Letting Go To Hold On: Parshiot Behar-Bechukotai

Parshiot Behar-Bechukotai

Written by Rabbi Avidan Freedman

Thursday, 14 May 2009

Letting Go To Hold On May 15-16, 2009/ 22 Iyar 5769 By Rabbi Avidan Freedman In these days of scarcity, of tightening belts and reconsidering priorities, the words of Parshiot Behar and Bechukotai carry with them a message from Sinai about how to hold on to what is most dear to us. Parshat Behar focuses on the details of the laws of Yovel, the Jubilee, that most rare of all Jewish calendrical observances, when we are told to "Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land," (Vayikra 25:10) when Jewish slaves are freed and ancestral land returns to its original owners. But Yovel is far more than a once every half-century novelty; its impact is felt in nearly every major transaction that occurs during the other 49 years of the cycle. The real estate industry prescribed by the Torah lives with a constant awareness of, and is defined by, proximity to the Yovel year. The formula for fostering this awareness is repeatedly described with the Hebrew root 'ga'al' (gimmel, aleph, lamed)- to redeem, and these acts of redemption, bringing the world closer to a state of Yovel, guarantee our hold on the land- "and you shall dwell securely upon the land" (25:18). The dark alternative to this cheery vision is presented in terrifying detail in Parshat Bechukotai, which paints a vivid picture of the plagues and war the Jewish people will face, culminating in their exile from the land of Israel, and the land's desolation. All this, the Torah says, so that the land can experience the rest that the Jewish people refused to allow it while settling there. "All the days of desolation it will rest, that which it didn't rest during its Sabbaths, when you had settled there" (26:35). In Bechukotai, replacing the redemptive life of Shemita and Yovel- geula, we find a very similar word repeating itself, with a starkly different meaning. Gi'ul (gimmel, ayin, lamed), revulsion, initially describes our attitude to God's laws, and eventually reciprocally adopted as God's attitude to us, necessitating our exile from the land. "The land will lie forsaken without them, and will again desire its Sabbaths, in its desolation from them, because, yes, because they were repulsed by my laws, their souls revolted by my statutes" (26:43). A single letter distinguishes ge'ula, redemption, and gi'ul, revulsion. There is only a small, guttural difference, the Torah suggests, between the life that allows us to hold onto the land, the life of Shemita and Yovel, and the life that leads us to forsake it. What is that difference? If we were to consider what attitude might lead to the land lying forsaken, we might imagine that it would relate to a sense of apathy towards the land, a lack of attachment which brings about the land’s abandonment. But if we picture the person who would be unwilling to let the land lie fallow during Shemita, it's not the person who is indifferent to the land, but the person whose deep love of the land prevents them from letting it go! If we imagine the person who does not want to take the Yovel into account in their purchase of land, it is the person who holds a deep desire to hold onto that land, who is unwilling to consider having to forsake it! The idea, then, is counter-intuitive and provocative. One's love for the land must exist within the framework of a belief that fundamentally, no person has absolute ownership of the land- 'For the land is Mine, and you are but strangers and settlers to me' (25:23). If a person's love for the land blinds them to that transcendent truth, and prevents them, at the right time and in the right conditions, from relinquishing their ownership, they cannot hold onto it, and their love will turn into repulsion. Shemita and Yovel teach us that, in order to hold on to something dear, what's needed is the consciousness that allows you to let go.  The parasha of Yovel is always read in close proximity to Shavuot, as the 50th year hopes to spread its message to the 50th day, the day of our acceptance of Torah. Just as a deep love of the land of Israel is important, precious, and dangerous, so too is a deep love of Torah important, precious and dangerous. We (and this we encompasses literally everyone and anyone) are not the sole proprietors of Torah. No one human being has exclusive rights to it, no one other than God can fully lay claim to it. We make that idea real by being willing to relinquish sole ownership of Torah, in the right times, and in the right conditions.  When our love of Torah makes us blind to that fact, we run the risk of losing it, of making it repulsive. As Shavuot approaches this year, as resources are scarce and we wonder how to hold on to what is most dear and precious, individually and nationally, we are tempted to circle the wagons, to consolidate and solidify the exclusiveness of our ownership. Behar and Bechukotai, Geula and Gi'ul, remind us that if we are to hold on, we need to recognize that all that we have we hold as a sacred trust from the one true Owner, and to know when and how to let go in order to hold on.  Rabbi Avidan Freedman, YCT '07, is a Limudei Kodesh Faculty member at SAR High School.

N.Y. Food Establishments Earn New Ethics Seal

By Sue Fishkoff · May 12, 2009

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Uri L'Tzedek co-founder Shmuly Yanklowitz, left, discusses the group's ethical seal with a worker at New York City's Cafe Nana, which received the Tav HaYosher. (Courtesy Uri L'Tzedek)

SAN FRANCISCO (JTA) -- One year after a massive immigration raid at the largest kosher meatpacking plant in the United States, an Orthodox social justice organization announced the first seven recipients of its seal of ethical business practice.

Uri L’Tzedek recognized six kosher restaurants and a kosher supermarket in Manhattan with a Tav HaYosher, or ethical seal.

Mike’s Bistro, Mike’s Pizzeria and Italian Kitchen, Cafe Nana, Hewitt Dining, My Heights Cafe, Hartley Kosher Deli and Supersol of the Westside are displaying the seal in their windows.

Uri L'Tzedek, which was founded by rabbinical students at the liberal Orthodox Yeshivat Chovevei Torah in New York, timed its announcement to May 12, the anniversary of the 2008 raid at Agriprocessors in Postville, Iowa.

The ensuing scandal and ongoing court cases generated widespread discussion of the ethical dimensions of kosher food production, and spurred several new social justice initiatives. They include the Tav HaYosher, envisioned for kosher eateries, and the Conservative movement’s Magen Tzedek, a proposed social justice program for food manufacturers.

Uri L’Tzedek developed the Tav HaYosher project last summer to shine a spotlight on kosher restaurants that treat their workers well, pay fair wages, give adequate work breaks and maintain a safe work environment. It is based on a similar Israeli ethical seal, Tav Chevrati, that has been given to more than 350 kosher and non-kosher restaurants in that country.

“Given recent events in the kashrut industry, it is imperative that we implement a system that will prevent abuse and exploitation,” Uri L’Tzedek’s Web site explains.

Noting that “thousands” of New York restaurant workers are paid below minimum wage, denied overtime pay and subjected to unsafe working conditions, the statement continues, “we must ensure these abuses are not taking place in kosher restaurants.”

In Los Angeles, a similar initiative spearheaded by three Orthodox rabbis gave its first compliance certificate to two restaurants and two synagogues right before Passover.

The L.A. project, Peulat Sachir, also looks at employment conditions, but is not limited to restaurants. In fact, Rabbi Elazar Muskin of Young Israel of Century City, one of the co-creators, says the group wants synagogues to sign on first.

“Change begins at home,” he said.

Neither project is adversarial, its leaders insist. The intention is not to shame restaurants that do not meet the groups’ standards, but to publicize those who do and encourage others to follow suit.

In the Tav HaYosher program, restaurants apply for the certification and staffers visit to vet working conditions. Volunteer compliance officers trained by the organization visit the sites every four to six weeks to ensure continued compliance.

The Peulat Sachir project, conversely, actively solicits Jewish-owned businesses and relies on self-policing.

“We speak with the owners and the workers, we go through payroll records,” says Yeshivat Chovevei Torah student Shmuly Yanklowitz, one of the founders of the Uri L'Tzedek program. “There’s an anonymous tip line workers can use to call us.”

Not all applicants pass. One kosher restaurant that applied for the seal pays its undocumented workers $2 an hour, far less than the minimum wage of $7.15 an hour for non-tipped employees.

“We said, at least pay them $4.80, the minimum wage for delivery workers,” Yanklowitz said. “They said no and we walked away.”

Uri L’Tzedek has trained nearly 60 volunteer compliance officers and is developing a core group of 12. Virtually all are in their 20s or early 30s.

This summer, 10 to 15 college students will receive fellowships to spend six weeks in New York studying Jewish teachings on social justice and serving as field workers for the project.

Yanklowitz says he has fielded calls from Jewish food activists in Washington and Chicago eager to bring the program to their cities, but for now the group is focusing just on Manhattan and plans to build slowly.

The fact that the project is up and running gives the lie to the notion that it’s too difficult, or inappropriate, to monitor the ethical practices of kosher establishments, Yanklowitz says.

“There’s a huge cultural shift taking place,” he insists. “Thousands have signed on to say they will only buy from these places. The spirit of volunteerism in the young Jewish community is very strong.”

Sue Fishkoff writes about Jewish identity for JTA and is the author of the 2003 book "The Rebbe's Army."

Diary of a visit to Southern Israel: Simchas And A Shiva Call

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Diary of a visit to Southern Israel: Simchas And A Shiva Call
By Rabbi Avi Weiss Special to the Jewish Week Sivan sits in her living room, worried whether her wedding will take place or not. Living in Sderot, she had decided to play it safe and hold the celebration in Ashdod, a few kilometers to the north. Sderot has been under constant attack from Hamas terrorist rockets for years. Ashdod seemed a safer bet. With the war against Hamas unfolding and rockets hitting that coastal city, Sivan was concerned that the army would close her wedding hall, as it was an unfortified building vulnerable to terrorist rocket attack. Thursday, January 1, the sixth day of the war. We have come to Sderot as part of an attempt to lend support to the beleaguered communities in southern Israel. Sderot looks like a bizarre still life photo. There's hardly anyone moving in the streets; the city is eerily quiet. Those Sderot residents who had not left the town over the past eight years have not fled now but are hunkered down in their homes seeking to be close to their protected rooms and shelters. Sivan's father joins us as we talk with his daughter. Yihiyei tov, it will be good, he says. Sivan smiles nervously. We form a circle around her and begin dancing to the traditional wedding song, "Od Yishama." Od, still, against all odds, there will soon be heard the voice of joy and gladness, of bride and groom. Sderot is a city that has been traumatized. And, yet, as war rages, and Kassams rain down, its citizens still believe. We meet families who have moved to the city to give hope to its residents; volunteers who have come to shelters to play with the children, and students and teachers at the Sderot hesder yeshiva that is running at full tilt. A new Beit Midrash study hall has just been completed, dorms are being built, classes are going on, the buzz of Torah is everywhere. In the face of danger, there is resolve. From Sderot, we go to visit our soldiers. Someone in our group has protexia, high-up connections, and so we are able to go into off-limit areas. There are tanks and other types of military vehicles everywhere. We see soldiers preparing for the ground assault. Quite a few are wearing the white, cone-like Rav Nachman (of Bratslav) head-coverings. It seems as if we have happened upon a Rav Nachman brigade. As it turns out, it's one Rav Nachman devotee who has distributed the headgear and some of the soldiers are happy to put them on. Pulling up nearby is a car loaded with civilians. They've come to distribute food and candies. An army rabbi is also here, trying to lend support. But it's the soldiers who are the most important element in this picture. Some are sitting on top of a large tank munching on their lunch, while others are cleaning the tank from the bottom up. Years back, I would have been thinking, what are we waiting for? Let's just go in and finish them off. But with age, one can't help but feel the weight of war. Looking into the eyes of these young men, soldiers who are defending Israel, defending all of the Jewish people, and for that matter, all of the free world, one can't help but wonder, who amongst them will not be coming back. We stop in a small restaurant to grab a bite. As we try to catch our breath, the woman behind the counter calls out, "Tzevah adom," the alert that a rocket is heading our way. When that happens, there are 15 seconds to find shelter. We run with everyone else into the closest shelter. Everyone is calm. Everyone feels a sense of togetherness. It's part of life in this part of Israel. We return to our table as the manager announces to the customers, "Thank God we are all OK. Please, everyone, enjoy an espresso coffee on the house." Traveling to Ashdod, we find our way to the home of the Shitrit family. Irit Shitrit, a 39 year-old mother of four, was in her car on the way home from the gym one night last week when she heard the tzeva adom. She knew she was not safe. She jumped from the car and ran to a bus shelter. The shelter sustained a direct hit and Irit was killed instantly. Sitting close to Irit's husband as he sat shiva, we whispered, "We're from New York. We have no words to comfort you, but please know that Jews and people of goodwill sit here with you and in their small way, are crying with you." He hardly spoke except to reach out and touch our hands, and with extraordinarily sad eyes said simply, "todah rabbah." In the adjacent room sat Irit's daughters and mother. Pain racked Irit's mother as she mourned by speaking incessantly. In a traumatic daze, she expressed grief through inaudible words, words one could not hear, but words so obviously wracked with pain. We leave from the Shitrit home in Ashdod to the wedding of Natan and Avital Sharansky's youngest daughter, Chana. It all seems surreal. In the midst of the angst, of Sivan not knowing if her wedding would take place in Ashdod, of soldiers preparing for battle, of running for cover as a tzeva adom blared, of the Shitrit family's pain, Chana stands serenely beneath the chupah with her groom. It seems as if this wedding, in some measure, is a response to the travail. Never despair, we will make it. Avital was once asked whether she ever got in touch with Natan's tormentors. She said, "not directly." But with her wonderful sense of humor she added, I just send them invitations to our childrens weddings. After Shabbat, the ground assault began. Saying the hamavdil prayer, which separates Shabbat from the weekdays, we recite the text that describes the Jewish people as being like the sand and stars. Those images jump from the page. Sand represents our collectivity, as it is difficult to separate one grain from another. But the stars are individualistic, each unique, each indispensable. We recite a prayer for our soldiers along with havdalah. May Israel be victorious. May each star return home in health, in life. Diary of a visit to Southern Israel: Simchas And A Shiva Call Rabbi Avi Weiss is Founder and President of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Rabbinical School, Senior Rabbi at the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale, and National President of AMCHA - the Coalition for Jewish Concerns.

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