 | Amidst spirituality's search for certainty, we can come to believe that some truths, perspectives, practices, methods and systems can't be questioned and can't be changed. In a sense, we turn them into sacred cows. But Torah teaches that there are no sacred cows. And in Torah's "Jedi"-like way, she does so using... a sacred cow. |
We all have “sacred cows” – ideas, perspectives and priorities seemingly so core that we clutch them tightly as inviolate. We assume them, depend on them, fight for them, and often seem to need them. Our sacred cows can be like bedrock, the ground on which we stand. In tough times, a challenge to our sacred cows can feel like a transgression against what we hold most dear, a disloyalty, a betrayal, even an existential threat.
In Western civilization, this "sacred cow" idea hails from two Biblical sources. The first is the Golden Calf that our spiritual ancestors worshipped just after the Ten Commandments – and we know how well that went (Exodus 32). The second hails from this week's Torah portion, which opens with a purification ritual using a sacred cow –
– except this sacred cow probably never existed... which begs some questions... which teach us a lot about our own so-called sacred cows.
The ritual begins by describing the sacred cow (Num. 19:2):
In Western civilization, this "sacred cow" idea hails from two Biblical sources. The first is the Golden Calf that our spiritual ancestors worshipped just after the Ten Commandments – and we know how well that went (Exodus 32). The second hails from this week's Torah portion, which opens with a purification ritual using a sacred cow –
– except this sacred cow probably never existed... which begs some questions... which teach us a lot about our own so-called sacred cows.
The ritual begins by describing the sacred cow (Num. 19:2):
| זֹ֚את חֻקַּ֣ת הַתּוֹרָ֔ה אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּ֥ה יהו''ה לֵאמֹ֑ר דַּבֵּ֣ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל וְיִקְח֣וּ אֵלֶ֩יךָ֩ פָרָ֨ה אֲדֻמָּ֜ה תְּמִימָ֗ה אֲשֶׁ֤ר אֵֽין־בָּהּ֙ מ֔וּם אֲשֶׁ֛ר לֹא־עָלָ֥ה עָלֶ֖יהָ עֹֽל׃ | This is the ritual law that YHVH commanded: Tell the Children of Israel to take a red heifer without blemish, on which there is no blemish, on which no yoke was laid.... |
Good luck finding one. Jewish tradition's standards for this red heifer (in Hebrew, פרה אדומה / parah adumah) are so exacting as to be utterly ("udderly"?) impossible. In midrash, at most seven such cows ever existed, even they are disputed, and none exist now. Which makes intuitive sense: isn't everything of this earth at least a bit blemished? Is anything perfect?
Torah’s lesson is clear: spiritually speaking, there are no sacred cows.
More than Torah's bovine “sacred cow” falls in this Torah portion. If God’s “sacred cow” was Moses’ total equanimity and trust, it fell when Moses finally lost his temper (Num. 20:10-11). If Moses’ “sacred cow” was certainty that he'd enter the Land of Promise, it fell when God told him otherwise (Num. 20:12). If the people’s “sacred cows” were Miriam's presence with water in the desert and Aaron's presence as high priest, these also fell: both Miriam and Aaron die.
Rituals, goals, resources, leaders – these aren't sacred cows. There are no sacred cows.
And yet we tend to treat parts of ourselves, our communities, our practices, our politics and even our spirituality as so many sacred cows – things that can't be questioned, things that are absolute and inviolate. It's as if something in the human psyche needs the comfort and inner protection of certainty – even if manufactured, even if false. Except that ultimately sacred cows don't work.
The Jewish idea that things mustn't change was itself a change, and a recent one at that For over 3,000 years, Judaism kept evolving: a Temple in Jerusalem reinvented nomadism. After the Romans destroyed the Second Temple in 70 CE, exile reinvented a Judaism without a central Temple or political autonomy. Talmud was a post-exile reinvention (and many of them at that). Jewish prayerbooks... Jewish codes... Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism... the 1700s Jewish age of Enlightenment – each was a reinvention. There were never sacred cows.
Torah’s lesson is clear: spiritually speaking, there are no sacred cows.
More than Torah's bovine “sacred cow” falls in this Torah portion. If God’s “sacred cow” was Moses’ total equanimity and trust, it fell when Moses finally lost his temper (Num. 20:10-11). If Moses’ “sacred cow” was certainty that he'd enter the Land of Promise, it fell when God told him otherwise (Num. 20:12). If the people’s “sacred cows” were Miriam's presence with water in the desert and Aaron's presence as high priest, these also fell: both Miriam and Aaron die.
Rituals, goals, resources, leaders – these aren't sacred cows. There are no sacred cows.
And yet we tend to treat parts of ourselves, our communities, our practices, our politics and even our spirituality as so many sacred cows – things that can't be questioned, things that are absolute and inviolate. It's as if something in the human psyche needs the comfort and inner protection of certainty – even if manufactured, even if false. Except that ultimately sacred cows don't work.
The Jewish idea that things mustn't change was itself a change, and a recent one at that For over 3,000 years, Judaism kept evolving: a Temple in Jerusalem reinvented nomadism. After the Romans destroyed the Second Temple in 70 CE, exile reinvented a Judaism without a central Temple or political autonomy. Talmud was a post-exile reinvention (and many of them at that). Jewish prayerbooks... Jewish codes... Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism... the 1700s Jewish age of Enlightenment – each was a reinvention. There were never sacred cows.
R. Moshe Sofer of Pressburg (1762-1839) That is, until the early 19th century. Rabbi Moshe Sofer (Schreiber) of Pressburg lamented the changes that modernity was bringing to Judaism, so he put a new spin on Talmud to ban further changes: כל חדש אסור מן התורה / "Everything new is forbidden by Torah." (Talmud taught that new grain couldn't be used ritually at certain times, but Sofer re-read Talmud to hold that nothing new could happen at all.)
Sofer thereby led schism between Reform modernization and what'd become Orthodoxy in response. It was his new idea of sacred cows that sparked denominations, thanks to his masterful stroke of irony. Even as Sofer taught that anything new was forbidden – that everything Jewish then existing was a sacred cow that couldn't be questioned or changed – he needed to invent that idea, because 3,000 years of Jewish evolution said otherwise. Only by creating this new idea could Sofer stop anything else new in Judaism.
Of course, Sofer's sleight of hand also was hypocritical: nothing new means nothing new, not merely the stuff he didn't like. Even more, as we've seen, Torah teaches that sacred cows don't exist. The whole of Jewish life teaches that questions and collective grappling often are good, healthy and necessary.
Which raises a big question. If Torah doesn't do sacred cows, then why does this week's Torah portion seem to send folks on a wild goose (er, cow) chase for a perfect red cow?
Maybe because each generation needs to confront and expunge our need for perfection and spiritual certainty: Jewish spirituality seeks encounter and possibility, not rigidity. Maybe we all need to confront and expunge our inner need for any sacred cow's ideological or doctrinal purity. Only the One we feebly call God holds that "perfect" space, and we imperfect humans can only begin to contemplate it.
I like to think that Torah's "sacred cow" story is doing a "Jedi"-style mind fake on us – a bit of sacred teasing to jolt us out of our need for preservationism and false certitude. Torah is teaching us that, in truth, we really don't need them.
Especially when things feel like they're falling apart (Moses, Miriam, Aaron...), we don't need purity, or any sacred cows. What we most need is to be together, moving forward together.
Sofer thereby led schism between Reform modernization and what'd become Orthodoxy in response. It was his new idea of sacred cows that sparked denominations, thanks to his masterful stroke of irony. Even as Sofer taught that anything new was forbidden – that everything Jewish then existing was a sacred cow that couldn't be questioned or changed – he needed to invent that idea, because 3,000 years of Jewish evolution said otherwise. Only by creating this new idea could Sofer stop anything else new in Judaism.
Of course, Sofer's sleight of hand also was hypocritical: nothing new means nothing new, not merely the stuff he didn't like. Even more, as we've seen, Torah teaches that sacred cows don't exist. The whole of Jewish life teaches that questions and collective grappling often are good, healthy and necessary.
Which raises a big question. If Torah doesn't do sacred cows, then why does this week's Torah portion seem to send folks on a wild goose (er, cow) chase for a perfect red cow?
Maybe because each generation needs to confront and expunge our need for perfection and spiritual certainty: Jewish spirituality seeks encounter and possibility, not rigidity. Maybe we all need to confront and expunge our inner need for any sacred cow's ideological or doctrinal purity. Only the One we feebly call God holds that "perfect" space, and we imperfect humans can only begin to contemplate it.
I like to think that Torah's "sacred cow" story is doing a "Jedi"-style mind fake on us – a bit of sacred teasing to jolt us out of our need for preservationism and false certitude. Torah is teaching us that, in truth, we really don't need them.
Especially when things feel like they're falling apart (Moses, Miriam, Aaron...), we don't need purity, or any sacred cows. What we most need is to be together, moving forward together.
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