Last week I shared an editorial I published in a New Mexico paper explaining why I chose to terminate a pregnancy at sixteen. Today, I'd like to share my thoughts on a Torah portion from Leviticus that deals with life, death and menstruation. I am guessing that a few Rabbis and Priests may not agree with my point of view.
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One week after Jews all over the world nosh on Haman's hat, dress in kooky costumes and party until we no longer recognize the difference between the ancient Persian equivalents of Hitler and Einstein, our preparation for Passover begins. On Shabbat Parah we study the enigmatic commandment to purify ourselves from contact with the dead through the sacrifice of a young, unblemished, red cow.
In many ways, this reading seems to continue the comedic inversions and paradoxes of Purim, the Jewish Mardi Gras. But surprise and delight at our continued presence on earth gives way to thoughtful reflection on emancipation from slavery and the attendant new-found responsibility we incur as a nation of free citizens. Observance takes a serious turn. Passover swings into view.
Parshat Parah is a pivotal passage. Why does this turning point in an overwhelmingly patriarchal text appear to revolve around menstruation?
The red heifer is a cow who has neither labored through birth nor labored for man. She is unmarked by trauma or toil. Her ashes are mixed with Miriam's "living water" to purify those who come into contact with the dead.
Parshat Parah immediately precedes the death of the prophet Miriam and her brothers, Aaron and Moses. Moses owes his life and work to exemplary women: his elder sister Miriam, who watched over him as a newborn and worked her way into his royal nursery; the Egyptian princess who pulled him from the Nile; his mother Yochevet who labored to birth him in the hidden recesses of an apple grove; courageous midwives who defied Pharoah's order to slay the newborn sons of Israelite women. The birth of the nation of Israel could not have ocurred without women. Likewise, Queen Esther, the heroin of Purim, was responsible for saving her people from Persia's evil arch-villain, Haman. The women of Purim and Passover are clearly understood as givers of life.
The heifer is linked to menstruation through its accompanying haftorah reading, Ezekiel 36:16-38. "The word of the Lord came to me: O mortal, when the House of Israel dwelt on their own soil, they defiled it with their ways and their deeds; their ways were in My sight like the uncleanness of a menstruating woman."
The Hebrew word for the water of lustration (the ash-water mentioned above) is niddah, the same word Ezekiel used for menstruation. Like menstrual blood, which signifies a lost opportunity for conception, the water of lustration is composed of the water of life and the refuse of life lost. The heifer is slaughtered outside the camp. Some of her blood is spattered about by the priest. She is burned along with the remainder of her blood, some crimson yarn, and hyssop (which was used by the Israelites in Egypt to smear their doorposts with lamb's blood to ward off the angel of death). The waters of lustration remain outside the camp. A menstruating woman is also temporarily separated from others.
All life owes its existence to countless possibilities that never came to be. We are alive because someone or something is not.
The priest and the individual who burns the cow become impure until evening. A third man who is pure must gather the ashes and deposit them outside of the camp in a pure place set aside for the waters of lustration. He is also then considered impure until evening. The three must bathe in clean water, wash their clothes and remain outside the camp until the sun goes down.
The Israelites are warned twice by God that any individual who comes into contact with human bones, a human body or a grave must be considered impure for seven days (like a menstruating woman). They must purify themselves on the third and seventh day with the waters of lustration. If they do not purify themselves they will be cut off from their people.
It is a mitzvah (or commandment) to prepare the dead for burial. One must "sacrifice" oneself to fulfill this mitzvah, becoming deliberately impure. The pure become impure through contact with the waters of lustration. And the impure become pure. It is a fitting end to the silliness of Purim, where we attempt to "remember Amalek (and Haman) by blotting out their names from the earth." Now we begin to purify our homes for Passover. We begin with a dirty house and a clean sponge. We end with a clean house and a dirty sponge.
The death of Miriam occurs without fanfare in the next Torah reading. The Jewish people immediately cry out for water. Miriam is connected with water throughout her life. She watches over her baby brother while he floats in the Nile, confronts the Egyptian princess who rescues him, offering to become Moses' nurse, and leads the Israelites through the Red Sea, singing and dancing while others fear to wade into the unparted water. According to the Midrash, as long as Miriam was alive, a well of living water followed the Israelite camp through the Desert.
Women are the key to Jewish survival. We are the ones called upon to struggle through labor. Our resourcefulness and innovation enable us to adapt tradition to a changing world from one generation to the next. It is not by accident in Jewish law that while the priesthood is passed down through men, one is considered a Jew if one's mother was a Jew.
Miriam's miraculous well dried up when she died.
God instructs Moses to speak to a rock to bring forth water. In frustration at yet another wave of rebellion amongst his stiff-necked followers, Moses calls them rebels. The Hebrew word for rebel, morim, shares the same consonent root as the word Miriam: mrym. He yells to them, "Listen, you rebels, shall we get water out of this rock?" He is condemned to die without entering the promised land for violence towards the rock.
Perhaps God is chastising him for failing to honor the people's need to mourn Miriam.
Ora Horn Prower noted in her commentary that there is no lavish public period of grieving when Miriam dies. Could Moses' punishment, his exile from the future, be meant to underscore his failure to adequately recognize Miriam? Moses picked Joshua, a warrior, to succeed him as leader. Aaron's son, Eleazar, succeeded Aaron as priest. Moses' laws applied largely to men. Women's voices remained silent. Nobody succeeded Miriam.
Fortunately, through Miriam, women learned to bring ritual into the home. The Passover Seder, with its four-week housecleaning and extraordinary meal, is the culmination of that effort. There is a reason that Rabbi Akiva read the Song of Solomon at the Passover Seder and that we still include passages of its lovely erotic imagery in our ritual meal. When the walls of the Temple came tumbling down, it was women's home-based ritual that enabled the Jewish people to survive: recipes that were passed down from one generation to the next. Women are more than receptacles awaiting a manly deposit. We are the shapers of home and culture. Our will must be respected.
Without menstruation, the lost opportunity for conception, there would be no birth.
I leave you with photos of my hamentaschen entry in this year's Temple Beth Shalom hamentaschen bake-off. Last year, I tied for the apron with Jalepeño Jamentaschen. This year I baked Lementaschen (the yellow ones), Key-Limentaschen (the green ones), and Pear Piñentaschen all with a nearly traditional oil-based, orange-blossom-scented dough. Sadly, despite my best effort to defend my apron, neither I, nor the Temple Beth Shalom co-wearer of last year's apron, won. (Anna made hers with philo dough.)
This year, the championship apron went to a man who baked exceptionally delicious traditional hamentaschen with poppyseed filling in traditionally uncolored dough. In fairness, they were scrumptious. Rabbi Schwab displays the winning hamentaschen dressed as a British Judge (or something).
Have a happy holiday season!