March 26, 2009
A story is told about a teenager from a non-religious American family who, after a number of years living in Israel, became observant. Although his family had been in Israel for nearly five years, the boy’s mother still prepared a turkey dinner complete with pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce in honor of Thanksgiving.
Wanting to honor his parents and still keep the laws of the Torah, the ba’al teshuva approached his Mea She’arim-trained Jerusalemite rebbe.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said. “Perhaps my question is out of place, but am I required to recite the ya’ale ve’yavo prayer on Thanksgiving if I celebrate with my family?”
The rebbe looked confused. “What is Thanksgiving?” he asked the new hasid.
The young man decided to seek his answer elsewhere, and so he went to the secular high school he had recently attended and approached his former history teacher, whose classes had once been the highlight of his day, partly because he was an expert in American culture.
“I’m sorry,” the young man asked. “Do you know if one must say the ya’ale ve’yavo prayers on Thanksgiving?”
The instructor answered the question with a question: “What’s ya’ale ve’yavo?”
The student was frustrated but undeterred. He saw a government minister who lived in his town arriving home from the Knesset and ran up to him.
“I’m sorry,” the young man began, “but perhaps you know: Do observant Jews say ya’ale ve’yavo on Thanksgiving?”
The Israeli minister scratched his forehead and asked, “What’s ‘I’m sorry’?”
For those of us who live in Israel, this story is too close to home to be amusing. It has been almost four years since the residents of Gush Katif had to leave their homes and jobs for the sake of peace, which our unilateral disengagement from Gaza was supposed to have brought us — but did not.
Still no Israeli politician has said, “I’m sorry.” Incompetent leaders led us to the first war we lost since 1948 — but still no word of apology.
An admission of guilt, an honest confrontation with oneself, is painfully difficult. But only after an individual faces his weaknesses and hypocrisies can the process of healing begin. This is what emerges from this week’s portion, Vayikra. In biblical times the individual would bring special sin offerings if he transgressed — but a sin offering without heartfelt repentance was not only meaningless but considered an abomination by God.
After the Bible informs us that human beings will — of necessity — sin (Leviticus 4:1, 2), the very first sinner to be singled out is the high priest, the most exalted religious personality in Israel, the guardian of the Holy Temple.
Apparently, our Bible does not recognize “papal infallibility.” The Bible emphasizes that “if the high priest will sin, it is a transgression upon the whole nation.” On the fast day of Yom Kippur, the first individual to confess his guilt and request purification is the high priest.
The next in line for admission of guilt is the Sanhedrin, the highest court in the land, the keepers of the divine law. When the lawmakers sin in judgment, all of Israel automatically sins. The elders of the congregation as well as the high priest must share in the guilt of the Sanhedrin, because they should have prevented the travesty of an unfit judiciary. (Leviticus 4:13, 15, 16)
The third person to be singled out for confession and atonement is the prince (nasi), the ruler, president, prime minister. Amazingly, the Bible uses the word “if” (im) regarding the transgression of the high priest and the Sanhedrin, but “when” (asher) regarding the nasi. “When the president shall sin…atonement must be made and he shall be forgiven.” (Leviticus 4:22, 26)
Why is the number one wielder of power most likely to fall prey to sin? Is it because he comes to believe he is above the law? Is it because he must rely on popular support, so he may fall prey to giving the people not what they need but what they want? The Bible doesn’t quite tell us, but it does say he is the most vulnerable.
A fascinating difference in the behavior of two leaders can be discerned from events described in the Book of Samuel. On a particular occasion King Saul does not wait for Samuel, the great judge and prophet of his generation, to begin the public sacrifice and ends up losing his kingdom (I Samuel 13). King David commits adultery and then sends Bathsheba’s husband to the front lines of battle to die, yet lives to become the progenitor of the messianic line of the Davidic dynasty. (II Samuel 12) Why?
Saul attempted to justify himself and blame the nation, whereas King David admitted his guilt and wept before the prophet and God. Rashi (Leviticus 4:22) links the Hebrew “asher” (“when” the nasi sins) to the Hebrew “ashrei,” fortunate: “Fortunate is the generation whose nasi puts his heart and mind toward seeking forgiveness for his sins.” Those in high office who are too high and mighty to seek forgiveness certainly ought be brought down a few notches by those very laws they seem to have haughtily disregarded.
Shlomo Riskin is the chief rabbi of the city of Efrat and dean of Ohr Torah Institutes in Israel.
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