As the daughter of a CPA, my childhood years were always divided into “tax season” and “not tax season.” From January 1 through April 15, it was known in my house that my mom was going to be focused on work. We would still have dinner as a family, and then she’d sit down at the dining room table, which was her makeshift tax season home office, and start clicking away on the adding machine. Her fingers moved at what I thought was lightening speed on the number pad, adding, subtracting, looking for advantages here, deductions there.
Since tax returns were due not long ago, our household earnings and expenditures are still fresh on my mind. It is a bit sobering to look at budget line items and realize what we actually spend on luxuries like dining out, coffee (because . . . Portland), and entertainment, compared to what we give to charitable causes. Of course we donate annually to various worthy organizations, but in looking back at the previous year, did these align with what we spent on our own extravagances? In other words, did I give as much as I enjoyed?
There is a balance to strike between my desire to help the world through financial contributions and my desire to enjoy myself and the fruits of my labor. This week we read a double Torah portion, Acharei Mot and Kedoshim. Acharei Mot picks up the narrative after Aaron’s son’s are killed for offering “strange fire” to God. The laws in this section of text deal mainly with Yom Kippur and the proper relationships we are to have in our lives. Parshat Kedoshim features the laws called the “Holiness Code,” marked with the ways in which we should respectfully treat one another in our community.
In Acharei Mot we begin with the offerings made on Yom Kippur, overseen by the high priest. We read that two goats are to be offered; one is designated for the Lord and the other for “Azazel,” which is sometimes translated as one that is “sent away,” other times as a “scapegoat.” A Hasidic commentary suggests this split teaches us that we should spend as much time, money, and energy on God’s purposes as we do on earthly pleasures. Literally, it means that these two goats are equal. In a broader sense, when we go to tally up our year, we should see a balanced ledger, especially in terms of giving to ourselves and giving to our community. Acharei Mot literally means “after death,” and Kedoshim means “holiness.” Taken together, we can ensure our holiness endures beyond this lifetime if we hold ourselves accountable to improving our world.
Do you remember a time when you acted in a way that seemed outside the realm of your normal behavior? A time that might have shocked your system because it seemed so unlike your personality? I’ll give you some examples.
- Perhaps you took a stand for something you believed in strongly even though you’re not usually the type to fight that hard.
- Maybe you said exactly what was on your mind even if you usually try your best to filter your thoughts.
- You were simply so ecstatic and caught up in a situation that it felt like you were momentarily on a different planet.
- Or it might be more subtle, possibly a time when you looked back at pictures of yourself and thought “Was that even me?” because you looked so completely different.
As we go through life, there are big and small changes happening all the time. Sometimes we can’t even perceive a difference because the change is so small, minute even. Other times these changes cause us to look back at ourselves and see an alien being, someone who is totally different than who we thought we were.
Parshat Acharei Mot, this week’s Torah portion, details the laws and rules of healthy relationships. It begins with the healing after the loss of Aaron’s sons to their own out-of-body experience in breaking the rules, and it continues with the laws about how we are supposed to atone for our sins on Yom Kippur. The final chapter of the text deals with appropriate and inappropriate relationships between family members.
The part about Yom Kippur sheds light on this duality we sometimes see with big life changes or moments. Chapter 16, verse 29 reads: “And this shall be to you a law for all time: In the seventh month, on the tenth day of the month, you shall practice self-denial; and you shall do no manner of work, neither the citizen nor the alien who resides among you.” The citizen and the alien? In a sense, this could refer to one person. Each of us is both a citizen and an alien. We are citizens in our regular actions, in those moments when we completely recognize ourselves. And we are aliens when we have those out-of-body experiences, when we behave in a way that seems contrary to our “normal operating procedure.”
At a deeper level, the text teaches us that the stranger inside each of us is not to be feared, but to be embraced. As distant and alien as that side can feel, it’s still part of our essential selves. Yom Kippur, the text teaches, is a time in which we are to examine ourselves as well as this “stranger.” We might find that the stranger is only strange because we don’t let our truest selves out often enough. On the other hand, perhaps that alien side is symptomatic of a deeper issue that needs to be addressed. This week’s text reminds us that human existence is a system of checks and balances. It’s not the little outbursts or the mood swings or the lines we draw in the sand that are the problem; it’s when we don’t acknowledge them that we don’t grow from them.
We can’t control which kids become our children’s friends, but we can teach our children what goes into creating and maintaining positive, healthy relationships. This too is Torah.