Emor by Rabbi Lauren Tuchman 2017
After reading such a profoundly disturbing passage, it is quite understandable to ask why the Torah includes such painful, hurtful and exclusionary words. After all, this is not the only difficult text we find in Leviticus to our modern sensibilities. This text cries out to me, with profound pain and existential anguish—darsheini!—explain or interpret me. It is my deeply held belief that as Jewish communal leadership slowly begins to reflect the true diversity that is the Jewish people, we will each benefit immensely from the Torah of leaders with disabilities and others to which we previously would have been denied access precisely because positions of leadership—lay and clergy alike—were barred to us.
The natural inclination, when reading a passage such as this to ask why the Torah would include something so painfully alienating and disturbing for many of us is quite understandable, and that question does not interest me at present. I am more drawn to the question of what—given this passage is in our Torah, and given that many of us encounter it annually, what are we going to do with it? The reasons why the Torah included these prohibitions offered up by numerous contemporary and ancient commentaries I have read are profoundly dissatisfying and in many cases add to the pain and discomfort. There’s no way of getting around the starkness. Attempting to explain it away might make us feel better about its presence, and indeed, I have come to deeply believe that for Jews with disabilities and many others, unearthing messages in this text that apply to our lives is a subversively necessary act. As my teacher, colleague and friend, Dr. Rabbi Julia Watts Belser eloquently reminds me, when Emor comes around every year, we hear the Torah telling us a truth that is deep in our bones, a truth about the world in which we live with it’s half-baked, snap judgements about others based on appearance alone and the narratives we love to craft about those whom we fear or simply don’t want to know. . As our world becomes increasingly visual and increasingly uninterested in holy pauses to get to know others, or even in slowing down for the extra moments it takes a person with a disability to navigate a world which structurally disadvantages them, this truth rings even louder in my ears.
MISHNA: A priest who has blemishes on his hands may not lift his hands. Rabbi Yehuda says: Even one whose hands were colored with satis, a blue dye, may not lift his hands because the congregation will look at him.
GEMARA: It is taught: The blemishes that the Sages said disqualify a priest are on his face, hands, and feet. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: If his hands are spotted, he may not lift his hands. This is also taught: his hands are spotted, he may not lift his hands, if curved or bent, he may not lift his hands.
Rav Asi said: from Haifa or Beit She’an may not lift his hands. This is also taught: One may not allow the people of Beit She’an, nor the people of Beit Haifa, nor the people of Tivonin to pass before the ark because they pronounce alef as ayin and ayin as alef.
Rabbi Chiyya once said to Rabbi Shimon, son of Rabbi: If you were a Levite, you would be disqualified from the platform because your voice is thick. Rabbi Shimon went and told his father, who said to him: Go and say to him: When you study and reach the verse: “And I will wait upon [veḥikkiti] the Eternal” (Isaiah 8:17), will you not be a maligner and a blasphemer?
Rav Huna said: A priest whose eyes run may not lift his hands. Wasn’t there a certain priest with this condition in the neighborhood of Rav Huna, and he would spread his hands? That priest was a familiar figure in his town.
This is also taught: One whose eyes run should not lift his hands but if he is a familiar figure in his town, he is permitted.
Rabbi Yochanan said: One who is blind in one eye may not lift his hands. Wasn’t there a certain priest who was blind in one eye in the neighborhood of Rabbi Yochanan, and he would lift his hands? That priest was a familiar figure in his town. This is also taught: One who is blind in one eye may not lift his hands, but if he is a familiar figure in his town, he is permitted.
Rabbi Yehuda said: One whose hands are colored should not lift his hands. It was taught: If most of the townspeople are engaged in this occupation, dyeing, he is permitted.
(ל) מי שיש לו מום בפניו או בידיו כגון שהם בוהקניות או עקומות או עקושות [בוהקניות פירוש מין נגע לבן ורש"י פירש לינטלי"ש בלע"ז. עקומות כפופות. עקושות לצדדיהן והר"ן פי' עקומות שנתעקמה ידו אחורנית. עקושות שאינו יכול לחלק אצבעותיו] לא ישא את כפיו מפני שהעם מסתכלין בו וה"ה למי שיש מומין ברגליו במקום שעולים לדוכן בלא בתי שוקיים וכן מי שרירו יורד על זקנו או שעיניו זולפים דמעות וכן סומא באחד מעיניו לא ישא את כפיו ואם הי' דש בעירו דהיינו שהם רגילים בו ומכירין הכל שיש בו אותו מום ישא כפיו ואפי' הוא סומא בשתי עיניו וכל ששהא בעיר שלשי' יום מקרי דש בעירו ודוקא בעירו אבל אם הולך באקראי לעיר אחרת ושהא שם שלשים יום לא ואפילו לא בא לדור שם להיות מבני העיר אלא בא להיות שם מלמד או סופר או משרת שנה או חצי שנה חשוב דש בעירו בל' יום:
(30) One who has an deformity on his face or his hands, for example "bohakniyot", "akumot", or "akushot" ["bohakniyot" means a type of white lesions, and Rashi explains it means spotted like lentils in Old French; "akumot" means crooked; "akushot" means bent to the sides. The Ran defines: "akumot" means that his hand is bent backwards; "akushot" means he is unable to separate his fingers] should not perform the priestly blessing because the congregation will stare at him. And the same applies for one who has an deformity on his feet, in a place where they ascend to the platform without socks. And so too one who has spittle/mucus drooling down his beard, or if his eyes tear up, and similarly, one who is blind in one of his eyes; [all these] should not perform the priestly blessing. However, if he is well-known in his city, meaning that they are familiar with him and everyone recognizes that he has this deformity, he may perform the blessing, even if he is blind in both eyes. Anyone who has stayed in the city for thirty days is called 'well-known in his city', but only in his city — whereas if he goes temporarily to a different city and stays there thirty days, no. Even if he did not come to live in the city to become one of the city residents, but rather he came to become a schoolteacher or scribe or attendant for a year or half a year, this is considered "well-known in his city thirty days."
Aristotle: “Let there be a law that no crippled child should be reared!”
Plato: “This is the kind of medical provision you should legislate in your state. You should provide treatment for those of your citizens whose physical constitution is good. As for the others, it will be best to leave the unhealthy to die, and to put to death those whose psychological condition is incurably corrupt. This is the best thing to do, both for the individual sufferer and for society.”
Rabbi Lauren Tuchman
Throughout subsequent halakhic literature, we see the prohibitions of this text mitigated and qualified, and we see a clear line of reasoning pointing to the assumed natural inclination to stare at that which is different. The distraction that accompanies the presence of one whose body is unlike our own might mean that we are not able to direct our hearts towards our religious obligations. The challenge, then, is placed upon the community to hold its discomfort and anxiety about that which it does not know or understand. Just as people with disabilities are excellent innovators by dint of having to navigate a society human beings built to advantage some over others, so, too, are we excellent managers of the anxieties and discomforts of others. Ask around and you will surely get a wide array of strategies, some conscious, others subconscious that disability communities have developed to navigate that omnipresent elephant.
Jack Reimer - USCJ Blog
If Yitzchak Avinu, Father Isaac, who became legally blind in his old age, were to come into our synagogue and want to daven with us, would we have a large print prayer book available for him?
If Yaakov Avinu, Father Jacob, who was injured in an encounter with a mysterious stranger and limped for the rest of his life as a result, were to come into our synagogue and want an aliyah, would he be able to get up to the bimah here? And if not, if we don’t have a ramp that makes the bimah accessible to the people with disabilities, what would we say to him?
If Moshe Rabeynu, Moses our teacher, who had a speech defect, were to come into our shul and want to read from the Torah that he gave us, could we handle it without becoming embarrassed if he were to stutter?
Melinda Jones, “Judaism, Theology and the Human Rights of People with Disabilities”
The fact that we are all created in God’s image both unifies us and is evidence that God loves diversity. . . No person is of greater value than another. None are more worthy or more significant than another. We are morally equivalent—different yet equal; the same yet distinct. The shape of our body and the sharpness of our minds are totally irrelevant. People with disabilities are equally valuable, equally important, equally entitled to share in the benefits of society.
Shelly Christensen, Jewish Community Guide to Inclusion of People with Disabilities
There is a midrash that reminds us that we are all created b’tselem Elohim, in the divine image. “A procession of angels pass before each person, and the heralds go before them saying, ‘Make way for the image of God.’” (Deuteronomy Rabbah 4:4) As we open our hearts and our minds to every individual we meet, let us look upon them and know that they are preceded by angels. May we remember that each of us is created in the image of God.
Jacob Artson, “Mensch Blog”
Inclusion isn’t just about me, it is about everyone. I have seen the incredible stress my family has endured because of me, and being excluded from our Jewish community, or having to constantly fight to be accepted as part of it, has greatly magnified our stress. After ten years, we finally [found a synagogue] where people smile at me even if I am sometimes too loud or excited and no one stares at me like I am a piece of trash. The kids engage with me even when they are not getting community service credit for doing so. I often wonder how many non-disabled families have the same experience of feeling ignored in their synagogue. The truth is that a shul that welcomes me is a synagogue where everyone can find a place and people will want to join and be engaged and involved.