Shalom l'kulum,
This is a d'var Torah, or "drash" that I gave today in the synagogue of the Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles. The verse being referred to is Leviticus, chapter 18, verse 22:
Several years ago, on Yom Kippur afternoon at UCLA Hillel as the same words that we heard today were read, a friend and I were called up to lift and dress the Torah. When we were called, we looked at each other with surprise—it was a struggle for us to come back for Mincha on Yom Kippur in time for our tradition’s reading, described to me as the reading to remind all of the shidduchim that were being formed on Yom Kippur afternoon of the laws of sexual boundaries. Still, whatever reason it had been chosen, it was, without doubt, an aching part of the Yom Kippur liturgy for both of us.
Yet there we were, and we went up, lifted and dressed the Torah, and kissed it. It was, for us, in our private way, a demonstration of our love for Torah even when the reading of a painful passage had the power to drive us away. It was, for us, a small triumph over our pain and our alienation, an act that in its own way allowed for us to be present and not entirely invisible.
Today we come to the same passages, and today, like on Yom Kippur afternoon in Reform practice, we have choice as to what to read. Our choice today is not an alternate parasha, but to pick ten verses from acheri mot. Given that choice, I intentionally chose these particular verses for this Beit Knesset, and not because I am masochistic or am interested in bringing pain to the kahal on hearing these verses.
I chose them because I believe that reading difficult texts, especially texts that are personally difficult, can bring Torah closer to us, especially for liberal Jews.
As demonstrated since Torah was first received, new understandings can strengthen relationships to Torah, making revelation an ongoing process.
In reading difficult verses, we are provided with an opportunity to develop new hermeneutics for understanding the text, thereby potentially evolving long-standing understandings and adding our voices to the chain of tradition.
Dr. Eskenazi teaches about exegesis with these words from Emanual Levinas’ “Revelation in the Jewish Tradition:”
I am suggesting that the totality of truth is made out of the contributions of a multiplicity of people: the uniqueness of each act of listening carries the secret of the text; the voice of Revelation in precisely the inflection lent by each person’s ear, necessary for the truth of the Whole.
The fact that God’s living word can be heard in a variety of ways does not only mean that the Revelation adopts the measure of the people listening to it; rather, that measure becomes, itself, the measure of Revelation. The multiplicity of people, each one of them indispensable, is necessary to produce all the dimensions of meaning.
Each opportunity for a text to be heard, to be listened to, provides greater access to Levinas’ multiplicity of people. It is through the hearing that text becomes multi-dimensional, richer.
Ignoring texts such as this, especially for so much of what is found in Sefer Viyikra, can foster estrangement from Torah. Instead of allowing air and light to surround the text with new possibility, the text ossifies in literal meanings or in interpretations from another place and time, interpretations that are far from our understanding today. Yes, we learn from what has come before, but our ignoring comes at a price—our voices from what we hear. Denying our voices today means that those who come after are also denied our reading of Torah and the possibilities that we see.
We are seekers and pursuers, using our senses to inform our experience of these difficult texts.
So many years ago, at UCLA Hillel, mine was a silent voice. Today, because of grappling with such a difficult text, and hearing the text in new ways, it has lead me to this privileged place.
To be in a community of people, who, in listening to Torah, reveal new truths, creating Torat Chayiim.
