Tetzaveh: "The Priestly Robes"

February 14, 2003 
Rabbi Gary S. Creditor

 

We are living in extraordinary difficult and dangerous times, paralleled perhaps only in the darkest days of World War II and the Cuban missile crisis. But even those were different. In the former, this country could feel somewhat buffered because of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans with some sense that distance could protect us. In the latter, we really did not know how close we were to the obliteration of nuclear war. Since then other conflicts have been fought far from these shores. The domestic terrorism of Oklahoma City was not seen as threatening each and every one of us. September 11th, the code "9/11," has changed everything. There is no such thing as distance that protects us.

As I have traveled back and forth to New York City since September 11th, 2001 and especially this past week and entered the city through the Lincoln tunnel where they looked me in the eye but did not stop to inspect us, another thought predominates. We have been and are blessed to live in an open society. This is not a police state. And even if they put cameras above intersections to catch those who run red lights, and even if they put cameras in the lobbies of public buildings and the in the airport, this is not Orwell's "1984." Again, particularly as Jews, there has been no more welcoming a society than that of America. But it has not just been open to us. It has been open to all the immigrant groups before us and after us, including Moslems. Just as there have been Jews from every country, so, too, Arabs of every country have made America their domicile. We can safely ignore the early portraits of Americana. We don't look like each other. We don't sound like each other. We don't eat like each other. And the beauty of America is that we don't have to. The danger for America is that it is so excruciatingly hard to answer the question:

Who is my enemy?

Who is planning to harm us, even critically?

It is the inability to answer those questions, which keeps the security services awake at night. In a very small way, in circumstances upon which I cannot elaborate, this past week I had a tiny vista into a world that the TV show "The Agency" doesn't begin to reveal. The price of the open and inviting multicultural society, which has made America our home, is the increased danger and risk under which we are currently living and struggling. I would not trade it for any place else but Israel.

Perhaps now we can especially sympathize with Israel in the current tensions and threat of war with Iraq and how it endured the days of the Gulf war with Scud missiles raining down upon them. Then, with little fanfare and even less of our understanding, they bought the plastic sheets and duct tape to make "safe rooms." They stockpiled water, batteries and other supplies in case power was cut off, water and food unavailable for whatever period of time. It is not easy to store the quantity of sheeting and tape. Even Wal-Mart has reportedly run out of stock in different stores. I have always wondered: How did Israel have enough on hand? The answer is the person who sits, perhaps forever, in an American prison cell: Jonathan Pollard. Part of his crime was to warn Israel of the impending threat of missile attack and what it could carry. While it only carried conventional payloads, it could have been otherwise. Our government is urging preparations much in the same ways Israelis did it before and have done it now. Perhaps now Americans should have a deeper sympathy for Israel and better understand the threat under which it lives.

To these uncertain and scary times I look to our Torah and faith for strength and inspiration. While one cannot know with certainty what will or will not happen, we all must answer for ourselves the question: How do we live each day?

Turning to the Torah:

Being a kohen was risky business. If they improperly performed the ritual in the Tabernacle or later in the Temple, they could die. Two of Aaron's sons will die when they offer incense improperly. And yet, despite a threat, perceived as no less menacing than ours, they performed the daily routine and ritual. The kohen did it dressed in special attire, which is described, in great detail in tomorrow morning's Torah portion of Tetzaveh. They wore an ephod, a woven brocaded vest upon whose shoulders, in a gold setting, were two stones with all the names of the tribes engraved. Then they had a breastplate with twelve stones, attached to ephod. Under that was a robe upon whose hem there were pomegranate shaped objects alternated with bells. Aaron's hat had a gold plate upon which was inscribed: "Holy to God." It was wearing these garments that protected them. While we do not wear such garments, we have components of faith and elements of trust.

There are men and women who put their lives on the line for our safety everyday. Whether we see them or not, whether they are the local police forces, FBI, CIA, Coast Guard among others, like the Kohen who served the people and God, these serve us and our country to make us as safe as possible.

The kohanim were a family and were intimately connected in their service. Like the kohanim, we are connected one to the other. We are not disconnected civilians but united citizens drawing our strength from each other. Yesterday my neighbor called up and said to me: "I don't know what's going to be, but I want you to know that we are here and if you need any firewood or whatever, we are here." We are together, just like to Kohanim. That unity gives us strength.

The kohanim were part of the larger tribe of Levi. Those who protect us are part of the larger context of our citizenry. Perhaps for the first time in decades we all sense that we have some part in our own protection, some requirement of vigilance. It is not to be paranoiac about every dissimilar person we see. This country is rather like some gigantic "neighborhood watch." Maybe the silver lining will be that we will know our neighbors as true friends.

The kohanim were clothed in royal and regal vestments. We are clothed in faith, in ourselves, in our country, in our defenders and in our God. Ultimately the phrase "God Bless America" is not an empty cliché but rather an expression of our innermost belief. Somehow there is a loving God who will shed a measure of protection over us. And that faith, which cannot be proven but only attested to, gives us quiet in our hearts, calmness in our souls, and tranquility in our homes.

Despite the risks inherent in their work, the kohanim "served the Lord with gladness," and "came before His presence with singing." Despite the cloud that seems to surround us and the encouragement to stock up on plastic, duct tape and water bottles, we will emerge from this time whole and wholesome if we draw upon the deep wellsprings of our faith. We are clothed in the spiritual garments of our ancestors and are surrounded by others who share the same fears and the same hopes. And the cloud that seems threatening can also be that of God who shielded the Israelites on the edge of the sea. Amidst our worries we must tap our sources of hope.

When the kohanim left the Tabernacle they would extend their hands and conclude the blessing "v'yasaym lecha shalom," "and bestow upon you peace." May we give each other that blessing. May God bless us with His promise of peace.

Amen.