Emor 5771 - English

Rabbi Claudio Jodorkovsky

Asociación Israelita Montefiore - Bogotá

A famous story talks about a man who approached his Rabbi so that he would convert him into a Cohen. When the rabbi responded negatively, the man began to insist and periodically repeat his request, until one moment the rabbi’s patience ran out. It was then that the rabbi asked him: "Can you tell me why you are insisting so much that I "convert" you into a Cohen?" The man responded: "Rabbi, it’s a family thing. My grandfather was a Cohen, my father was a Cohen, and I also want to be a Cohen."

Many times we think that to be a Cohen, descended from priests, involves only privileges: To be the first called to Torah, to have the honor of blessing the people of Israel through the Birkat Kohanim, the priestly blessing, and to be in charge of the redemption of the first born in the Pidion Haben ceremony. 

 

But our parasha, Emor, teaches us that behind the prestige and privileges that are involved in being descendants of priests, the cohanim are also subject to various restrictions: they can only marry certain women and they cannot impurify themselves by coming into contact with a dead person, which means that they cannot enter a cemetery or be present at a funeral, with the exception of close family. These regulations were even stricter when concerning the Cohen Gadol, the High Priest of the People of Israel, who was even prohibited from participating in the funeral of his own parents.

The severity of this last rule is noteworthy: To not be able to participate in the funeral of your own parents? Wouldn’t it be possible to make an exception? It turns out that the Cohen Gadol had such a high position, so important and with so many responsibilities, that if he was careless or distracted by the slightest interruption, it could bring grave consequences, not only for him but for the whole people of Israel. The enormous privilege of representing the people and guiding their destiny is tied to this enormous sacrifice. Though the cost was high, it was essential to do the job. And as with any leader, the Cohen Gadol knew that in order to be in his position, he had to be willing to give up certain things.

Certainly, the figure of the Cohen Gadol and his responsibilities to the people confirms a truth that we know by observing the lives of those who govern the destinies of our countries and our institutions: long work days, unending meetings, and time that cannot be spent with children or parents. The sacrifice, not only of the leaders but also of their families, is great. But if it is true that the work takes courage, just as with the Cohen Gadol, hand in hand with this effort and these privations is the honor and pride of knowing that they are supporting the common good and the continuity of our people.

Many times we say that not just anyone can be a leader or representative. If the only thing is to enjoy the privilege without a need for commitment and sacrifice, then probably this vocation would not be sustainable and sooner or later would see its own demise. However, it is also true that, to a greater or lesser extent, we are all leaders. We are all examples or models for others, be it our children, students, or friends. This is when I think the Torah comes to give us an important message:

The enormous privilege of being Jews comes with the sacrifice of community work and dedication to our institutions. And if we are a part of our people only because of pride and privilege, we cannot remain only with this "kavod" (honor) and let ourselves be tempted to conform to those who do not participate. Just as the Cohen Gadol gave of himself and had the honor of representing the people before G-d in the most holy tasks, each one of us are called to give the best of ourselves, in time, effort, work, money, and ability, to assure the continuity of our tradition through community work.

Nowadays we do not have a Cohen Gadol and nobody is expecting a sacrifice as large as missing your parents funeral. But at this time when so many Jews have left their roots and whole communities are weakened, the cause of Jewish continuity calls us to action. Firstly, we must defeat the apathy and lack of participation that allows us to delegate to others the work of building the future of the Jewish people. We cannot think that "others will worry about the community," because we run the risk that one day, G-d forbid, everybody will begin to think the same way.

We know what it means to be a Jew and every day we enjoy the pride of being part of our people. For this reason, we can never forget that the privileges always imply responsibilities. Or, as I once heard a dear rabbi say: To be a Jew today is like riding a bicycle. You cannot stop pedaling, for if you do, not only will you stop moving, but you will also fall down.

May G-d bless us with gratitude, humility, and a sense of responsibility so that we can give the best of ourselves to strengthen our beautiful and beloved tradition.

Shabbat Shalom Umeborach!