Our Fellow Humans are Sacred Treasures Too
I learned so much about how we care for our most sacred objects when Soferet Julie Seltzer visited our community last month to do some maintenance and repair work on Kavana's two Sifrei Torah. So, it's no wonder that my ears perked up this summer when a rabbinic colleague relayed a story about how her congregation was reeling in the wake of the Torah falling to the ground at her synagogue recently, not once but twice. (One incident involved someone tripping and dropping the Torah -- it turns out maybe high heels aren't the best footwear for the Torah processional! -- and the other happened when a Sefer Torah fell forward out of an ark as its doors were opened.) She described that watching the Torah scrolls hit the ground was "traumatic" for the witnesses, who then took on a combination of fasting and Torah study commitments for a total of 40 days -- a kind of penitence for having allowed these breaches of respect to occur. Another colleague weighed in: "Can you imagine if it bothered us that much every time we saw a person lying on the ground?"
Indeed, this whole conversation got me thinking about how problematic it is if we value objects, even our most important ones, over human beings, who -- our tradition teaches -- are created b'tzelem elohim, in the Divine image.
It turns out this isn't a new thought at all. Sometime around the 3rd-5th century, the following story was recorded in the midrashic collection of Bereishit Rabbah (33:1):
R. Joshua ben Levi went to Rome. He saw there pillars that were covered by tapestries during the cold so that they would not freeze and during the heat so that they would not break. And he saw, while walking around the market, a poor man wrapped in a mat, and there are some who say, half of a donkey’s saddle. Concerning those pillars, [R. Joshua] recited [the verse]: Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains (Psalm 36:7). When you give, you pour forth abundantly. Concerning that poor man, he recited [the continuation of the verse]: Your judgments are like the vast abyss (ibid.). When you smite, you do so powerfully.
This text offers a scathing critique of ancient Rome: that brick or stone columns of buildings would receive better treatment than the city's poor residents! And, thinking about current proposals for a Triumphal Arch and a new White House Ballroom, this midrash almost feels like it could be an op-ed in a DC newspaper today. What is the point of grandeur if our society doesn't have its priorities in order and can't take adequate care of its people?
Texts like this midrash show us that our Jewish tradition is well aware of just how easy it is to become desensitized to human suffering. We tell stories like this one because we need constant reminders to center the values of human dignity, respect and compassion.
In addition to using texts and stories, religious practices like customs and mitzvot can also help us get there. For example, at the Friday night dinner table, it's customary to place a challah cover atop our loaves of bread. According to a frequently-cited folk tradition, the reason we cover the challah during kiddush is so that the bread is "spared the embarrassment" of being passed over while the wine or grape juice is blessed first. I've heard it taught that the purpose of this practice is to sensitize us to the feelings of others. The logic here takes the classic rabbinic form of a "kal va'chomer" argument (meaning, "light and heavy" -- that where a rule is true in a simple or minor case, it applies even more strongly to a major case): if we need a challah cover to protect the feelings of a loaf of bread, how much the more so should we take care not to ignore, embarrass or shame a human being! Through this lens, every Shabbat dinner has the potential to remind us of the centrality of human dignity, and how we should be treating the people around us.
Finally, I want to bring us back to this week's Torah portion, Ki Teitzei. In Deuteronomy 22:6-7, we read:
If, along the road, you chance upon a bird's nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over the fledglings or on the eggs, do not take the mother together with her young. Let the mother go, and take only the young, in order that you may fare well and have a long life.
Maimonides explains that, like human beings, animals feel pain at being separated from their loved ones. He writes: "This is also the reason for the commandment of shiluach hakein ("sending of the nest")... If then the mother is let go and escapes of her own accord, she will not be pained by seeing that her young are taken away."
Extending similar kal va'chomer logic from the challah cover to this mitzvah of shiluach hakein, we might conclude that if the Torah goes to such lengths to protect a bird from experiencing family separation, we are even more obligated to protect human beings from the cruel practice of family separation.
Unfortunately, though, we all know that family separation -- along with callousness, brutality, mistreatment, racial profiling, and other forms of legal overreach -- are all part of the U.S. federal government's "homeland security" policies and activities right now. Over the last few days, I've been reading about hunger strikes at the Northwest Detention Center (to protest inedible food and unsafe living conditions) and hearing more and more reports of ICE sightings here in the Seattle area, from Aurora Ave N down to SeaTac. Jewish tradition tells us that it is a mitzvah to prevent cruelty from happening to birds, so we certainly can't stand idly by and witness the cruelty being carried out against our human neighbors! Now is the time to organize, advocate, and act. There are many options: you can attend a "Know Your Rights" immigration training, get involved in a neighborhood watch group, or volunteer for accompaniment. You can also learn more about the many possible ways to help by attending the Jewish Coalition for Immigrant Justice's annual Summer Gathering on Sunday August 30th and/or support their mutual aid drive by purchasing backpacks, school supplies, and shelf-stable snacks for students in Tukwila, many of whom are associated with Riverton (meaning: these students are newly arrived immigrant kids).
At our Singing Circle this past Tuesday evening, visiting artist Eliana Light said that during the month of Elul, our aim is to soften our own hearts. Sometimes it's too hard to even look at the human suffering around us... but our tradition scaffolds ritual practices, texts, and mitzvot to help remind us of our imperative to do so.
By all means, please do show respect to the Sefer Torah, to a challah, and to the next mother bird you encounter. But all the more so, in this season, let's endeavor to extend even more respect, dignity, and kindness to every human being we encounter, including the ones lying on the street, the ones who others seek to ignore or humiliate, and the ones living in fear of the very real threat of family separation. They may be the most vulnerable in our society right now, but they too, are the face of God, and it is our obligation as Jews not to forget that and look away.
May this Shabbat of Ki Teitzei and this month of Elul draw us one step closer to the selves we want to be, so that we might build the world of our dreams,
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum
