Trouble-Making Judaism | Delivered to Bet Shalom congregation, Barcelona

Bona tarda amigos – Erev tov – Shalom chaveirim v’chaveirot!

Trouble-Making Judaism

This evening I’m going to talk to you about Trouble-Making Judaism. So, what is ‘Trouble-Making Judaism’?[i] A narrative related in the First Book of Kings chapters 16 to 22, provides an answer, which reminds us that, actually, at its heart, Judaism is about – is supposed to be about – trouble-making.  At chapter 16, verse 29, we learn that ‘Ahab, the son of Omri, became king of Israel in the thirty-eighth year of Asa, King of Judah’ – that is, in the middle of the ninth century BCE. Ahab married Jezebel, the daughter of the King of Tyre, an idol worshipper, and while the two of them consorted to worship Baal,[ii] Jezebel went about killing off the prophets of the Eternal One.[iii] But when ‘the word of the Eternal’ comes to Elijah, the Tishbite, an inhabitant of Gilead,[iv] Ahab soon finds that he has met his match – and when Ahab confronts Elijah, he tells him what he thinks of him (I K 18:17-19):

When Ahab caught sight of Elijah, Ahab said to him, ‘Is that you, you troubler of Israel?’

Yes, Elijah certainly was ‘a troubler of Israel’ – ocheir Yisrael – the noun/verb ‘troubler’, ocheir, based on the root, Ayin Kaf Reish meaning to ‘trouble’, as in, ‘stir up’, or ‘disturb’. That was the role of the prophets in their societies. The prophets were the hecklers; the sacred wordsmiths who barraged the kings and the priests, with criticism, tormenting them with threats of punishment for their sins and misdeeds. Their only responsibility was to speak out. As Brian Klug, puts it: ‘As a breed, the Hebrew prophets were intent on making trouble; trouble was their trade. They gave offence to ruler and to people alike, discomforting them to the core,”[v] And that is what the prophetic message is always meant to do: trouble, disturb, stir up the status quo.

In the Jewish liturgical practice established by the rabbis almost 2000 years ago, on Shabbat (the Sabbath) and festivals, congregations throughout the Jewish world, read, both, a portion from the Sefer Torah, the scroll which contains the ‘Five books of Moses’, and a section from the second part of the TaNaKh,[vi] the Hebrew Bible, known as N’v’im, meaning, ‘Prophets’, which begins with the book of Joshua, and includes all the prophetic books. This second reading is called the haftarah, which means, ‘conclusion’.[vii]  So, week in and week out, and as the cycle of the year turns, congregants are made familiar, not only with the books of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, but also, with important passages from the second part of the Bible – not least, the rousing words of the prophets.

The prophets – chief among them, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, and Micah – spent a good deal of their time, berating, both, the secular rulers of their day and the people; admonishing them for their failure to keep the commandments of the Eternal One, most particularly, the ethical injunctions. The rabbis, engaged with the task of reconstructing Jewish life after the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE, declared that the age of prophecy was dead.[viii] Nevertheless, by developing the practice of reading sections from the prophetic books each Shabbat and Festival, they ensured that those who participated in worship services, were made directly aware of key prophetic messages. As it happens, the origin of the inclusion of passages from the prophetic books in Shabbat and Festival services is shrouded in mystery. The prevailing theory is that the practice was introduced during the period of the persecutions instigated by the Selucid Emperor, Antiochus IV Epiphanes in 167 BCE, when the Temple altar was desecrated and the Jewish people were prohibited from reading the Torah, observing Shabbat (the Sabbath), and other key practices, like, circumcision.[ix] Irrespective of the precise reasons and context in which the haftarah was introduced, the impact remains: without taking the trouble to read the Bible for her/himself, the ordinary ‘Jew in the pew’ gets to hear the words of the prophets.

The significance of this experience is nowhere more evident than on Yom Kippur.  Even as a rabbi, who is more than a little familiar, with the liturgical structure of Jewish worship, I always experience a jolt when I read the prophetic passage that is set aside for the morning of Yom Kippur, from Isaiah chapter 57 to 58[x].

Just imagine it: congregations of Jews the world over, are gathered in their synagogues on Shabbat Shabbaton, the ‘Sabbath of Sabbaths’, the most sacred day of the Jewish calendar, the day set aside for the confession of our transgressions and misdeeds, and a gruelling journey towards atonement. By the time we get to the haftarah in the morning service, we have probably already fasted for at least 16 hours. Our stomachs are rumbling. However, that’s not really a problem, because we feel we are engaged in something really important, and it is satisfying to know that we are observing all the important rites, established by our ancestors. But then, as if the prophet is present among us, and knows exactly how we are feeling at this point, he takes the opportunity to taunt us:

Is this the fast I have chosen, a day for humanity’s self-denial? To bow one’s head like a bulrush, to grovel in sackcloth and ashes? Is this what you call a fast, the day the Eternal One would accept?’

The prophet is not saying that we should stop fasting; he is simply intent on reminding us why we are fasting:

Is not this the fast I have chosen; to loosen the fetters of evil, to untie the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and whatever the yoke, to break it? / Is it not sharing your food with the hungry and bringing the homeless into your home; when you see the naked, to clothe them, never hiding from your own flesh and blood?’

The words of the unknown prophet are startling in themselves, a powerful message for all those who are inclined to forget that, as Brian Klug puts it, ‘being Jewish’ is about ‘doing justice’.[xi] The rabbis chose to highlight this message on the most sacred day of the Jewish year, a unique day marked by special rites – so unique, that the rabbis called it, in the Talmud tractate dedicated to the laws of Yom Kippur, simply, Yoma – which is Aramaic for ‘The Day’. A day set apart from all the other days of the Jewish year, when the observant Jew relinquishes every aspect of ordinary life and the daily routine: eating, washing, anointing, sex. So: a day devoid of any connection with any other day. And yet, the rabbis took this totally exceptional day, and taught us, through the words of the unknown prophet, that this day is, in fact, inextricably linked with all our days. That the whole point of observing Yom Kippur is for us to acknowledge our misdeeds, and resolve to go out into the world and put things right.

If it were not for the rabbis, Jewish life would have come to an end when the Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE, and with it, the system of sacrificial worship, involving the presentation of offerings, the substance of this agricultural people’s labour on the land. The work of the rabbis in reconstructing Jewish life generated the new era of Rabbinic Judaism. But they did much more than rebuild Jewish life out of the ashes and rubble of the Temple. Keen to establish a seemingly seamless continuity between Temple Judaism and Rabbinic Judaism, the rabbis, nevertheless, transformed Jewish life, creating new rituals and practices, and investing ancient Jewish practices, including the festivals, with new meanings. If the catastrophe they faced was happening now, and a group of scholars came along and completely reinvented Jewish life, we would call them revolutionaries. So, why don’t we regard the first rabbis in this way? Because, actually, their interventions were much more subtle and sophisticated than the kind of actions we associate with disruptors of the social order. Knowing that the future of the Jewish people lay in their hands, they presented their innovations as the ‘oral law’ that was also given to Moses on Sinai, alongside the ‘written law’. In this way, the rabbis established the authority for their reinvention of Jewish life.[xii]

So, while the age of prophecy had ceased, the rabbis ensured that the prophets continued to speak to each succeeding generation of the Jewish people. It is significant to note in this respect, that the first paragraph of Pirkey Avot, the ‘Sayings of the Sages’, which is appended to the first rabbinic code of law, the Mishnah, edited around 200 CE, opens with this concise chronology, creating the link between the heritage that the rabbis were receiving, and their own work (Pirkey Avot, 1:1)[xiii]:

Moses received Torah from Sinai and handed it on to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets. And the prophets handed it on to the members of the Great Assembly. The latter said three things: be deliberate in judgement; raise up many disciples; and make a fence around the Torah.

In view of the fact that a great portion of the Torah is devoted to the rules and regulations governing the priesthood, with Aaron, Moses’ elder brother occupying the position of the first High Priest,[xiv] and given that the rabbis were involved in regenerating Jewish life after the destruction of the Temple, the absence of the priests from this chronology seems incredible. But here it is, as they say, in black-and-white. According to the rabbis, the prophets handed the Torah directly to the members of the Great Assembly, the semi-mythic body that is regarded as the first institutionalised expression of rabbinic leadership.[xv] And so, one might say, that the rabbis were engaged in, both, ensuring the continuation of Jewish worship[xvi] in the context of establishing a new framework for the observance of the commandments, and with ensuring that the legacy of the prophets would be kept alive.

They achieved this, practically speaking, as we have seen, through the practice of the haftarah reading. However, it could be said that, while the rite of the haftarah reading is, indeed, integral to Shabbat and festival observance throughout the Jewish world, it is not evident that the congregations who listen to the haftarah week in week out, actually pay attention to the proclamations of the prophets. There may be quite prosaic reasons for this. In most Orthodox and traditional congregations, the haftarah, like the Torah portion, is read only in Hebrew, which most congregants don’t understand. But it’s not just that most congregants can’t make sense of the language. The very nature of the rite of the Torah and haftarah readings may serve as a bar to people taking notice of what the texts being read with such ceremony, actually say. While every effort is generally made to ensure that all aspects of the ritual associated with the Torah service are performed correctly,[xvii] the content of the readings may be overlooked. It’s a triumph of form over substance – which is, precisely, the theme of the Yom Kippur morning haftarah.

Perhaps another reason why, despite having access to the words the prophets, via the haftarah readings, congregants seem to fail to be troubled or disturbed or stirred up, is to do with the establishment of the liturgical convention of the haftarah. This involved, not only identifying particular passages for reading on Shabbat and the festivals, which, for the most part, bear some relation to a theme in the Torah portion,[xviii] but also, selecting those passages that end on an up-beat note, and, in some cases, manipulating the passage, by appending a few verses from elsewhere at the end, to fulfil this purpose. In this way, however challenging the message, the haftarah invariably concludes with words of comfort and consolation, and so may be seen as a homiletical device. The concluding scriptural passage completing the reading of the sacred Scriptures within the service, by soothing any disturbance they may cause.

So, the troubling messages of the prophets are contained and confined – but why? It is important to remember that when the rabbis were creating a new system of worship for post-Temple Jewish existence, they were rebuilding Jewish life following an enormous catastrophe, characterised by trouble and disturbance. In this context, reassuring the people, and providing an orderly, secure framework for their lives was paramount.

To a significant extent, despite upheavals, persecutions and exiles, the framework for Jewish life created by Rabbinic Judaism held sway throughout the Jewish world, right up until the collapse of the ancien regime ushered in by the French Revolution of 1789. But then that revolution led to another one. With the birth of Liberal Judaism, just over 200 years ago, a positive response to Enlightenment and the emancipation of the Jews of Europe from a segregated ghetto-existence, was combined with a determination to re-emphasise the ethical teachings found in the Torah and expressed by the prophets,[xix] which involved sitting up and taking notice of what the haftarah reading – read now in the vernacular – had to say. It also meant taking the trouble to re-engage with the words of the prophets outside of a liturgical context, to make connections with the issues of the day.

In more recent years, the Jewish world has experienced another cataclysm, which has also generated a massive transformation. However, unlike the liberating explosion of Modernity, which generated new possibilities for Judaism and for Jewish life, like the Jewish community following the destruction of the Temple, Jews today are still living, at least partially, in the shadow of our own catastrophe – the Sho’ah.[xx] Nevertheless, many would argue that the time has come for ‘troublers’, and a disturbance of the collective peace. And indeed, since the 1970s new ‘troublers of Israel’ have been making their presence known: Jewish women challenging a rabbinic tradition that confines them to the domestic arena, marginalises and silences them; lesbian and gay couples and families searching for a home within Jewish life, and the right to participate fully in the synagogue, and celebrate their lives and their relationships on equal terms; Jews of conscience, both in the diaspora and in Israel, like the prophets of old, calling upon the leadership of the Jewish state to put the fine words of the declaration of Independence into practice, by ensuring that all Israeli citizens enjoy equal rights, [xxi] and urging the government to ‘pursue’, as a matter of urgency, the Jewish values of justice and peace in relation to the on-going conflict with the Palestinians.[xxii] In my book, Trouble-Making Judaism, several chapters explore aspects of these issues.[xxiii]

 

The significance of the individual

So far, I have focused on the ethical domain of Jewish life, and the importance of disturbing the status quo in order to ensure that justice is served. But there is also, another less obvious aspect to being a ‘troubler’.

One of the characteristics of the halachah, the Jewish legal system that regulates Jewish practice, is that it determines and constrains, both, the life of the community and the life of individuals. Progressive Judaism inspired by Enlightenment values, and the empowerment of the individual, as a citizen of her or his country, to make choices and decisions in his or her own right, has, since its inception, enabled individuals to make informed choices concerning how to live their Jewish lives.

Nevertheless, the empowered individual is not, simply, a product of the Enlightenment. While the halachah controls and constrains individual action, aggadah, the narrative tradition, which begins with the stories of the Jewish ancestors related in the Torah – and includes the rabbis’ imaginative interpretations,[xxiv] presents us with individuals, acting on their own volition.[xxv] So, when individuals ask questions, as we explore the texts, when we trouble Jewish teachings and traditions because we are troubled by them, we find powerful role models in the texts themselves. Some examples: the first woman, who questioned the prohibition against eating the fruit of the tree[xxvi]; Abraham, who argued with God concerning the fate of Sodom and Gemorrah[xxvii]; Rebecca, who, troubled by the contest going on within her womb, took the initiative to enquire of God[xxviii]; Jacob, who, on the eve of his reunion with Esau, wrestled with an unknown man or himself, and wrested a blessing and a new name from the encounter[xxix]; Moses, who demanded that the Eternal One demonstrate the Divine presence [xxx];  Miriam, who challenged her younger brother’s special relationship with God.[xxxi]

However, identifying connections between our lives and challenges and those of the characters we discover in the narratives of the Torah, and in the rest of the Hebrew Bible, is only one dimension of the experience of engaging with the source texts of Judaism. Exploring the sources, also involves grappling with passages that we find challenging or difficult or troubling, and insinuating ourselves and our questions into them, refusing to be satisfied with simple readings, and allowing our assumptions concerning what any particular text is teaching, to be disrupted as we engage with it. In my book, you will find some examples of this method: in my approach to Leviticus chapters 18 to 20, which I will return to in a moment;[xxxii] in my imaginative reconfiguration of the narrative following the Revelation at Sinai;[xxxiii] and in my aggadic interpretation of Miriam’s problem with Moses[xxxiv]

And there is something else. Of course, the empowered, choosing, individual Jew may choose to opt out of Jewish life – and, sadly, since the Sho’ah, many have chosen not to identify as Jews.[xxxv] At the same time, as my experience as a congregational rabbi demonstrates, increasing numbers of previously unaffiliated Jews are choosing to engage with Judaism, connect with other Jews, grapple with the Jewish source texts, interrogate what they say, and trouble the texts to discover new meanings that speak to their own individual lives and struggles.  The third part of my book, ‘The Struggle with Trouble’, rooted in my congregational experience, explores the nexus between the individual Jew on her or his own journey, the challenge of commitment, and the development of enabling forms of Jewish community that far from constraining individuals, are, increasingly, providing a context for individuals to express their diverse struggles and ways of being Jewish.[xxxvi]

I have given you some idea of what I mean by Trouble-Making Judaism. Now I would like to give you a deeper sense of what it means to trouble with Jewish texts and with our Jewish inheritance by sharing with you my reinterpretation of Leviticus chapters 18 to 20. Straddling two portions of the Torah, Acharey Mot and K’doshim, here we find a chapter of mostly ethical laws sandwiched between two chapters dealing with sexual prohibitions. So what do we do with these texts? Progressive Judaism has tended to focus on the ethical laws contained in Leviticus chapter 19, and ignore the sexual prohibitions of chapters 18 and 20. Significantly, it is Leviticus chapter 19 progressive Jews read on Yom Kippur rather than chapter 18, which is the traditional portion for Yom Kippur afternoon.

Ignoring parts of the Torah which we find unpalatable or troubling is one approach. Another approach is to trouble with these troubling texts to find meaning for our lives today. That is what I like to do.

 

Sex Lessons in the Torah

So, what are the sex lessons in the Torah, and how can we trouble with the texts to construct an inclusive, egalitarian sexual ethic that is relevant and appropriate in the 21^st century? It is significant that little is said directly about sex in the Genesis narratives, concerning the creation of humanity, except for the assumption that it is heterosexual, monogamous and geared to reproduction.  Elsewhere in the Torah, however, in both narrative and legal texts, we find a number of teachings about sex which, together with Genesis 1 and 2, have become the basis of Jewish sexual ethics.

The most extended treatment of sex is contained in Leviticus 18 and 20, where the focus is on prohibited sexual acts – those between family members; a man and his neighbour’s wife[xxxvii]; a man and a menstruating woman[xxxviii].  two men; a man or woman and an animal.  In all these cases, with the exception of bestiality, where initiation of the act by both sexes is conceived, the individual male is the subject; the individual female is the object.  And this perspective is reinforced in all the other references to sex in other legal texts in the Torah: a bride must be a virgin[xxxix]. a father is prohibited from making his daughter a prostitute[xl]; sex out of wedlock is not punished as long as the woman is an un-betrothed virgin and the man who lies with her, marries her[xli].

Interestingly, however, in two key narrative passages dealing with exceptions to the taboo surrounding incest, the active role is taken by women.  Following the destructions of Sodom and Gomorrah, and the transformation of Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt[xlii], Lot’s two daughters, left alone with their father, get him drunk on successive nights and lie with him, to ensure they have offspring[xliii].  In another case where the future is at stake, Judah’s daughter-in-law, Tamar, childless because Onan has spilled his seed rather than produced a child in the name of his dead brother, Er (Tamar’s first husband), conceals her true identity with the garments of a prostitute and entices her father-in-law to lie with her so that she may conceive[xliv].

These two exceptions highlight the hierarchy of values implicit in the system of sex laws outlined in the Torah:  ultimately, the imperative of reproduction is so important it may even over-rule incest taboos.  What is more, ethical conduct as such is a secondary consideration.  The primary principle underlying the rules of sexual behaviour is the maintenance of social order and the preservation of the separateness of the people of Israel.  The laws regulating sexual acts in Leviticus 18 and 20 are set in the context of the book’s concern with k’dushah – with setting apart: the offerings to be made on the altar from the remainder of property, the priests from the people, the people from the other nations.  As the preamble to the sex rules in Leviticus 18 indicates, ethical issues are less relevant to the laws regulating sexual conduct than the need to ensure that the people do not follow the ways of Canaan or Egypt, but rather walk in the way of God[xlv].

But one rule in Leviticus 18, by contrast, does seem to emerge from a predominantly ethical concern.  At verse 18 we read:

And you shall not take a woman to her sister, to be a rival to her, to uncover her nakedness, beside the other in her lifetime.

While there are no laws against bigamy in Torah, and indeed bigamy was only out-ruled for Ashkenazi communities in the late tenth century by the ban of Rabbeinu Gershom ben Judah[xlvi], and remains an option (in theory) for Sephardim within the religious Courts of Israel to this day, the rule against marriage between man and his wife’s sister seems motivated by consideration of the wife’s feelings and the need to preserve the integrity of the relationship between two sisters.  As such it has much more in keeping with the next chapter, Leviticus 19, where the need for right conduct in social relationships is stressed again and again.  Indeed, the link in ethical tone between this rule, and the chapter sandwiched between the two dealing with prohibited sexual acts, makes the apparent contrast between the ethical preoccupations of Leviticus 19 and the separatist agenda of 18 and 20 even more marked.

In my view, the juxtaposition of the chapters is not accidental.  Rather, it suggests that just as the sex rules should be understood in the context of the imperative of setting the people Israel apart from the other nations, so they should be understood in the context of the ethical regulation of social relationships.  And yet, in fact, to this day, Jewish law has failed to consider the implications of this juxtaposition for sexual ethics.

 

Sex and Love: a New Combination

At the heart of Leviticus 19, a chapter dealing with correct ritual  practice and ethical behaviour towards the poor, the stranger, the disabled, the elderly, one’s neighbour, lies the famous dictum ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself.  I am the Eternal’ (19:18).  According to Rabbi Akiva, a leading second-century scholar, this commandment was not simply an important rule, it was ‘the great principle of the Torah’[xlvii], What does that mean?  The first principle.  The underlying principle.  You shall love your neighbour.  Who is your neighbour?  The person who lives next door to you; the person who is like you.  You shall love your neighbour as yourself: You shall love yourself – then you will be able to love your neighbour.  And what is love?  It is not merely an emotion; it is an act, a commitment.  The phrase ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ is part of a section of laws dealing with acts of justice, with the myriad material ways in which we must fulfil our responsibilities towards our neighbours and towards God.

None of the various laws relating to sexual behaviour both in Leviticus and elsewhere say anything about love.  The word is not even used in connection with the story of the first relationship at the beginning of Genesis.  And yet there are many love stories in the Bible:  Jacob and Rachel, Samson and Delilah, David and Jonathan, Ruth and Naomi.

And then there is the great book of love, Shir Ha-shirim, The Songs of Songs, traditionally attributed to King Solomon, the child of David’s union with Bathsheba, another legendary lover.  In contrast to the Garden of Eden narrative, Arthur Waskow points out that ‘…the sexual ethic of the Song of Songs focuses not on children, marriage, or commitment, but on sensual pleasure and loving companionship.’[xlviii]

The Song of Songs provides a welcome reminder that sex is not just about who can do what with – or to – whom, it is about love and the joys of physical desire and intimacy.  Fortunately, the post-biblical codes, while primarily concerned with the reproductive imperative, generally validate pleasure and so include both the ‘right’ of  wives to experience sexual satisfaction[xlix],  and the permissibility of a wide range of sexual practices – including both oral and anal sexual activity – if it is desired by the  couple concerned [l].

But the implications of love – as understood in the context of Leviticus 19:18, and of loving companionship – as described in The  Song of Songs – are not part of the framework of the rules  governing sexual conduct.  The reasons for this derive from the fact that despite the acknowledgement of women’s capacity for sexual pleasure, the rules of sexual conduct are primarily concerned with what men do.

Significantly, of the various ethical rules delineated in Leviticus 19, only that concerning the command ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ deals with the relationship of peers; of  equals; of equal men.  All the others involve ensuring right conduct between those whose relationship to one another is asymmetrical  the person with property vis a vis the one who is poor, the Israelite vis a vis the stranger, the able-bodied vis a vis the disabled, the young vis a vis the old.  Similarly The Song of Songs is unique in its egalitarian treatment of the lovers.  In its pastoral paradise, love and desire is expressed equally and actively by both partners.  Indeed, it is the passionate female voice present in the poem which has led some scholars to suggest that the text is probably the work of a woman[li].

For the spirit of Leviticus 19:18 and The Song of Songs to infuse the sex laws would require a huge conceptual shift.  It would mean treating both women and men as active subjects, peers, equals.  It would mean perceiving sex, not as a series of acts perpetrated by one party on the body of another, but as a means of expressing a relationship.  It would mean seeing the expression of love and desire as one of the primary purposes of sexual activity.  It would mean recognising all relationships, whether heterosexual or homosexual, with or without children, as variations on the theme of human partnership and evaluating them all according to the identical criteria of love, equality and reciprocity.

The commandment to ‘love your neighbour as you love yourself’ provides the ethical framework for a code of sexual behaviour.  So what happens when we apply the criteria of love, equality and reciprocity to the sexual prohibitions outlined in Leviticus 18 and 20?  Clearly all relationships in which the inequality of the parties is an inherent feature, for example relationships between adults and minors, are unacceptable.  As far as other relationships are concerned, a clue to whether or not they fulfil the criteria emerges from the specific sexual terminology employed in the texts.  There are a number of linguistic expressions for sex in the Torah, of which the most common are to know – lada’at and to lie down – lishkav.   Both of these terms are morally neutral.  The words themselves do not convey the nature of the sexual encounter, positive or negative. By contrast the expression gillui ervah, ‘uncovering nakedness’, which is used in the Torah exclusively in cases of incest and in reference to sex with a menstruating woman, suggests not only sexual intimacy, but vulnerability and danger.  Within the world-view of Torah, blood is a powerful substance, and contact with it is taboo.   From the vantage point of the present day, the danger associated with ‘uncovering nakedness’ has more to do with the potential for exploitation involved in ‘uncovering’ a person’s ‘nakedness’.  In the words of a contemporary rabbi quoted anonymously[lii]: ‘Very simply, it means making a person completely vulnerable and then not taking care of them in their nakedness.’

The implications of this interpretation are clear.  Whether or not one abstains from sex during menstruation, most Jews today would probably not put sex with a menstruating woman in the same category as sex with a family member, where the issue of exploitation is much more readily apparent.  However, there would probably be general agreement that there is a potential for exploitation in any sexual context.

But the perspective of Torah appears to be much narrower.  Interestingly, the expression ‘uncovering nakedness’ is not used in Torah in connection with other categories of prohibited  sexual behaviour outlined in Leviticus 18 and 20 – adultery, sex between men and bestiality.  In these examples, the more neutral term ‘lying down’ is employed[liii]. Clearly none of these cases entails the danger of blood contact or a built-in asymmetrical power dynamic.  Indeed, in the case of two men lying down together, perhaps there may be an implicit assumption that the independent male subject is not in a position to exploit his equal – another male.  But, at a deeper level, ‘uncovering nakedness’ refers not only to who is involved, but to what is involved. Even if the parties concerned are equals, any sexual encounter which entails exposing and exploiting another person’s vulnerability is ‘uncovering nakedness’.

 

Towards an inclusive, egalitarian Jewish sexual ethic

In recent years, sexual ethics has once become a topical item on the Jewish agenda – largely in the context of the need to rethink Jewish attitudes towards same-sex relationships[liv].  But other issues have also prompted new debate: sexual activity on the part of teenagers[lv];  sex out of marriage[lvi]; the incidence of extra-marital relationships; the growing phenomenon of ‘serial monogamy’; the general diversification of family patterns[lvii].   The challenge of an inclusive, egalitarian approach rooted in love and reciprocity is that it may be seen to turn heterosexual marriage, monogamy and child-rearing into options among a wide range of other alternatives rather than the essential components of the model Jewish family arrangement[lviii].  On the other hand, the reality of Jewish relationship patterns today is diverse.   And indeed, as David Biale has argued, contemporary concerns, like pre-marital sex, are actually not new issues at all and have always been a feature of Jewish life, more or less sanctioned and accepted at different times[lix].  An inclusive, egalitarian approach makes it possible to apply ethical criteria to the broad spectrum of relationships and does not give any individual or group the licence to live outside the law and engage in irresponsible, exploitative or dangerous sexual behaviour.

And so, within the parameters of love and reciprocity, it is possible to specify a range of core ethical values which may be expressed in a variety of different relationships.  In his article, ‘Rethinking Jewish Sexual Ethics’[lx], David Teutsch lists twelve ‘values’ which may be seen as ‘central’ to Jewish sexual ethics regardless of whether the relationship is between ‘two women or two men’ or ‘a woman and a man’:  1. Procreation 2. Meaningful relationships  3. Freedom for consenting adults; 4. Strong families  5. Fidelity  6. A stable community  7. Protection from violence and abuse  8. Good health  9. Honesty;  10. Privacy/modesty  11. Physical pleasure 12. Caring.

Ironically, of all these values, procreation alone – the first sexual imperative of the Torah – is clearly not a possible feature of all relationships:  there are loving, committed, heterosexual couples who cannot have children and those who choose not to.  Equally, within same-sex relationships, some partnerships include children, others do not[lxi].  Just as an inclusive, egalitarian approach should inform our understanding of what constitutes a valid intimate relationship, so our definition of family needs to be expanded to encompass a variety of different ‘familial’ living arrangements, including heterosexual and gay or lesbian partnerships – with or without children; ‘communal’ families encompassing single adults and/or couples – with or without children; and one-parent families[lxii].

The impressive Report of the Reconstructionist Commission on Homo-sexuality, published in 1992[lxiii],  includes ‘discussion of values fundamental to Reconstructionism’, which provides a further contribution to the development of a new approach to sexual ethics.  Here in a treatment of fifteen different values, we find a number which do not appear in Teutsch’s list: human dignity and integrity; k’dushah/holiness; equality; inclusive community; democracy; learning from contemporary sources of knowledge; ‘You shall surely pursue justice’.  Clearly from the teachings of tradition to the insights of modern scholarship, there are a host of resources out of which to construct the specific details of a Jewish sexual ethic based on love and reciprocity.  Contrary to the fear that an inclusive, egalitarian approach will prove too permissive, the reality is that it is extremely challenging and demanding for all Jews – heterosexual, lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender alike.

 

Embracing, diversity: K’dushah today

An inclusive, egalitarian approach may have its roots in ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’ and encompass a wide range of Jewish values, but is it really in harmony with the predominantly separatist spirit of Judaism, as expressed in Leviticus, and developed within rabbinic law?   The philosophical framework of Jewish thought is characterised by the making of clear, unequivocal distinctions – that is what k’dushah, ‘holiness’ is all about.  At first sight the values of equality and inclusivity seem at complete odds with this dynamic – particularly when it comes to including same-sex relationships and treating them as equal.  But, in essence k’dushah, setting apart, is paradoxical.  For example, the bride and groom are set apart to be joined with one another.

What is more, not only are separated elements essentially part of one another, but the unity is rooted in diversity.  Towards the end of each of the three Jewish daily prayer services, there are two complementary prayers known as the Aleynu. In contrast to the particularistic tone of the first prayer, the second one includes the universalistic ‘hope’ that ‘all the inhabitants of the world’ will recognise the Oneness of the Eternal: ‘On that day the Eternal will be One and known as One’.  The vision of universal unity is a coming together of all the different people.  It is a union of different parts.

The Jewish concept of holiness sets apart and embraces different elements and remains at the heart of Jewish sexual ethic.  ‘Homosexuality’ is different from ‘heterosexuality’.  Female sexuality is different from male sexuality.  Each individual relationship is different.  And sexuality is also a continuum, embracing varying degrees of bisexuality between the two extremes, in which each relationship is also part of the rich texture of possibilities for human love, and as such should be subject to the same ethical rules.  Ultimately, that is what an inclusive, egalitarian approach to sexual ethics is all about

 

The Legacy of the Rabbis

To conclude, a reminder of the first paragraph of Pirkey Avot, 1:1:

Moses received Torah from Sinai and handed on to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets. And the prophets handed it on to the members of the Great Assembly. The latter said three things: be deliberate in judgement; raise up many disciples; and make a fence around the Torah.

If it had not been for the vision of the rabbis and their determination to rebuild Jewish life after the destruction of the Temple, Judaism would have died. Their efforts ensured the continuation of Jewish life, and should also remind us that the future of Judaism cannot be taken for granted. It requires effort to reinvent Jewish life to meet the needs of each new generation – particularly, in the aftermath of catastrophe.  And there is more to learn from the example of the rabbinic revolution, which makes the legacy of the rabbis much more complex: Despite their determination to reconstitute Jewish life in such a way that there was a secure ‘fence around the Torah’, engaged with generating aggadah, as well as halachah, they could not resist generating multiple meanings and troubling the Torah to tell many, many tales as they explored every word, investigated the gaps, and prodded the hints.[lxiv] And so, to continue the analogy: while building a fence, they also made of each panel in the fence, a door, which each Jew today may choose to open or to close. What is more, the rabbis saw themselves as the inheritors of the prophetic tradition – and so should we: as the prophets were ‘troublers of Israel’, exhorting the people of their day to examine the distance between the ethical values expressed in the Torah, and the social reality of iniquity and injustice all around them, so, we, too, need to be troublers, as we move between our sacred texts, and the broken world, we are summoned to repair.[lxv]

Moltes gracies

 

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Congregation Beit Shalom, Barcelona

22^nd March 2012 – 29^th Adar 5772