Parashat Emor: The Logic and Ethics of Double Standards

It’s been about 2,000 years since the Jewish people have enacted the priestly system outlined in Parashat Emor, so it’s worth a short review.  According to this part of Leviticus, priests are “holy to God” (Lev. 21:7) and therefore must be more careful than other Israelites about contact with the dead, about female virginity, about discharges and so called “defects.”  In return priests and their families get a lifetime supply of fresh BBQ, first fruits, and special social status.   Not a bad deal.

Every time I study Leviticus I find myself internally objecting to its aristocratic vision.  And it’s not just the privileges, it’s the idea that some people are inherently holier than others.  I much prefer the sentiment at the end of the parashah, Leviticus 24:22: “There shall be one rule for you, for the stranger as for the citizen.” If only humanity had learned how to live according to this rule in the centuries since it was canonized…

It’s tempting to lift up this radically egalitarian and inspiring verse and ignore the rest, but this notion of certain people being more holy than others is just too pervasive to pretend it doesn’t exist.  In fact, the book of Exodus expands the special holiness to the whole of the Israelite people when God promises, “you shall be my treasured possession among all the peoples…a kingdom of priests and a holy nation..” (Ex. 19:5-6).

This verse is but one expression of what Reconstructionist Jews might call, “the chosenness idea” – the notion that God has chosen Jews from among all other peoples and given them a special level of holiness. When you start paying attention you see this idea all over – in scripture, liturgy, and most of all in the hearts and minds of fellow Jews.

I have always felt, I confess, a tiny bit holier than thou in moments when I get to explain that the Reconstructionists have rejected the idea of being holier than thou.  Ironically, I find myself taking pride in being part of a movement bold enough to break with chosenness. 

But lately, I began to wonder if I was still internally buying in to the idea. 

As we witness the war in Gaza and international reactions, I find myself expecting more of Israel than other nation states.  As I interact with my fellow Jews and watch video clips of Israeli politicians and soldiers, campus protestors and counter protestors, I notice that I do have higher standards for the Jews than for other people.  It hurts so much more when we behave in ways I find morally repugnant. I don’t find it nearly as shocking when other people do bad things.  Just the Jews.

Does this mean I had secretly thought we were above such behavior?  Do I need to consider the possibility that in my heart of hearts I still cling to the idea that Jews are holier than other people?!  Am I – God forbid – a closet adherent of chosenness?!?

Then again, when pundits decry critiques of Israel as antisemitic because those who criticize are not holding any other State to such high standards, I wonder just the opposite.  Maybe I’m not unconsciously believing in Jewish superiority, maybe I’m actually guilty of internalized antisemitism?  Why DO I think Israel should be conducting its military actions according to the international standards that so many other countries have violated?

All of this has brought me to ask – Is it fair for me to have higher standards for Israel? For Jews?  To expect more from my people than other peoples?  Is it possible to hold these higher standards without buying in to a notion of Jewish superiority or some form of antisemitism?

I’ve given this a lot of thought and I want to tell you now why my answer is YES – it does make sense for me to have higher standards for Jews and for Israel.  In a nutshell – holding higher standards for ourselves and our people is morally appropriate and is part of how any person or group achieves greatness. 

Expecting ourselves and our people to behave in ways we do not expect of others is neither an expression of self hatred nor a delusion of superiority.  It is one of the consequences of the love and identification we feel for our own – not because we believe we are better than anyone else, but because we have a higher stake, and a greater capacity to impact our own behavior than anyone else’s. 

I just said a lot, so let me unpack this a bit…

First I want to tackle the chosenness thing.  How can I hold higher standards for myself and my people than other peoples?  Isn’t that just another way to say we are better or more holy than anyone else?   

When Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the founding thinker of the Reconstructionist movement, rejected chosenness there were two prongs to his thinking.  First, it was about theology – Kaplan imagined God as a force within human beings, a power for goodness and so on.  God was not some kind of person-like Being who directed the details of history and could “choose” one tribe over another.  Such a notion of a choosing God made no sense to a Kaplanian theologian.

The other line thought for Kaplan was the deeply American, post enlightenment, universalistic idealism which bristled at the idea that one group of humans was inherently more valuable than any other.  Chosenness in the sense of superiority. 

However a person might conceptualize God, Kaplan also rejected the idea that Jews were better than any other ethnic or religious group.  This bold idea was radical in its time and still rubs a lot of Jews the wrong way today.

Letting go of chosenness can be painful.  Being chosen is meaningful.  Believing that God loves you more than others, or that your people are better than other groups can be a powerful inoculation against hatred and hardship.  It supplies a certain kind of self esteem when times are tough. 

But it can also act as a set of blinders that prevent us from seeing or believing information that challenges the narrative of moral superiority.  I think of how one friend of mine living in Jerusalem in this moment refuses to believe reports of hunger in Gaza.  I think of a moment decades ago when one of my teachers shouted me down as I began to talk about my experience witnessing human rights abuses in East Jerusalem.  It didn’t fit what he wanted to believe. 

It’s a natural human tendency to protect ourselves from information that contradicts our world view.  Unfortunately, when we refuse to take in uncomfortable truths, it doesn’t make them go away.  And if the truth has to do with our own mistakes or moral failings, we can only hope to do better if we face them.  

But what about the other side?

Maybe I have higher standards for Israel and Jews, not because I believe we are superior but because I am actually a self-hating Jew…

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a pro-Israel event where a man wanted to convince me I was wrong to believe that Israel should end the war, wrong to think that Israel’s military campaign has been anything but morally pristine.  After seeing that he was not going to quickly change my mind, his face hardened, he shouted, “Well I think you are a self-hating Jew!” turned on his heel and stalked away.

It could be that when I expect Israel to conduct a military campaign in such a way as to protect civilians, I am guilty of some kind of internalized antisemitism.  It could be that when I pay more attention to Israel’s bad behavior than Sudan’s, I am a self-hating Jew.  But actually I see it quite differently. 

I hold higher expectations of Israel as a Jewish state BECAUSE I LOVE JEWS and because I want the Jewish State to represent the BEST of who we are.  I feel myself to be so deeply identified that I cannot dissociate myself even when I might like to. 

It is only human to care more for our own families and friends than for strangers.  Only saints and angels can be expected to shed as many tears for an unknown person than their own flesh and blood.  But this higher level of care should not become a reason to excuse the bad behavior of those we love, or to ignore the humanity of even those who may wish us harm. 

The closeness we have to our people should ideally mean that we help them to be the best they can be.  Not because we think we are better than anyone else but because we are a part of them and they are a part of us. As part of a group, we have a higher stake, and theoretically, a greater capacity to impact the behavior of our own people. 

Sometimes, that means we make sacrifices to help that others would never make.  We might hold out the benefit of the doubt or offer patience when others have given up.  Other times, our closeness and care can mean holding difficult boundaries, offering loving rebuke or refusing to be complicit in self destructive behavior. 

Loving someone, even on the scale of loving one’s own people, does not mean thinking they are always right.  It does not mean allowing them to believe every criticism is baseless.  It does not mean helping them to destroy their own well being and future when they are hurt and would prefer you to tell them anything they do is justified.

Loving someone, really loving them, means helping them to live up to their best potential.  But it also means that even when they don’t, you will not stop loving them or trying to help them. 

Now, there are also cases when a person holds higher standards for herself and her family or people in a way that is not fair or constructive.  I remember one particular coach who was always harder on his own daughter than any of the rest of us on the whole team.  And I am absolutely guilty of expecting more of myself than others in so many ways.  Sometimes, this tendency can lead to great achievements.  Sometimes, it becomes a dark perfectionism that prevents even the most accomplished person from feeling joy at their own success.

It’s particularly unhelpful when people expect a nation state like Israel or America to be perfect.  No nation is perfect, just like no person is perfect.  We have ideals.  We try to reach them.  We fail.  We make mistakes.  Sometimes we move forward.  Sometimes, we even go backward.  But to reject the whole project because we aren’t living up to the perfect founding vision is to let the perfect be the enemy of the good.  The problem isn’t hypocrisy.  It’s the stubborn imperfection of mortal human beings.

In America, as in Israel, the ideals of the declaration of independence have not yet been fully actualized.  Saying so is not unpatriotic.  Quite the opposite.  In fact, looking honestly at the ways we have fallen short is a necessary step on the path to achieving those ideals.  But that is only true if we name the shortcomings while committing to do better.  Tearing it all down because we haven’t been perfect and trusting that some kind of revolution will get us anywhere better – that’s a HUGE gamble that history has shown is usually a road to authoritarianism and tremendous human suffering.  On the other hand, refusing to see the ways we have failed in our aspirations is a guarantee we will never achieve them.

That is why I still consider myself to be a Zionist.  Even when the government of Israel has been breaking my heart and filling me with rage and despair for most of the years I’ve been paying attention as a Jewish adult.  I still love Israel, the people, the place. I still believe that we can and should do better with this momentous historic opportunity of a Jewish state. 

And I think it’s more likely that my tiny life might be able to help achieve that goal if I stay engaged out of love instead of walking away in disgust or self righteousness. 

Israel has been the Jewish dream for millenia.  And the dream has never been for us to live there by the sword, hunkered in bomb shelters, resigned to periodic warfare with hostile neighbors.  The dream has been for us to dwell in Jerusalem, Yerushalayim, Ir Shalom, city of peace, in such a way as to make it a shining light to all nations, a city holy to all peoples where we rise up to the best of our human potential to create a sacred and just society, a society in which there is “one rule for citizens and strangers alike” (Lev. 24:22). 

Believing in this dream is not a form of Jewish supremacy.  It’s not colonialism.  Demanding that Israel and the Jewish people uphold the highest moral standards even in the midst of war is not a form of self hatred.  It flows from a deep faith in who we can be. In the end, when I call myself and my people to the best in us rather than excusing our worst, it is a double standard born out of love for Jews and for all of humanity. 

Parashat Emor 2024 – The Logic
and Ethics of Double Standards

Rabbi Katie Mizrahi

 

It’s been about 2,000 years since
the Jewish people have enacted the priestly system outlined in Parashat Emor,
so it’s worth a short review.  According
to this week’s torah portion, priests are “holy to God” (Lev. 21:7) and
therefore must be more careful than other Israelites about contact with the
dead, about female virginity, about discharges and so called “defects.”  In return priests and their families get a
lifetime supply of fresh BBQ, first fruits, and special social status.   Not a bad deal.

Every time I study Leviticus I find
myself internally objecting to its aristocratic vision.  And it’s not just the privileges, it’s the
idea that some people are inherently holier than others.  I much prefer the sentiment at the end of the
parashah, Leviticus 24:22: “There shall be one rule for you, for the stranger
as for the citizen.” 

It’s tempting to lift up this radically
egalitarian verse and ignore the rest of the parashah, but this notion of
certain people being more holy than others is just too pervasive to pretend it
doesn’t exist.  In fact, the book of
Exodus expands the special holiness to the whole of the Israelite people when
God promises, “you shall be my treasured possession among all the peoples…a
kingdom of priests and a holy nation..” (Ex. 19:5-6).

This verse is but one expression of
what Reconstructionist Jews might call, “the chosenness idea” – the notion that
God has chosen Jews from among all other peoples and given them a special level
of holiness. When you start paying attention you see this idea all over – in scripture,
liturgy, and most of all in the hearts and minds of fellow Jews.

I have always felt, I confess, a
tiny bit holier than thou in moments when I get to explain that the
Reconstructionists have rejected the idea of being holier than thou.  Ironically, I find myself taking pride in being
part of a movement bold enough to break with chosenness. 

But lately, I began to wonder if I
was still internally buying in to the idea. 

As we witness the war in Gaza and
international reactions, I find myself expecting more of Israel than other
nation states.  As I interact with my
fellow Jews and watch video clips of Israeli politicians and soldiers, campus
protestors and counter protestors, I notice that I do have higher
standards for the Jews than for other people. 
It hurts so much more when they behave in ways I find morally repugnant.
I don’t find it nearly as shocking when other people do bad things.  Just the Jews.

Does this mean I had secretly thought
we were above such behavior?  Do I need
to consider the possibility that in my heart of hearts I still cling to the
idea that Jews are holier than other people?! 
Am I – God forbid – a closet adherent of chosenness?!?

Then again, when pundits decry
critiques of Israel as antisemitic because those who criticize are not holding
any other State to such high standards, I wonder just the opposite.  Maybe I’m not unconsciously believing in
Jewish superiority, maybe I’m actually guilty of internalized
antisemitism?  Why DO I think Israel
should be conducting its military actions according to the international
standards that so many other countries have violated?

All of this has brought me to ask –
Is it fair for me to have higher standards for Israel? For Jews?  To expect more from my people than other
peoples?  Is it possible to hold these
higher standards without buying in to a notion of Jewish superiority or some
form of antisemitism?

I’ve given this a lot of thought
and I want to tell you now why my answer is YES – it does make sense for
me to have higher standards for Jews and for Israel. 

In a nutshell… holding higher
standards for ourselves and our people is morally appropriate and is
part of how any person or group achieves greatness. 

Expecting ourselves and our people
to behave in ways we do not expect of others is neither an expression of self
hatred nor a delusion of superiority.  It
is one of the consequences of the love and identification we feel for our own –
not because we believe we are better than anyone else, but because we have a
higher stake, and a greater capacity to impact our own behavior than anyone
else’s. 

I just said a lot, so let me unpack
this a bit…

First I want to tackle the
chosenness thing.  How can I hold higher
standards for myself and my people than other peoples?  Isn’t that just another way to say we are
better or more holy than anyone else?   

When Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, the
founding thinker of the Reconstructionist movement, rejected chosenness there
were two prongs to his thinking.  First,
it was about theology – Kaplan imagined God as a force within human beings, a
power for goodness and so on.  God was not
some kind of person-like Being who directed the details of history and could
“choose” one tribe over another.  Such a
notion of a choosing God made no sense to a Kaplanian theologian.

The other line thought for Kaplan
was the deeply American, post enlightenment, universalistic idealism which
bristled at the idea that one group of humans was inherently more valuable than
any other.  Chosenness in the sense of
superiority. 

However a person might
conceptualize God, Kaplan also rejected the idea that Jews were better than any
other ethnic or religious group.  This
bold idea was radical in its time and still rubs a lot of Jews the wrong way
today.

Letting go of chosenness can be
painful.  Being chosen is
meaningful.  Believing that God loves you
more than others, or that your people are better than other groups can be a
powerful inoculation against hatred and hardship.  It supplies a certain kind of self esteem
when times are tough. 

But it can also act as a set of
blinders that prevent us from seeing or believing information that challenges
the narrative of moral superiority.  I
think of how one friend of mine living in Jerusalem in this moment refuses to
believe reports of hunger in Gaza.  I
think of a moment decades ago when one of my teachers shouted me down as I
began to talk about my experience witnessing human rights abuses in East
Jerusalem.  It didn’t fit what he wanted
to believe. 

It’s a natural human tendency to
protect ourselves from information that contradicts our world view.  Unfortunately, when we refuse to take in
uncomfortable truths, it doesn’t make them go away.  And if the truth has to do with our own
mistakes or moral failings, we can only hope to do better if we face them.  

But what about the other side?

Maybe I have higher standards for
Israel and Jews, not because I believe we are superior but because I am
actually a self-hating Jew…

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a
pro-Israel event where a man wanted to convince me I was wrong to believe that
Israel should end the war, wrong to think that Israel’s military campaign has
been anything but morally pristine. 
After seeing that he was not going to quickly change my mind, his face
hardened, he shouted, “Well I think you are a self-hating Jew!” turned on his
heel and stalked away.

It could be that when I expect
Israel to conduct a military campaign in such a way as to protect civilians, I
am guilty of some kind of internalized antisemitism.  It could be that when I pay more attention to
Israel’s bad behavior than Sudan’s, I am a self-hating Jew.  But actually I see it quite differently. 

I hold higher expectations of
Israel as a Jewish state BECAUSE I LOVE JEWS and because I want the Jewish
State to represent the BEST of who we are. 
I feel myself to be so deeply identified that I cannot dissociate myself
even when I might like to. 

It is only human to care more for
our own families and friends than for strangers.  Only saints and angels can be expected to
shed as many tears for an unknown person than their own flesh and blood.  But this higher level of care should not
become a reason to excuse the bad behavior of those we love, or to ignore the
humanity of even those who may wish us harm. 

The closeness we have to our people
should ideally mean that we help them to be the best they can be.  Not because we think we are better than
anyone else but because we are a part of them and they are a part of us. As
part of a group, we have a higher stake, and theoretically, a greater capacity
to impact the behavior of our own people. 

Sometimes, that means we make
sacrifices to help that others would never make.  We might hold out the benefit of the doubt or
offer patience when others have given up. 
Other times, our closeness and care can mean holding difficult
boundaries, offering loving rebuke or refusing to be complicit in self
destructive behavior. 

Loving someone, even on the scale
of loving one’s own people, does not mean thinking they are always right.  It does not mean allowing them to believe
every criticism is baseless.  It does not
mean helping them to destroy their own well being and future when they are hurt
and would prefer you to tell them anything they do is justified.

Loving someone, really loving them,
means helping them to live up to their best potential.  But it also means that even when they don’t,
you will not stop loving them or trying to help them. 

Now, there are also cases when a
person holds higher standards for herself and her family or people in a way
that is not fair or constructive.  I
remember one particular coach who was always harder on his own daughter than
any of the rest of us on the whole team. 
And I am absolutely guilty of expecting more of myself than others in so
many ways.  Sometimes, this tendency can
lead to great achievements.  Sometimes,
it becomes a dark perfectionism that prevents even the most accomplished person
from feeling joy at their own success.

It’s particularly unhelpful when
people expect a nation state like Israel or America to be perfect.  No nation is perfect, just like no person is
perfect.  We have ideals.  We try to reach them.  We fail. 
We make mistakes.  Sometimes we
move forward.  Sometimes, we even go
backward.  But to reject the whole
project because we aren’t living up to the perfect founding vision is to let
the perfect be the enemy of the good. 
The problem isn’t hypocrisy.  It’s
the stubborn imperfection of mortal human beings.

In America, as in Israel, the
ideals of the declaration of independence have not yet been fully
actualized.  Saying so is not
unpatriotic.  Quite the opposite.  In fact, looking honestly at the ways we have
fallen short is a necessary step on the path to achieving those ideals.  But that is only true if we name the
shortcomings while committing to do better. 
Tearing it all down because we haven’t been perfect and trusting that
some kind of revolution will get us anywhere better – that’s a HUGE gamble that
history has shown is usually a road to authoritarianism and tremendous human
suffering.  On the other hand, refusing to
see the ways we have failed in our aspirations is a guarantee we will never
achieve them.

That is why I still consider myself
to be a Zionist.  Even when the
government of Israel has been breaking my heart and filling me with rage and
despair for most of the years I’ve been paying attention as a Jewish adult.  I still love Israel, the people, the place. I
still believe that we can and should do better with this momentous historic
opportunity of a Jewish state. 

And I think it’s more likely that
my tiny life might be able to help achieve that goal if I stay engaged out of
love instead of walking away in disgust or self righteousness. 

Israel has been the Jewish dream
for millenia.  And the dream has never
been for us to live there by the sword, hunkered in bomb shelters, resigned to
periodic warfare with hostile neighbors. 
The dream has been for us to dwell in Jerusalem, Yerushalayim, Ir
Shalom, city of peace, in such a way as to make it a shining light to all
nations, a city holy to all peoples where we rise up to the best of our human
potential to create a sacred and just society, a society in which there is “one
rule for citizens and strangers alike” (Lev. 24:22). 

Believing in this dream is not a
form of Jewish supremacy.  It’s not
colonialism.  Demanding that Israel and
the Jewish people uphold the highest moral standards even in the midst of war
is not a form of self hatred.  In the
end, when I call myself and my people to the best in us rather than excusing
our worst, it is a double standard born out of love for Jews and for all of
humanity.