It finally happened. No, I’m not referring to the signing of the new Health Care bill, though for the record, I’m a huge proponent of change in our health care system and believe this momentous legislation is an important albeit first step towards change. No, I’m referring to the fact that this week my number came up! Yep, for the first time in my close to 26 years of being eligible, I was called in to sit and wait with a crowd of other dutiful, if not abit bored, Baltimore County citizens for jury selection this past Wednesday. My first reaction to my summons notice was perhaps like many, “I am way too busy for this. How am I going to carve out time in my week for this, the week before pesach no less…I wonder if I can get out of it…can clergy get special dispensation from jury duty?” But as I walked into the courthouse with my cup of ‘joe’ that served sadly as my breakfast (instead of my well earned post workout oatmeal and yogurt that got skipped along with the workout) and sat through the necessary but tedious educational video that reviewed the details and importance of our civic duties, my sense of American identity was heightened.
I listened to the opening remarks offered by the judicial chief charged with administrating the system: the recognition of the inconvenience of the task and the tedium and boredom of waiting but also the importance of our presence whether called for a trial or not and the importance of using our intellect and our basic common sense if indeed called upon. I was reminded of the unique, though not without fault but certainly democratic American system of justice – where else in the world do regular citizens, all of us, take such a vital part in such a critical and defining part of society?
In hearing these comments, I recognized a number of parallels between our democratic judicial system and the sacrificial cult outlined so thoroughly in Leviticus. Certainly, like I did, the ancient Israelites likewise must have thought it a huge inconvenience to find the time to make pilgrimage to the Temple altar let alone while finding and then schlepping their blemish free animals and the choice flour necessary for their service to the community.
At first glance, the ancient Temple system of worship hardly seems democratic. The hierarchy of the priestly caste in and of itself is the antithesis of democracy. This was not an earned or elected societal position but rather one gained solely by biological destiny. Indeed, so contrary to the democratic values of the modern western world, the removal of the division of the community into classes of Kohanim, Levi’im, and Yisraelim, was one of the most significant (and sometimes controversial) changes that Reform Judaism instituted in response to European enlightenment. Yet, as a system of worship in the ancient world, the Temple cult may offer an early example of the values that would later come to be labeled as ‘democratic’ and can serve to remind us of the role of leaders in a democratic society, namely to function on behalf of the demos in democracy, the people.
According to Merrian-Webster’s online Dictionary, the only resource available to me while waiting to fulfill the American privilege of serving on a jury (thank goodness I could bring a laptop instead of a blemish free bull), the word democracy has roots that extend back to the Greek: dēmokratia, from dēmos: people and kratia: rule. Democracy – the people rule, as opposed to aristocracy for instance, where the aristo, or the ‘best’, the ‘upper echelons’, rule.
While the Kohanim and the Levites had various powers of administration not shared with the rest of society (no so unlike our appointed judges and elected political leaders today), the power of worship in this system resided fully with the people, not with the priests. It was up to the people, the general population to bring the offerings to the priests in the Temple. The entire system was based on the ability of the common folk to get to the Temple with their offerings. Their participation was not optional; it was vital, not only for supporting but also for the proper functioning of the entire worship system. It was those physical offerings that supported the Temple and the priestly caste. Furthermore, though the priests benefited, the goal of the system wasn’t to service people, but rather the entire system is framed as worship and service to God. And, not so unlike our judicial system, was equally intended to centralize and bring cohesion to the community in the name of that service. Be clear, even the Torah reminds us that God doesn’t care about the specifics of the offerings. How often do we come across that repeated refrain: אשה ריח ניחח ליהוה? The sacrifice is turned to smoke of pleasing odor for God. No matter into what economic category one falls, and what one is required and/or able to bring – whether meal, goat, bird, or bull – all are ultimately reduced to smell and ash, smell that God apparently finds pleasing and ash that needs to be cleaned up.
What’s fascinating about the workings of the Temple – and perhaps a lesson to us living in apparently democratic societies - is that while the common folk bring the myriad of offerings up to the altar, to support it, it is the upper echelons of society, the priest no less, who continually feeds the fire and cleans up the mess. It doesn’t get more democratic in terms of division of labor than that!
A few weeks ago, I participated in a workshop that is part of a series on Food & Faith co-sponsored by the Institute for Christian and Jewish Studies and the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health. The goal of the series in large part is to raise awareness about the reality of inner city food deserts and to encourage the participants, primarily faith based leaders, to brainstorm ways in which to raise awareness in our own communities and to help coax change. One of the participants in my break out group a few weeks ago noted the general failure of those with plenty to recognize the holiness in dirty dishes. You heard that right – the kedusha, the inherent holiness of our mess – the ashes left over after we cook our food and eat it. Just as the ashes on the Temple altar, the remains of our feast tell a sacred story, and like the priests, those of us who have plenty due to the work of others often also have plenty of dishes to clean.
The Temple has a very democratic system. Who cleans up? The Kohen, the priest. The ashes, the mess is considered a sacred task. Rabbinic tradition likens our homes, our tables to mikdashim me’atim, miniature Temples. It is easy to curse the mess in the kitchen, but when we sit down this week at our seder tables, at our sacred altars, to celebrate our history and our inherited freedom, let us not take for granted the dirty dishes and the mess that we leave behind. Let those dishes remind us of our bounty and the wonderful experience of the seder we were able to enjoy with family and friends. Moreover, let us allow the sacred task of cleaning up after ourselves remind us of our responsibility to all of those in our world who simply don’t have enough in order to leave such ashes behind.
Reform Judaism, in its effort to counter the traditional hierarchical system inherent in the biblical text, elevated us all to priests. Accordingly, it is all of our responsibility to tend the fire that will serve the community; it is all of our responsibility to help bring about redemption for all humanity.
As the writers of the early Union Prayer Book and their subsequent editors so eloquently express:
When justice burns like a flaming fire within us, when love evokes willing sacrifice from us, when, to the last full measure of selfless devotion, we demonstrate our belief in the ultimate triumph of truth and righteousness, then Your goodness enters our lives, and we CAN begin to change the world… (p. 39 UPB, p. 117 MT, caps mine).
This Z’man Cherutenu, this Season of our Redemption, may we be inspired to act like priests in this world – tending the fires of social justice and helping the world become a place where everyone has dirty dishes.
Ken y'hi ratzon!
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