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The Eighth Day Parashat Tazria – HaHodesh Rabbi Daniel Cotzin Burg Beth Am Synagogue March 29, 2014 ~ 27 Adar II 5774 A few years ago a Hillel colleague created an initiative called, “Ask Big Questions.” It was an attempt, around Pesach time, to remind us the purpose of religion is to consider life’s larger mysteries. This doesn’t mean the answers are readily available, though. There is no particular verse in Torah that tells us the reason for suffering or the meaning of life. Surprisingly, though, there is a specific verse that lays out humanity’s purpose on Earth – in creating the first human being, God includes a job description: “Vayikach A-nai E-him et ha’adam vayanichu v’gan eden l’ovda u’l’shomra, God took the man and placed him in the Garden of Eden to till it and tend it” (Gen. 2:15). We know, from the start, that our task is to partner with God in creation’s unfolding process. Today’s parasha deals with the disease called tzara’at, which is something like leprosy. The role of the priest is principally that of diagnostician. On the seventh day he examines the metzora, the one struck with the affliction: “V’ra’ahu hakohen vayom hashvi’i…” (Lev. 13:5). If the tza’arat has not spread and remains unchanged in color, he isolates him for another seven days. Again, the kohen examines the individual. Again we’re told, “v’ra’ah hakohen oto bayom hashvi’i…” (v.6): “On the seventh day the priest shall examine him again: if the affection has faded and has not spread on the skin, the priest shall pronounce him pure.” A question we might consider is why the Torah reads “the seventh day?” If you were paying close attention, you know that the purification is proclaimed on the fourteenth day, two full weeks after the affection is identified. The answer shouldn’t be surprising. The number seven is our magic number. The Menorah, the most ancient Jewish symbol, has seven branches. Two of the Pilgrimage Festivals last seven days. And the Torah presents time in multiples of seven: sefirat haomer which begins on Pesach and continues 49 days and the Yovel or Jubilee which occurs twice a century after “seven weeks of years.” Why is seven important? The answer is obvious: the world God entrusts to us was formed in seven days – six days of hard labor and one day to let the paint dry. All those sevens reflect that original seven; they are attempts to quantify and stratify religious time. So it makes sense that in next week’s parasha, we’re told that after shaving off his hair, washing his clothes and bathing, the metzora is considered “pure.” Here’s the problem, though. The text goes on to describe another elaborate ritual requiring two male lambs, one ewe lamb, plus some choice flour and oil. We read: “These shall be presented before the Lord, with the man to be purified…” (Lev. 14:10- 11). And when does this second ritual occur? On the eighth day! And, in fact, the cohen takes blood and oil from this sacrifice and, placing some on the person’s right thumb, ear and big toe, and some oil on his or her head, offers one final sacrifice on the altar and again pronounces the man or woman tahor or ritually pure (v. 20). But, wait a second; didn’t we just say this person was pure on the seventh day? It turns out, Judaism has another magic number, and that number is eight. Eights pop up, in Torah nearly as often as seven! There is no Torah portion named Shvi’i, but last week’s parasha 1 was Shemini, “eighth.” Much like the final day of purification for the tzara’at, here too we have a series of sacrifices offered at the culmination of a process. In this case it was the priestly ordination. Aaron, his sons Nadav and Avihu plus Eleazar and Ithamar, undertake a number of detailed and transformative rituals meant to prepare them for the kehunah. The Torah tells us: “Vayehi vayom hashemini kara Moshe v’Aharon u’levanav u’leziknei Yisrael…, on the eighth day, Moses called out to Aaron, his sons and the elders of Israel…” (Lev. 9:1). This is it, says Moses, after all the preparation, the capital campaign and Tabernacle construction. After extensive seminars about the particulars of sacrificial worship; after comprehensive beta testing, market research and a few failed prototypes – most memorably the Golden Calf – we are, at long last, ready to worship. This initiation, the execution of the tasks to which the cohanim were charged, is what happens on the eighth day. But an eighth day appears not just in next week’s parasha metzora and last week’s parasha Shemini. This week’s parasha, too, features a very special eighth day. If I were to ask you, what happens, in Jewish tradition, on the eighth day? My guess is that very few of you would say “Aaron’s ordination” or “the return of the leper.” No, you would all say on the eighth day we Jews do a bris! And, low and behold, at the beginning of tazria it says, when a woman gives birth to a baby boy, “u’vayom hashemini yimol basar orlato,” on the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised” (Lev. 12:3). This is, in fact, the most ancient Jewish ritual we have – the first mitzvah commanded directly to the Jewish people. Why, then, is a bris done on the eighth day? Is that when we make boys Jewish? Actually no, the blessing recited after a bris is clear about this: “asher kidesh y’did mibeten, …who sanctifies this dear child from the womb” (Talmud Shabbat 137). Children, boys and girls, who are born to Jewish mothers are Jewish when they are born. A bris, though obligatory and deeply meaningful, does not effectuate one’s Jewishness. So argues Rabbi Isachar Be’er MiZlatshov, the Mevaser Tzedek. But another Chassidic tradition led by the Kotzker rebbe points out circumcision is a necessary component for Jewishness if one is converting. In other words, one is created Jewish by dint of his or her parentage, but accepting the covenant, the brit, and all it represents, falls to the parents who agree to teach those values to the next generation. The bris or, more commonly hatafat dam brit for a Jew by choice, enables that person to be spiritually “reborn,” a process sealed by the waters of mikvah representing the womb. So, what’s the purpose of this eighth day? I want to suggest that whether the High Priest, the metzora or the circumcised baby, eight is the human fulfillment of a divine urge, an achievement of our primordial mandate: to “till” and “tend” the creative enterprise. At Yom Kippur Neilah, we chant Shema once but seven times A-nai hu HaElo-im. God is one. God’s creation is seven. We are eight. We are the relay man in the cosmic game of Jewish baseball. It’s not that seven is irrelevant. Jews do lots of things in sevens, of course, as we’ve seen. But seven is our imitation of God and God’s work. Eight is our response. It is our ownership and extension of the creative endeavor. And where is God in all of this? What happens when the ball reaches the relay man and the tag is made at home plate? If there is a living God, surely, we are not solely accountable for the world; God hasn’t simply “checked out” since creation. Think of a time when you took on a responsibility previously done by a parent or grandparent. Doing laundry? Taking out the trash? 2 Leading your family’s seder? I remember the last days of my father’s life. He was on hospice care, sleeping in my childhood family room adjacent to the kitchen. He didn’t have much of an appetite, but suddenly had a craving for mom’s brisket. So we went out, bought a first cut brisket, and there I was doing “dad’s job” – for the first time trying to cut the damn thing. And as I’m struggling with the carving knife, there’s my dad, lying quite literally on his deathbed, calling out, “You’re doing it wrong. Cut against the grain!” Think of God and humanity as partners. We begin as junior partners, as children are to their parents. God does the heavy lifting. But with the eighth day, God does what the kabbalists call tzimtzum, retracting and promoting us to senior partner. While the father retreats to the back, we are expected to run the front of the store. And God serves in an advisory capacity, sometimes gently encouraging us, occasionally barking orders, but always proud to see us growing into our new role. There is seven and there is eight, but it’s really seven plus one. This is why Shavuot is the fiftieth day, and why the Yovel or Jubilee is the fiftieth year. The Omer is seven weeks, seven sevens. And the Jubilee follows seven weeks of years. Because both Shavuot and the Yovel, as the Torah tells us, occur just after the unit is complete, the one after the last seven. Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsch describes ascending octaves on a piano. God plays and we accompany (do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti…) and then, lovingly, God withdraws so we can complete the final note (do!).

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