Parashat Emor: When One Struggles to Celebrate
(delivered by Rabbi J.B. Sacks on 5/17/24)
While tomorrow’s reading contains one of the Torah’s discussions of holidays and instructions for their observances, rabbinic literature provides guidance for their observance in the context of the complexities of the participants’ lives, even those who might be struggling to celebrate. Six of the seven holidays mentioned in the Torah are referenced in Parashat Emor:[1] Shabbat, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. Only Rosh Chodesh is absent in this passage.
While Parashat Emor begins with specific instructions for the kohanim, the dynastic religious leadership, the text quickly shifts to G!d directing Moses to engage all of the Israelites regarding religious responsibilities and activities for the entire community. דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם מוֹעֲדֵ֣י יְהֹוָ֔ה אֲשֶׁר־תִּקְרְא֥וּ אֹתָ֖ם מִקְרָאֵ֣י קֹ֑דֶשׁ אֵ֥לֶּה הֵ֖ם מוֹעֲדָֽי׃ “These are My fixed times, the fixed times of Adonai, which you shall proclaim as sacred occasion.”[2] The Rabbis found great significance in Adonai instructing Moses to tell the people.
The authors of the Mishnah[3] gave thought to the lived experience of people coming to the Temple during the pilgrimage holy days of Pesach, Sukkot, and Shavuot. They imagined that individuals would re-enter the larger Israelite community after periods of time apart. They specifically wondered about the interpersonal and group dynamics when encountering someone during emotionally charged times in their lives.
A passage from the Mishnah[4] imagines a variety of difficult circumstances a person might be experiencing when coming to the Temple, and proposes a choreography and script for the encounter. Typically, most people who would enter the Temple precincts would move from the entrance to the right; however, some people would enter to the left, based on recent experiences: people would enter to the left if they were experiencing a hardship, including a person in mourning; a person who had been shunned by their family or community; the caregiver of an ill family member; or one who is preoccupied because of the loss of an important object.
The passage goes on to provide guidance to typical pilgrims when they would encounter those circling in the other direction. They should ask, “Why are you circling to the left?”
If the person responded, “Because I am in mourning,” one should offer the prayer, “May the One who dwells in this house comfort you.”
When encountering a person who says, “I have an ill family member,” one should respond with the prayer, “May the One who dwells in this house have compassion upon your relative.”
Perhaps most surprisingly, the Mishnah specifies that one who was in nidui—a form of excommunication in which someone was shunned by their family or community—should also circle to the left, so that those encountering such a person could offer a blessing. The Rabbis debated what blessing to offer this person; the consensus blessing is, “May the One who dwells in this house grant in the hearts of your family or community members to draw you near.” Wow! The very people doing the shunning of this person are among those who recite this prayer that the draw near to the person they have shunned.
This is stunning. Note that underpinning the Mishnah is a care and concern for the experience of the holy day that defeated, depressed, and disempowered people undergo. Though the scripting of exchanges has the resonance of a call and response liturgy, the ultimate goal is human engagement during significant and often difficult times. The cases provided are invitations for future innovation. The person moving to the right who is not experiencing hardship is instructed to begin the encounter not with a gesture of help but with a question—“Why are you circling to the left?” The encounter begins with the caregiver not knowing, and with deference to the one who is literally walking a different path against the mainstream.
The model of caring that the Mishnah describes resonates with the insight from psychiatrist Jonathan Shay that “[h]ealing from trauma depends upon communalization of the trauma.”[5] Assuming that people going through hardship will go on the pilgrimage, and will convene with the larger community, and will give voice to their suffering, the Mishnah paves the way for a relational approach, or a systems approach, to healing.
According to Dr. Shay, “Categories and classifications play a large role in the institutions of mental health care… in the education of mental health professionals, and as tentative guides to perception.” Such categories and classifications also play a large role in religious systems that guide people through major life events. Yet, over time, these systems reify and don’t always continue to meet their lofty purposes. As Dr. Shay states,
All too often, however, our mode of listening deteriorates into intellectual sorting, with the professional grabbing at the…[person’s] words…and sticking them into mental bins. To some degree that is institutionally and educationally necessary, but listening this way destroys trust.
In the same way that the Mishnah instructs that the caring encounter should begin with compassion and deference, Dr. Shay advises that “before analyzing, before classifying, before thinking, before trying to do anything—we should listen.” Listening to others establishes the foundation for building trust. However, fully open-ended approaches can be daunting and anxiety-provoking. For this the Mishnah provides us with a mechanism to reconnect after a difficult time apart.
We can see how Jewish practices around death and dying serve to communalize one’s personal grief so that healing may proceed more quickly, more deeply, and more holistically. So, for example, when everyone participates in placing several spadefuls of earth on top of a casket in plain view of the mourners, they know that people did not come to the funeral just to watch or pay some respects distantly. Rather, by everyone participating in the ritual, the community makes it clear to the mourners that their loss is shared, that we all lost something, and that we’re all journeying together toward healing.
Following a funeral, we all go to the shivah home, not just the mourners. When we go to the shivah house, we don’t enter offering the mourners our thoughts. Rather, we wait until they speak. By refraining from offering our thoughts, we let the mourners know that we have not come to tell them how they must act or proceed, nor that we are going to ignore their pain or bypass them. Rather, we are showing them that we are with them, and that we are in it for the long haul. We don’t need to say our peace and go; we wait, take our cues from the mourners, and speak and behave accordingly.
Shiv’ah actually means “seven,” indicating that we do shivah for one week. By establishing our consistent presence over a full week, the mourners take in the message, delivered not by pronouncements but by deeds, and at the moment when they need it the most, that our words that we will help them get through this were not empty platitudes
We can all take inspiration in how our ancient Sages urged the entire community to communalize the life challenges of individuals, whether at times of festive gathering or during times of mourning.
We all have experienced this communalization of trauma or emotions by being active in CAH. We experienced this past Wednesday, when we came together to support Lois’ children and other family members, and to support each other, during an emotional time of the loss of a long-term Board member and first citizen of CAH, someone who served as a role model of dignity and as a teacher of the importance of the communalization of experience, that when we celebrate together, the joy is deeper, and when we mourn together, the load is lighter.
May tomorrow’s reading of the Torah reinforce these teachings, and may we have a rich communal life that supports us through our personal journeys for many years to come.
Amen.
[1] Leviticus 23.
[2] Leviticus 23:2.
[3] Edited c. 200 CE, about 1,800 years ago.
[4] M. Middot 2:2, and a parallel passage in one of the Talmud’s minor tractates, Semahot 6:11.
[5] Jonathan Shay, Achilles in Vietnam: Combat Trauma and the Undoing of Character 4.