Emor (Leviticus 21:1-24:23)

About a year ago, there was uproar in the opera world when Deborah Voigt was denied the lead in the opera Ariadne auf Naxos because she was too large to fit into a little black dress. Some critics clung to the idea that, in opera, voice is everything, and that the sophisticated listener’s willful suspension of disbelief should be sufficiently ample to accommodate Miss Voigt’s girth. We should be able to swallow the idea of a well-nourished Mimi taking her last consumptive breaths in La Boheme; we shouldn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at a matronly Carmen seducing an aging, portly Don Jose.

The last defenders of unconditional equality finally surrendered when the incomparable Luciano Pavarotti chose the role of Cavaradossi in Tosca as his swan song at the Met. One of the more generous critics lauded the great maestro’s virtuosity, but could not help but observe that Pavarotti “was barely recognizable as Puccini's hero, Mario Cavaradossi, the ardent young lover of diva Floria Tosca.” There was something about watching the overweight, sixty-eight year old tenor gingerly attempt to settle his arthritic knees on carefully placed pillows that made it hard to accept that he had just been shot dead by a firing squad.

Well, as Coleridge wrote:

Swans sing before they die – ‘twere no bad thing
Did certain persons die before they sing.

It is unfortunate that we are unable to overcome our preconceptions, biases and aesthetic preferences by the sheer force of our intellect. Opera - because of the overwhelming importance of vocal artistry - remains the last bastion. Verisimilitude in the opera still refers to the musical differences between Sweeny Todd and The Barber of Seville, not to the realism of the acting. But in other spheres, we are becoming less and less able to suspend our disbelief, to disengage our sense from our senses. Adults can no longer portray Romeo and Juliet on film, and one must still be fairly young to play them on the stage. In fact, it is even becoming hard to cast older dancers in those roles in the ballet.

What is true for the arts is even more so in business and in politics. A physical handicap can prove an insurmountable barrier to a candidate’s run for public office. It is unlikely that Franklin Roosevelt would ever have been elected if the public did not think he could walk, and if the press had not hidden the fact that FDR was bound to a wheelchair and had to be carried to bed. And regardless of the success of President Bartlett on The West Wing, Golda Meir would never have been elected prime minister of Israel if her leukaemia had not been a carefully guarded secret.

In corporate America, good teeth, a full head of hair, and a trim physique are more important than an MBA from Wharton. Before appearing in a US federal court, I was once sagely advised by a senior partner in a Manhattan law firm that I would be wise to wear an oxford cloth shirt with a button-down collar, dark blue pinstripes, wingtips or toe-cap shoes, my college tie and class ring, wire framed glasses, and a pocket watch or my father’s wristwatch. When I arrived in court the following morning and saw the other lawyers, it struck me that I would not have been more in uniform were I in the army. The only difference between the prosecutor and me was that he wore a different tie and ring. I was Columbia, he was Yale, and my client got a good deal. I’m sorry to say that the same cannot be said for the poor fellow whose lawyer wore a brown suit and loafers. The judge treated him quite roughly. I suspect his honour was wearing pinstripes under his robe. I know he had wire framed glasses and a pocket watch.

I’m sure we can all think of similar stories. We would like to imagine that it were otherwise. We would like to believe that beauty is only skin-deep, and that we can see beyond the surface. But we know that we really can’t, unless we make an extraordinary effort. We can’t control the way we feel. Or, as the late Rabbi Dr. Max Arzt once said to me, “you can’t legislate emotions.”

And yet, we get very upset when the Bible tells us that a blind man or a hunchback cannot perform the Temple service. We are incensed that a scar or a limp disqualifies a kohen. We are absolutely unwilling to accept that there can be any justification for not allowing a priest to marry a divorcee. The idea that homosexuals cannot be ordained as rabbis makes us shudder with righteous indignation.

We are such hypocrites.

How many openly gay individuals have been appointed to the Supreme Court or elected president or prime minister? How many candidates for public office maintain a marital fiction because they think we won’t vote for them right after a divorce?

Think about all the judgments we make almost solely on the basis of appearance, all the decisions we make based upon assumptions about other people’s health or sexual identity, and all the money we spend because we believe that we need to look young. Let’s face it, the last bald man to be elected president of the United States was General Eisenhower, and I think the last one before him may have been Martin Van Buren. Remember him?

Think about that, and then tell me if you can honestly say that it is your sense of justice that is offended by the idea that a kohen cannot marry a divorcee. Think truthfully about your expectations of others, about your own preferences, your own preconceptions and voting habits, and then consider whether it is your sense of fairness that is troubled by the idea that homosexuals cannot marry or be ordained.

I, for one, am troubled by many Biblical statutes, and by rules of halakha that I find to be out of touch with my humanistic sensibilities. I am terribly upset that certain people are disqualified by things over which they have no control. It bothers me that people who are in love can’t marry because of some ancient bias or taboo.

But I am bothered even more that I care so little about basic Jewish values; that I care so little about Torah and tradition. Imagine Sean Connery as Romeo. Somehow a little age discrimination doesn’t offend me there. And I won’t fight to see Judy Dench or Helen Mirren play an ingénue.

So it troubles me that I care more about the movies than I do about the Torah. I stand accused by the thought that I might consider altering the Torah to make concessions for priests and rabbis before I would compromise the integrity of a script or a score, and that I may be more willing to alter our religious heritage than to make aesthetic allowances for singers, actors or dancers. Otherwise, I really shouldn’t care who plays Romeo, as long as the only people who act as kohanim are men who meet the standards set down in parashat Emor.

Avinoam Sharon

© 2005 Avinoam Sharon