Parshas Naso – An Offering of Jealousy and Remembrance.

The parsha of the Sotah is, for many people, an uncomfortable one to read. If you are a woman of the current age, it feels unbalanced, unfair, and almost cruel. In the world at large, a man’s philandering wi considered just as grievous as a woman’s, and yet, in Torah, there is no concept of a cheating husband because, one could argue, the Torah permits a man to have four wives. There are many explanations for why there is this distinction, not the least of which is the basic, practical need to be assured of the paternity of children. Part of it, however, also has to due with the assumed nature of men and women, even as old fashioned and anti-modern thought as these Torah concepts may be (although these natures are still readily apparent, no matter what the modern culture wishes to assert). 

In Parshas Naso, the pasukim describe the process of accusing a Sotah. Among the instructions, it is described that “that party shall bring his wife to the priest. And he shall bring as an offering for her 1/10th ephah of barley flour. No oil shall be poured upon it and no frankincense shall be laid on it, for it is a meal offering of jealousy, a meal offering of remembrance a reminder of sin” (Bamidbar 5:15).

The different perspectives throughout history of marital dynamics, of the nature of husbands and wives and their relationship, has always colored the interpretations of the pasukim relating to the Sotah. Thus the Or Hachaim who lived in the 16th/17th century relates this pasuk to Adam and Chava and the “original sin,” stating: 

“When the Sotah drinks this mixture of water, earth and the residue of the holy name of Hashem that dissolved in that water, the name of the meal-offering as ‘reminder of sin’ is most appropriate if she has indeed been guilt of marital infidelity…Whoever is familiar with the sin of Eve who had been contaminated by sexual intercourse with the original serpent, and who had thus been disloyal to her husband, will realise that the sin the Sotah is guilty of is indeed the original sin committed by man, i.e. woman” (translation via Sefaria).

Relating Sotah only to the idea of a cheating wife is, in some ways, simplistic. A pasuk such as 5:15 tells us that there is so much more to it. What does the Torah mean that it is “a meal offering of jealousy, a meal offering of remembrance” when it is one meal offering? If it is a “reminder of sin,” meaning the original sin, as the Ohr Hachaim proposes,” why is it connected to jealousy? 

The descriptors of this particular mincha offering are subtle warning signs to both the husband and the wife. To the wife it is a warning that the husband will be vindicated if she is untrue, that he can and will bring her forward to the high priest and have his wrongs made right. To the husband, however, it is a warning that jealousy, too, is an avaira, that the course he is embarking on will have deep ramifications, even if his wife is proven innocent. 

Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsh points out that “the husband can prefer to have the marriage concluded, or the wife, without admitting any guilt, can prefer divorce to continuing the marriage after her innocence has been proved, or simply does not wish to undergo the test. Neither the husband not the wife can be forced to have the test made.”

The wife, if she has been unfaithful, need not die. He can let her go; they can just end the marriage. By pursing the process of Sotah he is, most likely, seeking some level of revenge or to assert his dominance. (Unless he knows her innocence and feels a need to make a very public assertion of it.) If the woman is willing to undergo the Sotah waters after her husband accuses her, it seems this would be an assertion of innocence, for she would simply die. If she refuses to partake in the Sotah ceremony, it seems this would be reason enough to simply end the marriage.

The great and painful sin of the situation of the Sotah is, in truth, the real original sin – but not the one this foreign phrase refers to. The sin of the Sotah is the underlying inability of the couple to build a relationship, the foster two halves into a whole, to overcome jealousy. Hashem is not asking the impossible of the husband. Hashem understands jealousy, and we, the Jewish people who have gone astray, remain here – alive and thriving. 

Just some food for thought. Hope you have a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Naso – So What It’s Not Your Fault?

Have you heard the recent trend in conversations about how children require more grit, about how the younger generations of our age lack a sense of stick-to-itness. The experts point to the increase in attention issues, to online shopping’s near-instant gratification, and to a lack of job loyalty when compared to older generations. One might think that children being raised in a Torah environment, in a society with intricate rules and sometimes lengthy rituals, would not have the same issues, but we do. Just think about the difference in the selection of kosher food thirty years ago and today…as a minor demonstration. There is almost nothing we must defer having or having a near perfect imitation of (Why should there be fish shaped like shrimp?) We have, in many ways, lost the art of accepting limitations.

Although there have been some some-what modern era examples, most of us today have trouble imagining the life of a Nazir, of a person who has dedicated themselves to Hashem and taken a special vow not to cut their hair, not to partake in anything made from a grape plant, and not to come in contact or proximity to a corpse. We understand, perhaps, the drive for dedication, the urge to gain control over one’s spiritual life – indeed, we see people taking such steps today in cutting themselves off from technology that they feel brings them down spiritually. Withholding from using technology, however, is an understandable reaction; withholding from cutting one’s hair or eating stuffed grape leaves is far less concrete.

   

Within the laws of the Nazir described in Parshas Naso, there is a wonderful lesson in having grit. We assume that a person who becomes a Nazir does so at a point of high motivation, whether the source of that motivation is positive or negative. To make such a defined and encompassing vow, a vow that becomes publicly obvious, requires a driving force. Being vigilant to keep the prohibitions during the entire time period requires dedication and mindfulness. But true grit comes into play when:

   

"And if any man die very suddenly beside him, and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it… And he shall consecrate unto God the days of his Naziriteship, and shall bring a he-lamb of the first year for a guilt-offering; but the former days shall be void, because his consecration was defiled” (Bamidbar 7:9 &12).

   

Imagine a Nazir - a week in, three weeks in,to the usual 30 day vow -sitting at the park and the man next to him has a sudden heart-attack and dies on the spot. Without question there is a trauma for anyone just from having watched this tragic event occur. For the Nazir, however, there is a deeper impact. All of the time he has passed as a Nazir until now is null and void, defiled and done. And he starts again.

   

There isn’t an option to opt out. You tried, life got in the way, so you try again. A recent discussion noted that there seems to be an increase in the “not my fault” culture in Western society. It’s the next step of everyone gets an award, and it is an attitude contrary to the values honed by living a Torah lifestyle. Leaning against a light switch as you enter a room and accidentally turning on the light on Shabbas is still a melacha.

   

When we take away personal responsibility, we diminish both our selves and the society in which we live. A Nazir may not be in the proximity of a dead body. This is it. This is the rule. You chose to become a Nazir, and you may not be near a dead body. If a person died next to you, this means that there is a reason, a part of a Divine plan, why you need to be a Nazir longer.

   

Giving up is easy, especially when the thing that interferes with success is “not your fault.” But that doesn’t build you as a human being, that doesn’t make you stronger; it doesn’t give you the internal koach to face the other challenges that life might throw at you.

   

It seems obvious that Bamidbar 7:9-12 is there because of very real and possible situations. Like all pasukim in the Torah, however, it also helps us find ways to live better lives. We hope to never face situations that require deep levels of grit and resilience, but the truth of the matter is that life is full of those challenging moments and the Torah helps us to prepare for them.

   

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

(My grit story is that this is the second worked on for this parsha. When the first one fell apart, or wouldn’t really come together, at 9 am, I could have sent a message declaring no parsha this week, but I pushed forward and started again.)
  

Parsha Naso – What the Nazir Saw

 The commentators say that the reason the portion of the Nazarite comes immediately after the discussion of the Sotah is because anyone who has seen the Sotah in her disgrace will wish to abstain from wine in order to avoid such a scenario happening again. This statement brings to mind the frequent conversations that one now sees online about the effects of trauma, driving home a bit of understanding at how horrific it was for others to witness the Sotah ceremony or perhaps even to witness the deterioration of the relationship that led to the ceremony.

The Sotah, the wife accused of adulterous behavior who must drink from a ritual formula that could, if she is guilty, cause “her belly shall distend and her thigh shall sag” (Numbers 5:27), is a drastic seeming section of the Torah. As horrible as one might perceive it, especially from a 21st century point of view where such strict monogamy seems to no longer be an accepted cultural norm beyond the religious community, there is much to be fascinated about in the Torah’s description of the process. Most particularly, the fact that great stress is placed on the husband’s attitude of jealousy and suspicion – emphasizing that getting to the point of bringing a woman forth to drink from the Sotah water is not simply a result of her behavior but of the dynamics of their relationship. Even having warned her before witnesses, the husband can choose to divorce the woman before publicly humiliating her with the test of the Sotah, before proving her wrong or, more drastically, making certain she suffers.

The fact is that it is very rare to see a Torah commandment that is so dependent on the emotional space of the people involved. And as we all know, human emotions can become extreme, which is, perhaps, what leads to the Nazarite. The person who takes a Nazarite vow is reacting to the world around them by attempting to control outside factors that influence their emotions.

The most obvious of these factors is alcohol, which a Nazir abstains from to the extreme in that the Nazir may not even taste something made with any part of the grape. Alcohol influences emotions differently for different people. In many, it lowers inhibitions, relaxes one’s concern about social mores and appropriate interactions. … which might lead to flirting and inappropriate behavior between people who should not be acting thus. It also can enhance one’s sense of self, meaning one’s righteous ire and one’s need to prove a point (often with anger – think of those notorious bar fights). In other words, it might make one more prone to jealous, suspicious thoughts even when the other party is innocent or make one prone to clutch on to a need to prove that they were right about their spouse.

Another major factor in seeking to control that which influences our emotions is attraction/love/lust. The second restriction of the Nazarite is cutting the hair, which Yochanan Kirschblum, in his book Thinking Outside the Box (published by Israel Bookshop), notes is really the only physical attribute given to us by God that we can shape and mold (without outside application such as make up). Most people put a great deal of their physical identity into their hair (or even their hair covering, in the case of married women). By letting one’s hair go “au natural,” without a razor or scissor touching the Nazir’s locks, one is setting a reminder to themselves that vanity, the primping and preening that lead to attraction/love/lust are the side of our emotional being that is connected to our more animalistic side, and one must look at one’s fellows (and be looked at by one’s fellows) for what is in their heart and soul. Looking at the world “all done up” in physical charm was, perhaps, what led to the terrible events of the Sotah.

The third powerful emotion is sorrow or despair. When a person witnesses a tragedy, particularly if it is one they have a hard time understanding the reasoning for, there is a desire to disconnect, to hide from the facts, or to fight to bring justice when one thinks justice has been mishandled. And while in this discussion, the Nazir may, perhaps, have witnessed the Sotah trial, watching a core of Jewish life be destroyed, that is a singular situation. A far more common situation is dealing with death. Witnessing or connecting to death can take a person, emotionally, out of focus from the world. The Nazir, who must, of course, still live in the world and be aware of death and sorrow, must set him or herself apart from the full impact of these emotions. The Nazir does so by refraining from any contact with a corpse, which for many people today seems easy but nevertheless having the need to remain conscientious of it at all times acts as a guard for the Nazir not to let the emotions of sorrow or despair become overwhelming.

Taking a Nazarite vow is an extreme reaction. While it is praiseworthy to want to protect oneself from letting one’s emotions become destructive, the Torah commands the Nazir to bring a sin offering at the end of their avowed time because, according to one widely held opinion, they have added unnecessary constraints to their life – perhaps inferring that the God given laws of the Torah were not enough (chas v’shalom).

It is interesting to note that the Nazir adds constraints, almost punishments, on his/her own life. The husband of the Sotah adds punishment to the life of his spouse. There is a prescribed death penalty for adultery, and there is the fact that Hashem knows all of our deeds and will offer our rewards and punishments as best suits His will. The ceremony of the Sotah, however, is for suspected adultery, and, in choosing this path rather than divorcing the wife whom he must surely have come to hate, the husband is adding his own level of punishment.

We live in a world that can be very confusing. There has been so much pain and suffering that we have witnessed – and pain and suffering always stand out, although there have been many wonderful blessings in the world as well – that it is easy to start demanding constraints and to suspect others of misbehavior and causing these tzoros. But the lesson that we can take from the Nazir and the Baal Sotah, perhaps, is to remember that Hashem created the world and gave us His Torah. Hashem and His Torah are perfect, we do not need to add to it, we need to strive harder to live up to it.

Hairy Matters (Naso)

What is it about hair that makes it such an important feature of the human body? While there are certain obvious benefits to having hair, such as keeping one’s head warm, it’s not anything so significant that people are discouraged from, let’s say, shaving their heads. And yet, hair often has a reputation for being something more than just a physical element. Really, one could almost write a sociological thesis on the significance of hair - why some cultures cover it and others display it; on the way people use their hair to express their identities, etc.

You might now be wondering about the significance of hair in a dvar Torah. The most obvious link is the fact that this week’s parsha contains the description of the Nazir, the person who takes a personal vow to restrict himself or herself and to refrain from grape products, to not go near a dead body, and to not cut their hair. It’s a strange combination of restrictions. One can certainly understand why a person who is trying to realign their righteousness, to reconnect with their spiritual side, might stay away from wine (and by extension, grape juice). Touching a dead body, which, at least in this day and age, seems a fairly uncommon activity, can be understood if one understands that halacha sees death as the ultimate state of impurity, and seeing death - the lack of the Divine spirit - can shake a person’s emunah.

So what’s the deal with cutting one’s hair, which seems to be just a basic act of physical maintenance. There is an interesting commentary by Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch on the verse “Kol yemei neder nizri, ta’ar lo ya’avar al rosh...” (All the days of his vow of Nazartism no razor shall come upon his head - Numbers 6:5): “The prohibition of cutting the hair is not to be understood as such a limitation. It is not itself a concrete nazir but it expresses the neder nazir, it characterizes the person who undertakes a vow of Nazaritism. [The word] - ta’ar, [is]  from erah to be uncovered, [he cannot use] an instrument that uncovers the skin, makes it naked....The prohibition here does not lie in the ta’ar but in effect, in removing the hair of the head.”

Ta’ar is a derivative of the root erah, which is also the root of the word ervah. Ervah is the term for the word that defines the parts of the body that, according to Jewish law, are meant to be covered. One of the most interesting aspects of ervah is that, according to Jewish law, a woman’s hair must be covered after she is married - and this too is significant to this week’s parsha because Parshat Bamidbar is the source of the halacha of kisui rosh, a woman’s head covering. In discussing the actions to be taken with a woman accused of being unfaithful, it is written: And the priest shall present the woman again before God and uncover the head of the woman...” (5:18).  About this verse Rabbi Hirsch notes: “By removing her head-covering, the priest expresses the whole reproach which rests on her. One has to remember that although [at the time of the accusation and presentation before the priests] it is still questionable if she had actually committed adultery...by her behavior given cause for kanoy (jealousy)...so that in any case she had deserved the reproach of at least immodest frivolity.”

There is a frequently repeated commentary that the reason the section on the nazir follows the section of the sotah (accused woman) is "To teach you that anyone who sees the sotah (suspected adulteress) in her disgrace will vow to abstain from wine [as does the nazir] (Talmud Sotah 2a)." But perhaps there is something significant in the hair as well. The restriction of cutting hair for the nazir is concluded with the verse “he shall be holy, the hair of his head shall he allow to grow wild” (6:5).

One might think that the nazir is to be praised, but his need to take the nazarite vow is not considered praiseworthy. In the case of both the sotah and the nazir, the exposure of their hair is an announcement of their spiritual status. While both of their hair is, in a way, set free, it is for very different reasons. The sotah’s is an admonition, the nazir’s is reminder to himself that (according to Rav Hirsch) “without retiring from actual contact with the social life around him, [one must strive] to work on himself, spiritually and mentally for the time of Nazaritism to be more by himself with God, His sanctuary, and his teachings. It is to this vow that the insulating growth of his hair (its wildness) admonishes him.”

Perhaps the lesson that we could learn is that we are a society that does not really want one to “let our hair down,” as the phrase goes. We are a society in which following the standards of the community is important, in which the laws are meant to be obeyed truly, and the way we think of hair and maintain our hair is a subtle reminder of finding that balance.