 | We're all blemished – no exceptions. Yet in one of Biblical tradition's most vexing admonitions, only the physically perfect could serve as spiritual priests, as representatives of the people. Society hasn't evolved far past this spiritual no-fly list, its prejudices or its offenses to equal dignity. We miss out on the great gifts that differently abled persons offer. So why would Torah have a no-fly list at all? Maybe to hold a mirror to us, provoke our moral outrage, and force us to leap beyond ourselves. |
By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Parashat Emor 5784 (2024)
One of spiritual tradition's great blemishes is how it once treated the so-called “blemish” of some called into service. This week’s Torah portion shines this challenge in our eyes, dares us to flinch and calls us to make continuing repair.
In ancient days, a “blemish” (in Hebrew, mum) disqualified a kohein (priest) from sacred service (Lev. 21:17). Included on this spiritual no-fly list was anyone “blind” or “lame,” or having a body part “maimed” or “too long” (Lev. 21:18), or having a broken limb (Lev. 21:19), or scoliosis or dwarfism (Lev. 21:20) – now called restricted growth or being a little person.
How could our vaunted Western spiritual tradition, which purports to vision each person in the divine image (Gen. 1:27), also deem some to be unfit by dint of birth, illness or accident – and call the idea holy? Something – maybe several somethings – are very wrong here.
We like to believe that society has evolved beyond devaluing others for how they look. We may insist that we're so much better than that. The inconvenient truth, however, is that societally we haven't come nearly so far as we might imagine. Meanwhile, we might feel that noxious Biblical notions pollute spirituality. Another inconvenient truth, however, is that what most rankles us – even in spiritual life – can have the most to teach us.
A first inconvenient truth: It took until 1990, fully a quarter century after the 1965 Voting Rights Act, for Congress to enact the Americans with Disabilities Act. Now nearly another 35 years later, communities still trip over access and inclusion. Society has a long way to go to fulfill our professed values of diversity, equity, inclusion and belonging ("DEIB").
A related truth hides in plain sight: few differently abled people today serve in religion's pulpits (of any religion), or in government (our secular temple of democracy). DEIB lags far, far behind for the differently abled. It's as if the Bible's spiritual no-fly list still governs.
Surely it's not that differently abled persons aren't drawn to service, or lack talent or capacity. Yet in all my years observing, serving, leading and shaping community life in many forms, I know only one differently abled person who became clergy.
Why is that?
When physical appearance was imagined to manifest metaphysical merit, a “blemished priest" was imagined to taint a spiritual offering. Our distant ancestors wrestled this Biblical idea: they sensed something was amiss, but they hoped Torah’s words concealed a deeper truth. Some took a psychological approach, imagining that perceptible "deformities" would distract the public from the “holy” business at hand. Medieval rabbis found this "explanation" inadequate and, tellingly, wrote that "this matter requires further study.” The "answers" they knew no longer made sense.
In our day, we can add even more questions that tradition implied but didn't ask outright. Why would a benevolent Creator allow a “blemish”? Why would a benevolent God allow disability and illness, sometimes profound and catastrophic? Why would we imagine that spiritual service requires perfection? Why would we imagine that anyone must be perfect, or ever can be?
Albeit far too slowly, society is learning the unacceptably high cost of "perfection culture." Consider decades of body-image toxicity aimed originally at women and girls, now spreading to men and boys. Consider the toxicity of social media "compare and despair," a close cousin of the perpetual image-building hamster wheel of "keeping up with the Joneses." (Whoever they are, our social media friends and the vaunted Joneses aren't perfect, either.)
The so-called "blemished" among us includes everyone, so why exclude the inherently blemished from service? What, then, do we do with a tradition heard to do exactly that?
A second inconvenient truth. There's plenty in textual tradition to discomfort or offend our modern sensibilities – war, violence, discrimination and more. Torah not only allowed but also purported to require capital punishment. Unable to bear the idea of taking life, Talmud's rabbis evolved so many procedural requirements, each putatively borne of Torah itself, that capital punishment became all but impossible in Jewish life.
But if so, then why would Torah provide for capital punishment at all? Why would Torah purport to command something that Jewish life would render impossible? Talmud's answer (B.T. Sanhedrin 71a): לדרוש וקבל שכר / "Expound and gain reward." In Talmud's understanding, some things in Torah so violate other core principles of Torah that the conflict must jolt our conscience into acting.
Rousing us to conscience is precisely the point. We learn that even to the rabbis of Talmud, Torah – and spiritual tradition writ large – does not ask blind obeisance but rather authentic engagement, struggle and ultimately partnership with spiritual tradition itself. It is right that we wrestle: sometimes: the wrestle with moral challenge is precisely the point.
This kind of wrestling asks much of us. It asks an unwillingness to settle for easy answers on the one hand, or spiritual rejectionism on the other. It implies a vision of Torah, spirituality and our capacity to reach for ultimate meaning that can evolve as we evolve. It implies that Torah, spirituality and our capacity to reach for ultimate meaning can evolve, lifting us all even as we rise.
If so, then Torah's "blemishes" hold a mirror up to society's blemishes and our own, daring us to either like what we see or take a leap of collective transformation. Much as Talmud's rabbis couldn't bear capital punishment and took a leap of change over Torah's words themselves, it's long past time to do likewise with the differently abled excluded from full belonging.
If some of our ancient ancestors were unready for this intrepid journey, today we should be ready and clamoring for it. Covid should have taught us how essentially alike and physically vulnerable we all are. Through this lens, we have the capacity to redefine “blemish" away from the innately physical and elevate into leadership persons once excluded on that basis: after all, the differently abled have so much to teach and offer.
Maybe we learn that at the level of appearance, there is no perfection to be found. Maybe we learn to re-train our vision entirely. Maybe we learn that in these essential matters of heart, all of us have a “blemish,” and thus none of us alone can fulfill the ancient transcendent role of kohein.
Lacking a perfect priest without blemish, maybe today that role falls to all of us collectively – all of us imperfect, all of us partly unable except joined together.
Parashat Emor 5784 (2024)
One of spiritual tradition's great blemishes is how it once treated the so-called “blemish” of some called into service. This week’s Torah portion shines this challenge in our eyes, dares us to flinch and calls us to make continuing repair.
In ancient days, a “blemish” (in Hebrew, mum) disqualified a kohein (priest) from sacred service (Lev. 21:17). Included on this spiritual no-fly list was anyone “blind” or “lame,” or having a body part “maimed” or “too long” (Lev. 21:18), or having a broken limb (Lev. 21:19), or scoliosis or dwarfism (Lev. 21:20) – now called restricted growth or being a little person.
How could our vaunted Western spiritual tradition, which purports to vision each person in the divine image (Gen. 1:27), also deem some to be unfit by dint of birth, illness or accident – and call the idea holy? Something – maybe several somethings – are very wrong here.
We like to believe that society has evolved beyond devaluing others for how they look. We may insist that we're so much better than that. The inconvenient truth, however, is that societally we haven't come nearly so far as we might imagine. Meanwhile, we might feel that noxious Biblical notions pollute spirituality. Another inconvenient truth, however, is that what most rankles us – even in spiritual life – can have the most to teach us.
A first inconvenient truth: It took until 1990, fully a quarter century after the 1965 Voting Rights Act, for Congress to enact the Americans with Disabilities Act. Now nearly another 35 years later, communities still trip over access and inclusion. Society has a long way to go to fulfill our professed values of diversity, equity, inclusion and belonging ("DEIB").
A related truth hides in plain sight: few differently abled people today serve in religion's pulpits (of any religion), or in government (our secular temple of democracy). DEIB lags far, far behind for the differently abled. It's as if the Bible's spiritual no-fly list still governs.
Surely it's not that differently abled persons aren't drawn to service, or lack talent or capacity. Yet in all my years observing, serving, leading and shaping community life in many forms, I know only one differently abled person who became clergy.
Why is that?
When physical appearance was imagined to manifest metaphysical merit, a “blemished priest" was imagined to taint a spiritual offering. Our distant ancestors wrestled this Biblical idea: they sensed something was amiss, but they hoped Torah’s words concealed a deeper truth. Some took a psychological approach, imagining that perceptible "deformities" would distract the public from the “holy” business at hand. Medieval rabbis found this "explanation" inadequate and, tellingly, wrote that "this matter requires further study.” The "answers" they knew no longer made sense.
In our day, we can add even more questions that tradition implied but didn't ask outright. Why would a benevolent Creator allow a “blemish”? Why would a benevolent God allow disability and illness, sometimes profound and catastrophic? Why would we imagine that spiritual service requires perfection? Why would we imagine that anyone must be perfect, or ever can be?
Albeit far too slowly, society is learning the unacceptably high cost of "perfection culture." Consider decades of body-image toxicity aimed originally at women and girls, now spreading to men and boys. Consider the toxicity of social media "compare and despair," a close cousin of the perpetual image-building hamster wheel of "keeping up with the Joneses." (Whoever they are, our social media friends and the vaunted Joneses aren't perfect, either.)
The so-called "blemished" among us includes everyone, so why exclude the inherently blemished from service? What, then, do we do with a tradition heard to do exactly that?
A second inconvenient truth. There's plenty in textual tradition to discomfort or offend our modern sensibilities – war, violence, discrimination and more. Torah not only allowed but also purported to require capital punishment. Unable to bear the idea of taking life, Talmud's rabbis evolved so many procedural requirements, each putatively borne of Torah itself, that capital punishment became all but impossible in Jewish life.
But if so, then why would Torah provide for capital punishment at all? Why would Torah purport to command something that Jewish life would render impossible? Talmud's answer (B.T. Sanhedrin 71a): לדרוש וקבל שכר / "Expound and gain reward." In Talmud's understanding, some things in Torah so violate other core principles of Torah that the conflict must jolt our conscience into acting.
Rousing us to conscience is precisely the point. We learn that even to the rabbis of Talmud, Torah – and spiritual tradition writ large – does not ask blind obeisance but rather authentic engagement, struggle and ultimately partnership with spiritual tradition itself. It is right that we wrestle: sometimes: the wrestle with moral challenge is precisely the point.
This kind of wrestling asks much of us. It asks an unwillingness to settle for easy answers on the one hand, or spiritual rejectionism on the other. It implies a vision of Torah, spirituality and our capacity to reach for ultimate meaning that can evolve as we evolve. It implies that Torah, spirituality and our capacity to reach for ultimate meaning can evolve, lifting us all even as we rise.
If so, then Torah's "blemishes" hold a mirror up to society's blemishes and our own, daring us to either like what we see or take a leap of collective transformation. Much as Talmud's rabbis couldn't bear capital punishment and took a leap of change over Torah's words themselves, it's long past time to do likewise with the differently abled excluded from full belonging.
If some of our ancient ancestors were unready for this intrepid journey, today we should be ready and clamoring for it. Covid should have taught us how essentially alike and physically vulnerable we all are. Through this lens, we have the capacity to redefine “blemish" away from the innately physical and elevate into leadership persons once excluded on that basis: after all, the differently abled have so much to teach and offer.
Maybe we learn that at the level of appearance, there is no perfection to be found. Maybe we learn to re-train our vision entirely. Maybe we learn that in these essential matters of heart, all of us have a “blemish,” and thus none of us alone can fulfill the ancient transcendent role of kohein.
Lacking a perfect priest without blemish, maybe today that role falls to all of us collectively – all of us imperfect, all of us partly unable except joined together.
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