I just had a very bizarre thought. I actually thought that there was a way in which the death penalty could be a good thing. But wait, hear me out. I don't actually support capital punishment. I don't support the death penalty. But I was thinking about biblical stonings and punishments of death, and it occurred to me to think about them in a new way.
Here was my thought process: I was thinking about my date over the weekend, and how the guy I went out with seemed convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was unlikable, unlovable, and I think, also, a complete waste of time. (Either that, or he just wasted my time by taking me out so that he could spend the whole evening talking about this.) And I thought about my response to him by email, which consisted of me saying that his efforts had failed, and I had found him likable nonetheless. And then it occurred to me that I like just about everybody. Or if not everybody (because it's not true that I actually like everybody), then I believe that there is at least one likable thing about every person.
Usually, these likable elements come out in moments of human/physical banality. Such as, the person has to use the bathroom, or they get sick, or they have to eat, or even the fact that they have a favorite food. I took the thought to the extreme and wondered if that could apply even to the most egregious criminal. We see these people as "evil" or "animals" and often they behave without a shred of normal human emotion. But they are still Humans. They still have to eat. They still probably have tastes and preferences. And yet, at a certain point, maybe even They don't consider themselves human.
So I thought: what is the one most humanly humbling experience of all: death.
And then it became clear to me.
I have trouble with all the stonings and killings in the Bible of people who create even minor transgressions. I don't like extreme punishment. The stories are meant to inspire fear and a sense that the commandment is so important that it should be carried out, or else death will ensue. I don't like guilt-tripping and I don't like being threatened, even if the carrying-out of the threat is not forthcoming in our everyday lives, such as stoning a person to death for gathering firewood on Shabbat, which occurred in last week's Parsha). What became clear was the purpose of death in certain situations. And it occurred to me that it was maybe not always a punishment.
Let's say, for example, that all sins or crimes are equal. It doesn't matter what you do, but if you go out of line, then that action makes you "inhuman." The teachings of the Mitzvoth and the Torah are meant to keep us Human. They are not intended to keep us in a limited area of being, but to keep us closer to our Humanity, our vulnerability, our frailty, and our beauty. When we move away from those mitzvoth, from those teachings and ideas, we become separated from ourselves, others, and humanity.
If a person is on Death Row, s/he has done something so terrible that we don't even see that person as "deserving" of the same treatment that we would give another human being. But if you think about the moment of death, the moment of execution, for a moment. In that moment, on the table, or wherever they are - they may be in a room, separated from everyone - but at that time, and immediately after, they become Human again. Death is the great leveler. It brings us all down. We do not survive because we are "good." We all die, in the end. There is an Italian saying, I believe: "Kings and pawns go in the same box." In that way, we are all equal. While we are living, we are not equal. Some people behave better than others. Some people are nicer than others. Some are more respected or respectable than others. But at the moment of death, we are all equal.
Therefore, giving death to a person who has committed a sin that harms all of humanity, we are giving that person back their humanity. Evil cannot die, but humans can. Therefore it makes them Human again. Albeit in a terribly inhumane way. There is no way that I can envision purposely killing a living individual in a way that is truly helpful or gives glory to G-d, but, conceptually, I can see how it works, and it makes at least biblical capital punishment a bit softer for me, that it comes not as a punishment, but as a gift. A strange gift, which, in the case of some individuals, may even be a welcome one.
Showing posts with label Torah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Torah. Show all posts
Monday, June 7, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
You shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him.
- Exodus 25:2
Overlay it with pure gold - overlay it inside and out...
- Exodus 25:11
I have been reading lately about the concepts of giving and receiving love. Which is to say that, in a healthy, communicative relationship, one does not only give love, but needs to be able to receive it as well. And often, when we think that the barrier between another person and ourselves is that the other person "doesn't love us," in fact it often is the case that it is we ourselves - because of our own hurts, fears and rejection due to former wounding - that are actively, unconsciously, blocking that love from being received by us. And so we don't "feel" loved, even though we are loved.
The only way to solve this problem is to actively, consciously, focus on receiving gifts. And I think that is an important lesson that is given in our Torah portion this week. Moses is instructed to accept gifts for God "from every person whose heart so moves him." So, for example, not from the people who Moses thinks are better or more able to give gifts than other people. Not from the people who Moses thinks are serious, or authentically giving a gift. But from all of the people who are "so moved" to give a gift. And it is not the gift itself, although instructions are given as to what kind of gifts the people are meant to give in order to build the tabernacle and the ark, but the important thing is that the person has a desire to give the gift. And the second important thing is that the gift is received.
In this parsha, Moses receives the gifts from all the givers, and he receives them on behalf of God, but also on behalf of all of us. In this parsha, I think we can understand, on an intrinsic level, that we are like Moses, and like Moses, we have permission to receive the gifts that all people - and God - wants to give us. Whether or not we think that person is sincere, and whether or not we actually believe ourselves to be worthy.
We already know that Moses does not think he is worthy. He refused to even speak God's words to Pharoah, because he was self-conscious of a speech impediment. So we know that Moses is not perfect. And even though for the most part, he does what God asks him to do, even he has limitations, and they are physical and emotional limitations that are part of his body. They are part of who he is, and part of his relationship with God. But even so, he has permission from God to "accept all the gifts" of the people for the tabernacle.
And so we, too, have permission to "accept all the gifts" that those in our lives wish to give us, for the sake of God. We can accept them "for God," if we don't believe we can accept them for ourselves, and it is with those gifts, that we build the tabernacle and the ark to carry the tablets of the covenant.
The second thing we are told is that, when building the ark, we are to "overlay it with pure gold" both inside and out.
Certainly this was meant literally, but when I read this, I read it as a metaphor for the body. Because the body is a wondrous, marvelous tabernacle. As I study the parts of human anatomy in preparation to work with people and their bodies as a bodywork practitioner, I am constantly amazed and astounded at the beauty and complexity of the architecture of the human form. And it is this architecture that we carry around with us and move with and in every moment of our lives, to the point where we almost always take it for granted. We often mistreat our bodies, we feel embarrassed by them. Sometimes we ignore them completely. But they are part of us, they are us, and they are not "us" at the same time.
But when I say that I see this image as a metaphor for the body, I mean that, like the ark, we are constructed of precious materials "both inside and out." And I mean that, in a body, the muscles are what allow a person or an animal to move. Gold is beautiful to look at, and because of that, it is like the muscle of an economy. It allows people to move, eat, and enjoy life.
When you think of a body, you think of the muscles you can see, on the outside. Perhaps you flex your arm and witness a bulging bicep. Or perhaps you are aware that the muscles of your neck and back are sore from holding your head up, or from stress. Maybe you've gone running and your calf muscles feel sore. These muscles are precious material, and they are overlaid on the acacia wood of our bone structure.
But there are muscles inside you that you cannot see, and they are just as important. Inside your neck, under the round bone of your skull you have suboccipital muscles that hold your head up and allow it to move and rotate. Inside your leg, you have the iliopsoas muscles, which begin in the inner thigh, at the hip joint, and connect all the way up inside the torso, on the inner spine, just under the diaphram, which is the source of our breath. The movement of the diaphram creates the tzimtzum into which air rushes to fill the space that is created in our lungs, and the muscle returns to push air out again.
And then there are my two favorite hidden muscles: The subscapular muscles, between your shoulder blade and your rib cage. And the iliacus, which connects to the iliopsoas, and is a swath of muscle tissue lining the inside of the pelvic girdle, those two great wings that support and carry in them the weight of all that is precious - all of those inner organs that are both delicate and strong, and which function continually to keep us alive for as long as we are here.
Those wings, to me, are reminiscent of the Cherubim (Keruvim) that are to be placed at either end of the lid of the ark.
The keruvim shall have their wings spread out above, shielding the cover with their wings. They shall confront each other, the faces of the keruvim being turned toward the cover... There I will meet with you. And I will impart to you - from above the cover, from between the two cherubim that are on top of the ark of the pact - all that I will command you...
- Exodus 25:19-22
And so it is from the space between, where we confront each other, where we face each other, that God speaks. And it is also from within.
Because the body is a vessel not only for our internal organs, but for our spirit, and for what we know as "living Torah." We all carry within ourselves the "living pact" that we don't just do with God - it is something that we are.
And sometimes it is from that space, from between the wings, that God speaks. Because your body is a vessel of your pact with God. It is your pact with God. It is a gift and a vessel for God. And it is often through our bodies, from that place, between even the two halves of ourselves that face each other, that God speaks to us.
Shabbat shalom
- Exodus 25:2
Overlay it with pure gold - overlay it inside and out...
- Exodus 25:11
I have been reading lately about the concepts of giving and receiving love. Which is to say that, in a healthy, communicative relationship, one does not only give love, but needs to be able to receive it as well. And often, when we think that the barrier between another person and ourselves is that the other person "doesn't love us," in fact it often is the case that it is we ourselves - because of our own hurts, fears and rejection due to former wounding - that are actively, unconsciously, blocking that love from being received by us. And so we don't "feel" loved, even though we are loved.
The only way to solve this problem is to actively, consciously, focus on receiving gifts. And I think that is an important lesson that is given in our Torah portion this week. Moses is instructed to accept gifts for God "from every person whose heart so moves him." So, for example, not from the people who Moses thinks are better or more able to give gifts than other people. Not from the people who Moses thinks are serious, or authentically giving a gift. But from all of the people who are "so moved" to give a gift. And it is not the gift itself, although instructions are given as to what kind of gifts the people are meant to give in order to build the tabernacle and the ark, but the important thing is that the person has a desire to give the gift. And the second important thing is that the gift is received.
In this parsha, Moses receives the gifts from all the givers, and he receives them on behalf of God, but also on behalf of all of us. In this parsha, I think we can understand, on an intrinsic level, that we are like Moses, and like Moses, we have permission to receive the gifts that all people - and God - wants to give us. Whether or not we think that person is sincere, and whether or not we actually believe ourselves to be worthy.
We already know that Moses does not think he is worthy. He refused to even speak God's words to Pharoah, because he was self-conscious of a speech impediment. So we know that Moses is not perfect. And even though for the most part, he does what God asks him to do, even he has limitations, and they are physical and emotional limitations that are part of his body. They are part of who he is, and part of his relationship with God. But even so, he has permission from God to "accept all the gifts" of the people for the tabernacle.
And so we, too, have permission to "accept all the gifts" that those in our lives wish to give us, for the sake of God. We can accept them "for God," if we don't believe we can accept them for ourselves, and it is with those gifts, that we build the tabernacle and the ark to carry the tablets of the covenant.
The second thing we are told is that, when building the ark, we are to "overlay it with pure gold" both inside and out.
Certainly this was meant literally, but when I read this, I read it as a metaphor for the body. Because the body is a wondrous, marvelous tabernacle. As I study the parts of human anatomy in preparation to work with people and their bodies as a bodywork practitioner, I am constantly amazed and astounded at the beauty and complexity of the architecture of the human form. And it is this architecture that we carry around with us and move with and in every moment of our lives, to the point where we almost always take it for granted. We often mistreat our bodies, we feel embarrassed by them. Sometimes we ignore them completely. But they are part of us, they are us, and they are not "us" at the same time.
But when I say that I see this image as a metaphor for the body, I mean that, like the ark, we are constructed of precious materials "both inside and out." And I mean that, in a body, the muscles are what allow a person or an animal to move. Gold is beautiful to look at, and because of that, it is like the muscle of an economy. It allows people to move, eat, and enjoy life.
When you think of a body, you think of the muscles you can see, on the outside. Perhaps you flex your arm and witness a bulging bicep. Or perhaps you are aware that the muscles of your neck and back are sore from holding your head up, or from stress. Maybe you've gone running and your calf muscles feel sore. These muscles are precious material, and they are overlaid on the acacia wood of our bone structure.
But there are muscles inside you that you cannot see, and they are just as important. Inside your neck, under the round bone of your skull you have suboccipital muscles that hold your head up and allow it to move and rotate. Inside your leg, you have the iliopsoas muscles, which begin in the inner thigh, at the hip joint, and connect all the way up inside the torso, on the inner spine, just under the diaphram, which is the source of our breath. The movement of the diaphram creates the tzimtzum into which air rushes to fill the space that is created in our lungs, and the muscle returns to push air out again.
And then there are my two favorite hidden muscles: The subscapular muscles, between your shoulder blade and your rib cage. And the iliacus, which connects to the iliopsoas, and is a swath of muscle tissue lining the inside of the pelvic girdle, those two great wings that support and carry in them the weight of all that is precious - all of those inner organs that are both delicate and strong, and which function continually to keep us alive for as long as we are here.
Those wings, to me, are reminiscent of the Cherubim (Keruvim) that are to be placed at either end of the lid of the ark.
The keruvim shall have their wings spread out above, shielding the cover with their wings. They shall confront each other, the faces of the keruvim being turned toward the cover... There I will meet with you. And I will impart to you - from above the cover, from between the two cherubim that are on top of the ark of the pact - all that I will command you...
- Exodus 25:19-22
And so it is from the space between, where we confront each other, where we face each other, that God speaks. And it is also from within.
Because the body is a vessel not only for our internal organs, but for our spirit, and for what we know as "living Torah." We all carry within ourselves the "living pact" that we don't just do with God - it is something that we are.
And sometimes it is from that space, from between the wings, that God speaks. Because your body is a vessel of your pact with God. It is your pact with God. It is a gift and a vessel for God. And it is often through our bodies, from that place, between even the two halves of ourselves that face each other, that God speaks to us.
Shabbat shalom
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Pure Joy
My Arms hurt from carrying a Torah Scroll. My first one! It was so exciting. I think, based on what I saw at the Conservative Synagogue I went to for Simchat Torah, that I am considering personally renaming Simchat Torah to "International Day of Silliness." One leader/reader brought up a bunch of hats with him and changed hats every few paragraphs throughout his reading. When they opened the Ark, they had all the children gathered up at the front, and when it was opened, it turned out the whole thing was filled with, in addition to Torah scrolls, balloons and ballooon animals, which they handed out to the kids.
It was a great and beautiful day. We pushed all the chairs back and danced like fools who love their Torah. I even got a chance to carry one. And I danced with a lovely 3-year-old girl named Jessie, as we all went outside in the sunshine for our final Hakafah. Someone even told me what a Hakafah is - a circuit. Which is basically what you do. You dance in a circle. What a great physical manifestation of eternity. Someone asked me to dress the Torah after, but I couldn't do it, owing to the fact that I haven't become officially Jewish yet. But I said I'd be happy to do it once I do have my Beit Din.
Meanwhile, that does not seem to have prevented me in any way from enjoying the Simchat Torah. And I'm happy about that.
It was a great and beautiful day. We pushed all the chairs back and danced like fools who love their Torah. I even got a chance to carry one. And I danced with a lovely 3-year-old girl named Jessie, as we all went outside in the sunshine for our final Hakafah. Someone even told me what a Hakafah is - a circuit. Which is basically what you do. You dance in a circle. What a great physical manifestation of eternity. Someone asked me to dress the Torah after, but I couldn't do it, owing to the fact that I haven't become officially Jewish yet. But I said I'd be happy to do it once I do have my Beit Din.
Meanwhile, that does not seem to have prevented me in any way from enjoying the Simchat Torah. And I'm happy about that.
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