Timeless Torah

The third Book of Leviticus, like all of its Biblical partners, possesses more than one name. Since time immemorial, Rabbinic tradition has referred to this book as Toras Kohanim, the Laws of the Priests. The reason for this is obvious. A great part of this work deals with the service in the Sanctuary; the sacrifices and various Temple ritual all attended to by the Kohanim. Indeed, the very law that distinguishes the priests from the rest of the nation is enshrined in this Book of Va-yikrah.

In consistency, this week’s Torah reading of Emor spells out the specific obligations and prohibitions pertaining to the priests in perpetuity. None of theses laws have any Halachic governance over Levites or Israelites, just Kohanim. For example, there is the rule that forbids only the priest from having any contact with the dead, save their immediate family. Whom they can marry, physical disfigurements and a host of other regulations are all carefully designed to create for the Kohein a lifestyle most suitable for kedusha, holiness.

The Bible itself reiterates this theme over and over again. In Leviticus 21:6 we are told, “They (the priests) will be holy to their G-d...because they present the fire-offerings.” The very next sentence repeats this mantra as in, “He is holy to his G-d...he offers the bread of your G-d.” Indeed throughout this section of the Bible and in others, this refrain is constantly heard.

And here we must ask ourselves: Is this holiness which is unique to the priests and is automatically inherited by the next generation something innate, irrespective of personal lifestyle? Or should we say that this kedusha conferred is an extra obligation that imposes stricter standards on the priests to conduct themselves in a holier way?

This very question has been analyzed by many Rabbinic philosophers, each of them shedding added illumination to a concept that has tremendous ramifications for us who live an Orthodox life in these turbulent times. This was brought home to me in a very pointed fashion at a forum of “supposed” local thinkers and leaders. Among the group brought together by a national company that does research for the government were various power players from the Republican Party, the police union, the media, a lawyer’s association, a non-profit group and several others. In addition, there were two religious representatives; a spokesperson from the Archdiocese and myself, Rabbi Denburg.

It was curious to observe that even among these men and women of accomplishment, there was nonetheless a hint of reverence for the clergy. This was not due to any recognition of who we were or how large our congregations happened to be, as we were in fact enjoined from using our real names at this conference. Actually, anonymity was stressed so much so, that the name cards issued were those of actors and actresses. (I ended up being Jack Lemon and for the rest of the evening everyone called me Rabbi Jack.)

So why were we being treated differently? Did our titles alone, Rabbi and Priest, merit us special consideration? Should we not have been deserving of respect only after they knew we had lived up to the responsibility of being teachers, spiritual inspirers and models of morality ourselves?

This brings to mind an interesting Halacha about the Kohanim. Upon leaving the Temple they changed back into their regular, everyday clothes. The reason for this is not because the priestly garments might get dirty. It was so that the people did not as a matter of course place the priest on a pedestal. What other purpose would these garments worn on the streets and in the marketplace serve if not to make the Kohein automatically seem holy? An attempt of this sort, say the Sages, does not reflect, “An honor to G-d, but the arrogance of man.”

Holiness thus does not stem from oneself. It is a product of one’s service to G-d. It may be the priest’s prerogative from birth to acquire, but acquire it he must.

In our day and age of spiritual paucity, many judge the external clothes one wears as the final arbiter of who is holy. Those with a Kippah, a beard, a wig, or modest dress are deemed by their less knowledgeable neighbors as automatic Rabbis and Rebbetzins. So beware of the pitfalls should you fall from the heights you were placed on.