jewish tradition felt no need to shelter the listener from the difficult ones we’ve dealt with these last five weeks. In fact, in the case of ben sorer umoreh, the execution of the rebellious son (21:18-21) and ir hanidahat, the total destruction of the apostate city (13:13-19), where tradition mercifully declared that these cases never happened, nor will they (lo haya/hayta, v’lo atid/atidah lihyot), the only thing left of them is the telling: v’lama nichtav/nicht’va -- So why do we have these texts ? D’rosh v’kabel sachar -- Expound on them, and you will be rewarded. There is supposedly great merit in giving these passages the greatest possible exposure,or…maybe drosh/expound demands special conditions that torah reading as it’s practiced in the synagogue does not fulfill.
The texts that we have struggled with bespeak different values than the evolved Judaism we pride ourselves with today – and therefore we cannot simply sit passively and allow them to be read in the synagogue. We make such demands on our Christian co-religionists, regarding the Passion; shouldn’t we also be cleaning own act up? Reading these texts in a muted voice like a tocheycha would be a start; at least it would give a signal to the attentive listener that it’s not business as usual. But I think it would be better if we exercised our right to choose and simply read around these passages; these are weeks with magnificent Haftarot of Consolation from Deutero-Isaiah, and they could be the focus of the Torah service instead.
As much as I wished these passages didn’t exist, or had been tucked away in an apocrypha by earlier generations, I am not for ignoring or censuring them; they must be seen as a part of our journey and thoroughly and respectfully studied. We cannot afford to hamstring our access to our sources as they weave phrases from difficult passages into midrash (e.g. et biti natati la’ish hazeh in Tractate Kiddushin) and give them new life. And we must be capable and willing to approach others who have different sensibilities regarding these texts and engage them in dialogue. But in our own worship, these texts must not be celebrated, and that’s what torah reading is: pageantry, ceremony, choreography, melody; in short, a celebration.
There are some more difficult passages in Ki Tavo; e.g., while previewing the parashah at shul last week, 26: 18-19 caught my eye – I would not read those verses publicly. But I would definitely keep the tocheycha in the service. This week, if I’m there when and where it’s read, I’ll close my eyes, hold my partner’s hand and be grateful that we’re not reduced to eating placentas (it gets worse). We won’t run away from it -- we’ll rather find the time and the place to read it slowly and appreciate the tocheycha’s sad, sad description of the consequences of human failures (and maybe God’s wrath). They are so close to scenes from the Holocaust (remember, I’m writing from Germany…), but they are also going on in our own day, with the active participation of some of our loved ones and the collusion of our own politicians, to the benefit of our economic empire.
I’m closer to personal prayer than I’ve been for a long time. But here’s a public one for Ki Tavo: that the horrors that jolt us in sacred texts will not defeat us, and that we’ll find meaningful partnership in a community that has vision, takes responsibility and shares its blessings.
posted for Rabbi Jeremy Milgram
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