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March 25, 2005/Adar II 14 5765, Volume 57, No. 30
Holiness even in drudgery
Torah study
BURT E. SCHUMAN
Parsha Tzav, Leviticus 6:1-8:36
When we visualize things that are holy, we often look to the big wedding, bar mitzvah or confirmation ceremony. We conjure up the High Holiday service, accompanied by the cantor's dramatic chanting and the rich, polished performances of instrumentalists and choir. We are filled with awe, a sense of the mysterium tremendum, and the memory of experiences that seem to lift us high above the ordinary.
It is easy to forget, however, that each of those moments requires painstaking attention to detail behind the scenes. The wedding requires hours of preparations with respect to the wedding dress, tuxedo, floral arrangements, musical selections, composition of the wedding party, invitations, design and making of the chuppah, counseling sessions with the rabbi, content of the ketubah and those all-important arrangements with the caterer.
The bar mitzvah demands years of preparation, mastery of Hebrew reading and cantillation, detailed knowledge of the Shabbat morning service, careful study of the meaning of one's Torah and haftarah portions, preparation of a sermon, selecting those to be called up for aliyot, preparing those all-important parental words of praise and choreographing the hakafah and all traffic on the bimah. Similar care must be taken with the flowers, robes, speeches, Torah readings and projects for confirmation.
And effortless High Holiday services require hours of choir rehearsals; rabbinic "sermon-agony"; a bevy of phone calls, letters, and e-mails regarding pulpit honors; lesson plans for the children's services; shofar-blowing workshops; bread crumbs for Tashlich; memorial booklets for Yizkor; and the often-maddening details of distributing parts and maintaining contact with those receiving pulpit honors.
This is how it was with the ancient priests. While the sacrificial rituals, as well as those of ordination, were filled with pomp and drama, behind the scenes, priests had to contend with a variety of mundane and repetitious tasks, including removing ashes from the altar and stoking the perpetual fire. These duties were not entrusted to other Levites or to laypeople; they were an inherent responsibility of the priesthood. Moreover, while this work involved a good deal of drudgery, as well as a change of clothing, it was also sacred work; the ashes were those of the olah, the "burnt offering." A remnant of the sacred interface of God and Israel, it required special attire, special handling, and burial in a makom tahor, "a ritually pure place." Similarly, "feeding" the fire prior to placement of the olah upon the altar and stoking the perpetual fire were arduous and messy tasks. Yet here, too, the priests were dealing with sacred objects, integral not only to the sacrificial rituals, but also to the very function of the Mishkan as divinely ordained sacred space.
For Reform Jews, today, the recognition of "sacred drudgery" holds great significance, particularly when we think of the Jewish home. Anyone who has put together a Passover seder knows how arduous the preparations are. Even the act of preparing one's kitchen for Pesach requires days of organizing and planning, and hours upon hours of scrubbing; boiling; vacuuming; cleansing; packing and unpacking sets of dishes, pots, and utensils; washing and cleaning same; cleaning and lining shelves; removing boxes, cans, and packages of chametz; shopping for matzo and kosher-for-Passover items; and cooking and freezing dishes in advance. Yet I have met few Jews who have not felt the experience to be extremely spiritual and sacred, and most observe the traditional halachic instruction that we ourselves, and not our "hired help," are to engage in this process. As with Shabbat, these preparations help connect us more deeply and more completely to the meaning of the chag, and to the rituals of our kitchen and dining room table as that of a mikdash m'at, a "miniature sanctuary."
The same principle applies to any mitzvah, be it ritual, ethical, or communal. When we are willing to perform it fully, even when it requires a considerable amount of drudgery and schlepping, we create sacred space that permits God to dwell among us.
Burt E. Schuman is rabbi at Temple Beth Israel in Altoona, Penn. Torat Chayim of the URJ is at www.urj.org/torah.
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