Rejection

ESSAY: Rejection
The most serious form of rejection requires the greatest love of all

INSIGHTS: Common Wealth
A world in which the poor sustain the rich, the ignorant teach the wise, and the iniquitous edify the righteous

A TELLING STORY
Definite Proof
Two Rebbes, two blessings, and a humble boast
Celebration
Why, for the Jew, a holy occasion is an occasion to call the caterer

Rejection. It is one of society's most potent tools for regulating and constraining undesirable behavior. As children, we knew that misconduct carried the risk of a parental glare of disapproval, and perhaps banishment to our bedrooms. As adults, the scepter of imprisonment hangs over would-be criminals as a deterrent for all sorts of illegal behavior. But how effective is enforced isolation in preventing crime, and perhaps more importantly, invoking a feeling of regret in the offender? Psychologists and social researchers are re-evaluating this age-old method of dealing with crime. Banishment and imprisonment may remove the criminal from the midst of society, thereby limiting the risks to the rest of us from his objectionable behavior; however, once separated from the community, the offender feels little motivation to adapt to the behavioral standards of society at large. Through isolating him, we are effectively cutting him out of civilization. Our rejection may not be an incentive to improve, but rather a license to plunge further into the nether world of crime.

The Torah also has its proscribed system of isolation for certain offenses. Tzaraas[1] was a divinely ordained affliction that came upon an individual who was guilty of slanderous talk against his fellow man.[2] Upon being declared impure, the leper was sent out of all three camps[3] and kept completely secluded from the rest of society. His punishment corresponded to his crime. His slanderous talk resulted in friction and disunion between people; his penalty was enforced separation from the community.

Yet it is important to note the process whereby the leper was declared impure. One who discovers a suspicious spot on his skin must have it inspected by a learned scholar. If the sage determines that the spot does indeed have all the symptoms of tzaraas, he then presents it to the Kohen, who declares him impure. The Kohen may be completely ignorant of the details of the laws regarding tzaraas, yet the individual is not declared impure unless the Kohen pronounces him as such. Even if the Kohen merely echoes the decision of the learned scholar, it is his affirmation, rather than the scholar's learned opinion, that finalizes the person's status.

It is puzzling why the Torah predicates the declaration of impurity upon the Kohen. The Kohen, after all, was distinct in his special status of purity. The Kohen performed the most exalted and refined tasks in the Holy Temple, and was obligated to refrain from defiling himself through any contact with ritual impurity. Why must the Kohen be the one to declare him impure?

The Kohen's mandatory involvement sheds light on the Torah's view of societal isolation as a punishment and deterrent for wrongdoing. The Kohen's function, aside from his service in the Temple, was to serve as a conduit of blessings for the Jewish People.[4] The Kohanim have maintained this role throughout Jewish history, through their recital of the priestly blessing in the synagogue.  Before commencing the Priestly Blessing, the Kohanim recite a benediction concluding with the words: "Who has commanded us to bless the Jewish people, with love."[5] If the Kohen feels that he is lacking in a measure of love for even one member of the community, he is obliged to step down and refrain from uttering the Priestly Blessing.[6] Only the Kohen, known as a "man of kindness,[7]" has the authority to declare a person impure, resulting in his banishment from the camp of the Jewish people.

The Kohen's pronouncement is based upon the opinion of the learned scholar, well versed in the myriad laws of various skin conditions and their ritual status; nevertheless, it is the Kohen who is given the final say over matters of impurity. The Kohen's heart, overflowing with love for his fellow man, will not allow him to make such a proclamation lightly. He will be fully aware of the power of his words, and will leave no stone unturned to prevail upon the scholar to find some loophole, some escape hatch to avoid declaring another Jew impure. And if, for all his pains, he is unable to avoid uttering the word "impure," we can be assured that he will likewise spare no effort to facilitate the purification of the leper.

Isolation and rejection are almost completely ineffective means of ameliorating criminal behavior when there is an absence of one critical ingredient: love. Once an individual feels cast out of his society, he loses his greatest source of motivation and encouragement to lead a wholesome, productive life. The Kohen is there to teach us that even when censuring and condemning improper behavior, we must never lose sight of our primary role: to extend a helping and supporting hand to every member of society, no matter what his or her status may be.

An individual who is able to utter a condemnation of another human being must carefully examine his or her own heart. Those who are lacking in love and compassion are incapable of coming to a true conclusion regarding another person's status. Instead, they will succeed only in driving others further away with their unrelenting, critical attitudes. In fact, one who is not qualified to render someone "impure," and does so anyway, is guilty of slander, the very offense that incurs the penalty of tzaraas.

Isolation is enforced for one class of people—those who are unable to tolerate and accept others. Those who feel incapable of reaching out and embracing every member of the community should take a hiatus for themselves to invoke a feeling of clemency in their hearts, and avoid hurting others with the sting of their bitterness and condemnations.

There is no telling how deeply we can impact and influence all of society when we keep our hearts open to all with kindness and compassion. The Kohen, a man of kindness, guides us in attaining this exalted level of sensitivity. It is this form of unconditional love that will obliterate the primary cause of our long exile. For exile is a state of conflict and disharmony, where we feel cut off emotionally from each other and even from our own inner selves. When we consciously attempt to invoke in ourselves a feeling of true acceptance and love for all individuals, we free ourselves and society from the entrapment of isolation and disconnection.

So the next time you encounter any form of imperfection in another human being, don't turn away. In the manner of the Kohen, look beyond the external blemish, into the soul. Your kind eye and loving heart will accomplish far more than your most severe condemnations. These small acts of unity and acceptance have the power to change the landscape of society from a cold and vicious jungle to a place where peace, serenity, and harmony will reign.

Common Wealth
by Yanki Tauber

When faced with an assemblage of individuals—a community, a nation, a random crowd—our tendency is to relate to them in terms of their “lowest common denominator.” Some are more knowledgeable, others less so; some are rich, others poor; some are virtuous, others delinquent. So the teacher will take care not to speak beyond the range of his least knowledgeable pupils, the businessman will set the price of his merchandise with a mind to the least affluent among his potential customers, and banks will employ a security system to deter the least moral in the community.

In other words, we tend to view our qualities as additions or premiums to our basic being. We are all born ignorant; some gain a little knowledge, others more. We are all born penniless; some gain a modicum of wealth, others more. We are all born selfish, and are trained to a greater or lesser degree of morality. And so on.

But there also exists another perspective on man: the human being as the vessel of immense potential, with all human achievements as but partial realizations of this potential. In other words, our “common denominator” is as great—indeed, greater than—what we see in the most accomplished human being on earth. This is the vision of humanity expressed by a series of laws in the Torah relating to the korban oleh v’yored, the “sliding scale” offering.

Most of the korbanot (“offerings”) mandated by the Torah are of a fixed nature. In certain cases, the Torah commands to bring a yearling lamb accompanied by specified amounts of meal, wine and oil; in others, a pair of doves; and so on. The korban oleh v’yored (literally, “the ascending and descending offering”) is an exception to this rule. In six cases the Torah instructs that an offering be made in atonement, but says that the content of the offering should be determined by the person’s financial capacity. A woman after childbirth is obligated to bring two offerings—a lamb and a dove; but if she is poor, she is to bring two doves instead.[8] A cured metzora (“leper”), undergoing purification from his state of impurity, must bring two lambs and a ewe; but if he is a poor man, he is to bring a lamb and two doves.[9] And, in the case of one who transgresses a “witness’ oath,” one who inadvertently swears falsely, or one who inadvertently enters the Holy Temple or eats sacred food (kodashim) in a state of ritual impurity, there are three “steps” on the scale: a ewe or she-goat for the most affluent, a pair of doves for a penitent of lesser means, and a meal offering for the most impoverished.[10]

These offerings are commanded by the Torah as a personal obligation upon the individual. However, another person may assume the obligation in his stead. In such a case, the law stipulates that the type of offering is determined by the wealthier of the two individuals. In the words of Maimonides: “If a rich man says, ‘I assume the obligation for the offerings of this metzora,’ and the said metzora is a pauper, he must bring a rich man’s offering, since a rich man made the pledge. If a poor man says, ‘I assume the obligation for the offerings of this metzora,’ and the said metzora is wealthy, he must bring a rich man’s offering, since he obligated himself to bring a rich man’s offering.”[11]

One can understand the logic of obligating the donor according to his means. There is also logic in the argument that since the offering must achieve atonement for the metzora, the type of offering should be determined by the metzora’s status. But why employ a “double standard,” following the donor’s status when he is the richer man, and the metzora’s status when he is the wealthier?

There is a profound lesson here—a lesson in our mutual responsibility for each other and in how one is to view a fellow man. Every man is intrinsically “wealthy”; the differences between us are only in the extent to which we actualize this wealth. So when one man assumes responsibility for his fellow, both are elevated to the state of the wealthier one between them. If the “donor” has realized his potential to a greater degree, he stimulates an equal realization in his fellow. And if a “pauper” takes it upon himself to help a “richer” man, he has not assumed an obligation that is beyond his means. For he, too, possesses an equal potential, and his very commitment to his “superior” fellow will serve to actualize this potential and raise him to the level on which he can indeed contribute to his fellow’s life.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Tishrei 26, 5746 (October 10, 1985)[12]

A disciple of Rabbi Israel of Ruzhin once passed through the town of Premishlan and availed himself of the opportunity to visit the Chassidic master, Rabbi Meir Premishlaner. Upon hearing that the visitor was a chassid of the great Rebbe of Ruzhin, Rabbi Meir received him with honor and reverence.

Upon their parting, Rabbi Meir said: “Tell your Rebbe that I have definite proof that I am greater than he. I have discovered that my blessings are far more effective than his.”

The chassid was quite taken aback to hear these words, especially from the mouth of Rabbi Meir, whose humility was legendary. Noticing his visitor’s confusion, Rabbi Meir smiled and explained:

“The last time we met, your Rebbe blessed me that I should merit to advance in the service of the Almighty, and I returned the blessing. My blessing has been most effective—the holy Rabbi Israel grows daily in saintliness and piety—while his blessing has produced scant results...”

Rabbi Nachum of Chernobyl would strongly encourage the Jewish custom of conducting a seudat mitzvah (a feast celebrating a mitzvah). Whenever he heard of a circumcision, bar mitzvah, wedding or siyum[13] that was to take place, he would hasten to participate, and urge that the meal be as lavish as possible. Often he would contribute toward the expenses of a seudat mitzvah for a needy family, to ensure that a feast was prepared as merited the occasion.

Once, Rabbi Nachum explained his particular affinity for mitzvah celebrations. “One year,” he told, “when the fate of Israel was to be decided in the heavenly court on Rosh Hashanah, the prosecuting angel came with a huge load of sins, G-d forbid, which he placed on the demeritorious side of the great balance scale. Michoel, the supernal advocate of Israel, brought a load of mitzvot, but alas, these failed to tip the scales to the side of merit.

“At this point, the defending angel argued before the court: ‘It is true that there are more sins than mitzvot, but the balance between them is not being gauged properly. When a Jew does a mitzvah, he does it with a joyous heart, elated at the opportunity to serve his Creator. His transgressions, on the other hand, occur at a moment of weakness; they are done without enthusiasm, and with a heart already heavy with regret. Thus, each mitzvah should, by rights, outweigh many transgressions in the calculations of this court.’

“ ‘Can you prove to us that this is indeed the case,’ challenged the prosecuting angel.

“ ‘Certainly,’ said Michoel. ‘Observe, if you will, what happens when a Jew does a mitzvah: he prepares a lavish feast, and invites his friends to come share in his joy in having merited to fulfill a divine commandment. Now tell me: have you ever seen a Jew throw a party to celebrate the fact that he has transgressed the divine will...?’ ”