T'tzaveh (Exodus 27:20 - 30:10)
Parashat Tetzaveh is devoted almost exclusively to the Priestly vestments. The Torah tells us how to make them, how to consecrate them, and how to wear them l’kavod ul’tifferet – for dignity and adornment. The Torah appears to place great emphasis on the proper appearance of the priests, the appropriate dress and demeanour.
When I was a student in Junior High School, in one of those schools where prayer was permitted, even encouraged, the rabbis were also concerned with our appearance. They were particularly interested in our wearing tsitsit and our knowing the proper way to put on tefillin.
They didn’t say anything – besides, one isn’t supposed to speak in the middle of prayer – they would just stand in front of you, size you up and centre the tfilla shel rosh – the box on the head - adjusting it so it sat between the hairline and the fontanel. Or they would shift the box of the shel yad so it rested on the descending part of the bicep (or where you would one day have a bicep), a little off centre, so that it faced the heart. Or they might straighten the descending straps of the shel rosh to ensure that the black side faced forward. It was no big deal. It was routine. They did it to us and to each other. They were a kind of human mirror. They were a paradigm of how a Jew should live and behave. Before long, we began adjusting one another’s tefillin. It was a first step toward responsibility and leadership.
Years later, I stood at attention on the parade ground of the IDF Officers’ School. It was our first day. All the cadets were lined up in our “A” uniforms. The legendary Sergeant Major Tuito walked up and down the ranks. He would stop in front of a cadet, size him up, and adjust his beret so it sat tilted to right, with the regimental insignia above the left eye. Or he would adjust a sleeve so that it was folded up “three times over the cuff.” Or he would explain the right way to lace up a combat boot. After that, Sergeant Tuito would look us up and down whenever he saw us walking by. He would do it routinely and casually, just like the rabbis who adjusted my tefillin. He, too, was a human mirror. He set an example for the proper comportment of a soldier in his dress and in his behaviour.
I remembered all of that when I looked at last week’s Jerusalem Post Magazine. The cover featured a picture of three people reading the Torah at a weekday morning service. All were wearing tefillin. All had their tefillin on wrong. Their tefillin weren’t just a little off centre, they were just on wrong. They needed more than just a little adjusting. Anyone who knows anything about how to put on tefillin, might immediately conclude that here were three young people who were clueless. Maybe no one ever showed them the right way. Maybe no one ever did for them what my teachers – my rabbis and sergeants – did for me. That thought is somewhat disconcerting. But what is most upsetting is that the picture was provided courtesy of the Jewish Theological Seminary.
Apparently, someone at the flagship institution of Conservative Judaism has never really paid attention to this week’s Torah reading, Parashat Tetzaveh, and to its overarching emphasis on the importance of how the kohanim must dress. Someone in the higher echelons of the Seminary’s administration is either unaware of the halakhic requirements for putting on tefillin - and of how teachers and leaders of the Jewish community should comport themselves - or has an unconventional idea of the role of a rabbi as a symbol and role model.
Now I understand that the concept of the rabbi and of the community leader is changing. I know that in our post-modern world, rigid standards are no longer tolerated. Nowadays it isn’t acceptable to speak of right and wrong. We are each entitled to follow our own individual path to God, and to Torah, as long as we don’t infringe anyone else’s autonomy. And, of course, if there is no right way or wrong way, if the spiritual journey is entirely personal and private, then leaders need not set a traditional example. They are free to do whatever they please on their own self-defined course towards enlightenment. Leaders, too, are entitled to autonomy.
My rabbis in Junior High School would disagree. So would Sergeant Major Tuito. So would anyone with a decent respect for Jewish tradition and the Jewish concept of society. There are right ways and wrong ways. There is mutual responsibility. Every junior officer knows that. Every officer has to know that because the lives of his soldiers depend on everyone doing things the right way, every time. It would be a good thing if rabbis, educators and community leaders would also realize what every 19-year-old second lieutenant knows: People’s lives depend on your showing them the right way.
That may seem a little melodramatic, but it’s not. In the case of rabbis, a recent survey showed that of eight areas of rabbinic leadership, the most important functions a rabbi fulfils in the eyes of congregants are those of leading the congregation in prayer and serving as a role model. Unfortunately, rabbis rated those areas as numbers four and five on a scale of eight. The result, inevitably, is that the public looks to its leaders to set an example, but the leaders don’t set an example because they don’t think that setting an example is all that important. The survey shows that rabbis do not share the same priorities as their congregants. One need only read the newspapers to know that the same is all too often true for the Jewish community leadership, as well.
That is a problem. The result of that kind of disharmony is either dissatisfaction with the leaders, or disenchantment with the values that are associated with the leadership. If the values the leader is supposed to represent are not demonstrated in that leader’s conduct, then a person who cherishes those values will think less of the leader and of his organization, while a person who respects the leader may lose respect for the value itself.
In the case of the picture in the Jerusalem Post, the reaction may be that the people pictured cannot be taken seriously, that the movement, institution, religious ideas or ideals they represent are not serious, or that the Jewish values that those people are expected to demonstrate are not really so important. Take your pick. Whichever one you choose dooms the future of Conservative Judaism.
The late General Rafael Eitan used to say that discipline begins with a soldier’s hat. It also begins with a priest’s vestments, a rabbi’s tefillin, or a community leader’s example. If Jewish leaders do not provide that example, then it makes no difference whether the Jewish community chooses to follow that leadership into oblivion, or whether it chooses to abandon that leadership and set its own course into the void. Either way, we are all lost.
When I was a student in Junior High School, in one of those schools where prayer was permitted, even encouraged, the rabbis were also concerned with our appearance. They were particularly interested in our wearing tsitsit and our knowing the proper way to put on tefillin.
They didn’t say anything – besides, one isn’t supposed to speak in the middle of prayer – they would just stand in front of you, size you up and centre the tfilla shel rosh – the box on the head - adjusting it so it sat between the hairline and the fontanel. Or they would shift the box of the shel yad so it rested on the descending part of the bicep (or where you would one day have a bicep), a little off centre, so that it faced the heart. Or they might straighten the descending straps of the shel rosh to ensure that the black side faced forward. It was no big deal. It was routine. They did it to us and to each other. They were a kind of human mirror. They were a paradigm of how a Jew should live and behave. Before long, we began adjusting one another’s tefillin. It was a first step toward responsibility and leadership.
Years later, I stood at attention on the parade ground of the IDF Officers’ School. It was our first day. All the cadets were lined up in our “A” uniforms. The legendary Sergeant Major Tuito walked up and down the ranks. He would stop in front of a cadet, size him up, and adjust his beret so it sat tilted to right, with the regimental insignia above the left eye. Or he would adjust a sleeve so that it was folded up “three times over the cuff.” Or he would explain the right way to lace up a combat boot. After that, Sergeant Tuito would look us up and down whenever he saw us walking by. He would do it routinely and casually, just like the rabbis who adjusted my tefillin. He, too, was a human mirror. He set an example for the proper comportment of a soldier in his dress and in his behaviour.
I remembered all of that when I looked at last week’s Jerusalem Post Magazine. The cover featured a picture of three people reading the Torah at a weekday morning service. All were wearing tefillin. All had their tefillin on wrong. Their tefillin weren’t just a little off centre, they were just on wrong. They needed more than just a little adjusting. Anyone who knows anything about how to put on tefillin, might immediately conclude that here were three young people who were clueless. Maybe no one ever showed them the right way. Maybe no one ever did for them what my teachers – my rabbis and sergeants – did for me. That thought is somewhat disconcerting. But what is most upsetting is that the picture was provided courtesy of the Jewish Theological Seminary.
Apparently, someone at the flagship institution of Conservative Judaism has never really paid attention to this week’s Torah reading, Parashat Tetzaveh, and to its overarching emphasis on the importance of how the kohanim must dress. Someone in the higher echelons of the Seminary’s administration is either unaware of the halakhic requirements for putting on tefillin - and of how teachers and leaders of the Jewish community should comport themselves - or has an unconventional idea of the role of a rabbi as a symbol and role model.
Now I understand that the concept of the rabbi and of the community leader is changing. I know that in our post-modern world, rigid standards are no longer tolerated. Nowadays it isn’t acceptable to speak of right and wrong. We are each entitled to follow our own individual path to God, and to Torah, as long as we don’t infringe anyone else’s autonomy. And, of course, if there is no right way or wrong way, if the spiritual journey is entirely personal and private, then leaders need not set a traditional example. They are free to do whatever they please on their own self-defined course towards enlightenment. Leaders, too, are entitled to autonomy.
My rabbis in Junior High School would disagree. So would Sergeant Major Tuito. So would anyone with a decent respect for Jewish tradition and the Jewish concept of society. There are right ways and wrong ways. There is mutual responsibility. Every junior officer knows that. Every officer has to know that because the lives of his soldiers depend on everyone doing things the right way, every time. It would be a good thing if rabbis, educators and community leaders would also realize what every 19-year-old second lieutenant knows: People’s lives depend on your showing them the right way.
That may seem a little melodramatic, but it’s not. In the case of rabbis, a recent survey showed that of eight areas of rabbinic leadership, the most important functions a rabbi fulfils in the eyes of congregants are those of leading the congregation in prayer and serving as a role model. Unfortunately, rabbis rated those areas as numbers four and five on a scale of eight. The result, inevitably, is that the public looks to its leaders to set an example, but the leaders don’t set an example because they don’t think that setting an example is all that important. The survey shows that rabbis do not share the same priorities as their congregants. One need only read the newspapers to know that the same is all too often true for the Jewish community leadership, as well.
That is a problem. The result of that kind of disharmony is either dissatisfaction with the leaders, or disenchantment with the values that are associated with the leadership. If the values the leader is supposed to represent are not demonstrated in that leader’s conduct, then a person who cherishes those values will think less of the leader and of his organization, while a person who respects the leader may lose respect for the value itself.
In the case of the picture in the Jerusalem Post, the reaction may be that the people pictured cannot be taken seriously, that the movement, institution, religious ideas or ideals they represent are not serious, or that the Jewish values that those people are expected to demonstrate are not really so important. Take your pick. Whichever one you choose dooms the future of Conservative Judaism.
The late General Rafael Eitan used to say that discipline begins with a soldier’s hat. It also begins with a priest’s vestments, a rabbi’s tefillin, or a community leader’s example. If Jewish leaders do not provide that example, then it makes no difference whether the Jewish community chooses to follow that leadership into oblivion, or whether it chooses to abandon that leadership and set its own course into the void. Either way, we are all lost.
Avinoam Sharon
© 2005 Avinoam Sharon
