Opening Our Hearts to the Fullness of God's Image (Shabbat Emor)

This week’s parasha, Emor, also known as torat Kohanim — or “priestly guidance” — is addressed to the descendants of Aaron, the kohanim, who served as High Priests in the Temple. It provides instructions about how they are to perform their duties. Troublingly, it begins with a passage listing physical conditions that disqualify priests from officiating in public. It says:

No one at all who has a defect shall be qualified: no one who is blind, or lame, or has a limb too short or too long… (Lev 12:18-19).

The list goes on. What do we do with a problematic text like this?

A few weeks ago, my fellow chaplains and I learned with author and chaplain, Rabbi Elliot Kukla, about something called “ableism.” He defined ableism as a form of discrimination based on impairment. On reading this week’s Torah portion, our conversation lead me to ask myself, if the priests are supposed to model the highest aspirations of the Israelite community, wouldn’t this set of prohibitions instead lead to an intolerant society, one that leaves behind, or sees as less holy those who don’t meet this exclusive set of physical standards?

While texts like this are uncomfortable to read, they also give us an opportunity to confront the ways people with disabilities continue to experience marginalization today. Our tradition has in fact grappled with this issue for centuries: the Mishna (a 2nd c. rabbinic text) describes a kohen who we would think, because of his appearance, should be disqualified, according to these Biblical verses, from performing his priestly function.

But the Talmud (a later rabbinic text that expands on the Mishna) tells a story. This story, about people actually lived out Torah in their relationships, conveys the radical and profoundly humane way the rabbis reread our tradition.

The Mishna begins with a prohibition rooted in this week’s parasha, instructing:

A priest who has blemishes on his hands may not lift his hands to recite the Priestly Benediction…

But the rabbis of the Talmud sets limits on this prohibition, asking:

Wasn’t there a certain priest with this condition in the neighborhood of Rav Huna, and he would spread his hands and recite the Priestly Benediction? The Gemara answers: That priest was a familiar figure in his town. Since the other residents were accustomed to seeing him, he would not draw their attention during the Priestly Benediction (BT Megillah 24b:8-14).

This simple but powerful rabbinic story tells us the Torah’s prohibition was subjective, contextual — not by any means absolute: the reason the priest would be disqualified from performing his duties was out of concern worshippers would be distracted by his appearance from the rituals he was to perform. But if people were acquainted with the priest, if they were “accustomed to seeing him,” there was no issue, and he could go about performing his sacred duties.

It’s likely, given this story — despite the Biblical prohibition we read this week, communities found ways to keep priests with disabilities in leadership. This only was only possible, though, because people took the time to move past their own distraction, and truly see the human being before them.

I want bless us we, too, should look around with open hearts, and, like the folks in Rav Huna’s neighborhood, get to know the actual human being in front of us, who, our tradition reminds us — in every shape, and form, with every ability and disability — is a beautiful and unique manifestation of the divine image. As we develop our capacity to see the God’s imprint in all its diverse forms, may we join the ancient priests to become agents of holiness and healing.