The Disabled Kohein and Dealing with Life’s Challenges – Parshas Emor

by Ner Tamid | May 18, 2025 | Sermons

Ner Tamid is a mysterious place. There are a whole bunch of things that no one has good answers to. For example, why is it, that despite our shul being in the least public place in Baltimore has a door code that to use one needs to have a PhD in Jewish numerology? Or what exactly is on our roof that when it rains it sounds like we are davening outdoors in a rainforest? How does the kugel get finished so soon after I finish making kiddush? Who managed to get random toys stuck in the light fixtures in the social hall?

These are questions that should keep any self-respecting member of our shul up at night.

However, the mystery I’d like to address today is a personal one – what’s with the rabbi and his cup of water? I’ve never been to a shul where every single Shabbos, the rabbi fills up a cup and takes a sip before he begins talking. What’s the deal? (Also, why does the rabbi speak about himself in the third person…)

Before we solve the great Ner Tamid mystery, let’s take a look at our parsha. Our parsha begins in a rather politically incorrect fashion. It teaches us how Kohanim who have blemishes of different sorts, handicaps, some visible and some not visible at all, are invalidated from working in the Temple. אִ֣ישׁ מִֽזַּרְעֲךָ֞ לְדֹרֹתָ֗ם אֲשֶׁ֨ר יִהְיֶ֥ה בוֹ֙ מ֔וּם לֹ֣א יִקְרַ֔ב לְהַקְרִ֖יב לֶ֥חֶם אֱלֹהָֽיו׃ In other words, not only was the Bais Hamikdash not ADA compliant, it was anti-ADA. Handicapped individuals cannot work here.¹

Before I share with you an approach to how we should think about handicaps and disabilities from a Jewish perspective, allow me to share with you an approach to how we should not think about handicaps and disabilities:

Yitzchak Perlman contracted polio at the age of 4. Ever since, he has had to wear metal braces on his legs and often he has to walk with crutches. He also happens to be one of the greatest violinists of our time. There is an apocryphal story told about a particular concert. He came out onto the stage, walking slowly and laboriously util he got to his seat. He gently lay down his crutches, placed the violin under his chin, and right before he began, he tuned one of his strings, when all of a sudden, with an audible snap, one of the strings broke. The audience was expecting him to send for another string, but instead he signaled for the conductor to begin, and he proceeded to play the concerto on only three strings. At the end of the performance the audience gave him a standing ovation; they never saw anything like it. Perlman asked for a mike, and what he said summarized his entire life. “Our task is to make music with what we have.”

Here was a man who was given a form of a death sentence, the inability to walk, the inability to function like a regular person, and yet, he managed to navigate the hurdles sent his way, he overcame them and became a world-famous violinist.

It’s a beautiful and inspiring idea, but it’s missing a critical component that one can only appreciate with a deep faith in G-d. Let’s talk about the Torah’s perspective on disabilities. Inasmuch as the Torah prohibits a Kohein with a disability to serve in the Mishkan, the most consequential Jew to have ever lived had a disability – Moshe. Moshe was born or developed a significant speech impediment. When G-d appeared to him and demanded that Moshe stand before Pharaoh, Moshe pushed back. “Thank you, G-d, I’m flattered. I’m not sure if You noticed, but I can’t speak properly. How in the world do You expect me to be the spokesperson for the Jewish People?!”

G-d does not tell him, “Our task is to make music with what we have,” or, your task is to speak despite your limitations. No. G-d says, “Mi sam peh l’ileim, who gave speech to the mute?”

It’s a very cryptic response, but it’s explained beautifully by Rabeinu Nissim of Gerona. Says Rabbeinu Nissim, G-d was saying as follows: “Moshe, you think I don’t recognize that you have a speech impediment? Who do you think gave you that mouth, who created you with that deficiency? I did, said G-d. And I did so for a very significant reason.”

You see, the Jewish People, after leaving Egypt, were going to be given the Torah. The Torah, as we know, has many laws and many restrictions. G-d was concerned that the Jewish People would years later claim that they were duped, they were talked into it. They would say that they had this leader, a fantastic orator, who sweet-talked them into accepting the Torah. We’ve all experienced that. You ever walk into a store planning on buying one piece of furniture that’s on sale, and then find out that the one you plan on buying is made of terrible quality, and what you really need to buy is the newest brand, and that you really must buy insurance to protect your furniture against a nuclear war, all because some smooth-talking sale-person talked you into it? The Jewish People would say the same thing. Imagine if Moshe Rabbeinu spoke as well as Rabbi Jontahan Sacks. We got duped! We never really wanted the Torah! Rabbi Sacks could have persuaded us to do anything!

But what if the salesperson couldn’t finish their sentences? What if he stammered? What if you had to wait patiently until he finished his sentence? Could the Jewish People make such a claim? Absolutely not.

That’s what G-d was telling Moshe: “Yes I know you have a speech impediment; I was the One who gave it to you. I gave you that speech impediment so that you could fulfill your mission in life! You wouldn’t be fit to give the Jewish People the Torah if you didn’t have a speech impediment! Mi sam peh l’ileim, who created and gave you that disability? I did.”

We all have our own unique mission in life. There is a reason we are placed on this earth. But sometimes we think we’re not fit for the job. We have too many ‘disabilities’. I don’t have patience; how can I deal with my family or co-workers. I don’t have a good head; how could I study Torah?! What G-d was telling Moshe with those words of mi sam peh was that there are no mistakes. That speech impediment, or lack of memory, IQ, family trauma, mental health challenges, whatever deficiency it may – it’s all there for a reason! It’s part of the package! Our disabilities, our “weaknesses,” they aren’t an oversight, they are part of who we are, and what we are expected to do.

The Tzemach Tzedek, the third Lubavitcher Rebbe, suggests that this is why Kohanim who have a disability do not work in the Bais Hamikdash. Not because they’re not wanted there. It’s because they are wanted somewhere else; they have a different mission to fulfill. The role of the Kohanim is to connect people to G-d. Some people come to the Bais Hamikdash to find Him and there are Kohanim there to help. But there are other people, usually people who are hurting in one way or another, who do not have the inner strength to come to the Bais Hamikdash, or perhaps in modern times, can’t bring themselves to come to shul or engage in Judaism in any fashion. They may have had a difficult childhood, they may be experiencing some distress, and they remain at home. Who is able to reach them? Who is able to empathize with them and make them feel seen and heard? The Kohein who is dressed in regal clothing, the Kohein who is tall and fit, the Kohein who was respected from the day he was born, that Kohein can’t necessarily understand the man or woman who is stuck at home; he doesn’t have the life experience to give him that type of insight.

But the Kohein who was always chosen last for the baseball team, the Kohein who people looked at and quickly looked away, the Kohein who had his own fair share of pain, that Kohein can put his arm around that person in pain, look them in the eye, and say, “I get it.”

As people who believe in G-d, who believe in a G-d that is intimately involved in our lives, we do not ask how we can get around our disabilities, how our disabilities can be overcome. No. Instead we ask, in what way can I use this experience to fulfill my personal mission here on earth?

Which brings me back to my cup of water.

About three years ago, I fainted up here on the pulpit. I was probably sick and dehydrated. Whatever it was. As I shared with the congregation on the following Rosh Hashana, what followed was five months of intense panic attacks every time I got up to speak. It was hell. Sometimes I couldn’t speak at all. Sometimes I spoke while sitting down. And other times, I spoke, and it may have looked just fine, but in my head, I was using every technique in the book and barely got through it. Since that Rosh Hashana, I have not missed a sermon due to any panic attacks, but I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t still deal with them.

And it’s bizarre! Before that Pesach, I had no anxiety about getting up here; this was my happy place. When you’re 5’5 and you get a chance to stand up high on this pulpit and see the top of people’s heads, I loved it! But since that time, and yes, even since that Rosh Hashana three years ago, I have grappled with getting up here.

Sometimes I wouldn’t feel anything at all until the last moment. Sometimes I’d be sitting in my seat doing deep breathing during leining. Sometimes I would get hit with a wave as I stood up here. One of the techniques that I developed for myself was this – the cup of water. Knowing that I could pause and take a sip at any point, knowing that I could take a break in middle of a drasha, grounded me.

I don’t need your sympathy, and frankly, I don’t want your sympathy. Baruch Hashem, as time goes on it has gotten easier and easier. And I am also open to the fact that I may one day faint again at this pulpit, you’ll all freak out, and then I’ll make a drasha about it the next week. It’s all good.

More importantly, a panic attack is nothing compared to what so many people in this room deal with every single day. Statistically speaking, there are a good number of people in this room who have extreme anxiety and depression and other mental health challenges. Statistically speaking, there are a significant number of people who have familial distress and so many other challenges they deal with daily. We all have something, a ‘disability’ we are dealing with, and I am no exception.

Yitzchak Perlman would tell me that I must figure out how to overcome this challenge. But Rabbeinu Nissim and the Tzemech Tzedek would encourage me to ask myself what I can learn from it and how it can help me in my life mission. Perhaps like the Kohein who was disqualified from the Avoda, perhaps G-d wanted me to open my eyes a little wider to all the pain in this world, not only the visible pain, but the invisible pain which is so often so much worse.

Mi sam peh l’ilem? Who gave me this challenge? Who gave you your challenge? G-d did. And He did so for a reason.

Jewish Power: What we can Learn from the Church’s Mistakes

by Ner Tamid | May 4, 2025 | Sermons

My children tell me I talk about Christianity too often. They tell me that it’s weird for a rabbi to say Jesus from the pulpit as often as I do. They’re probably right. But, in my defense, for the past 1500 years so much of our history has been directly influenced by Christianity that it’s hard to escape. So today, as Catholic leaders are busy negotiating behind closed doors who will be the next pope – a question that has tremendous ramifications to Israel and to the Jewish People, I think it’s a good a time as any to talk about Christianity in general, and Pope Francis in particular. And to my children, just chalk this up as another argument you lost to your father…

There are a number of alleged mentions of Jesus in the Talmud. I say alleged because there is much scholarly debate if the individual or individuals mentioned are actually Jesus or someone else. My favorite story is one found at the end of Maseches Sanhedrin involving Rav Yehoshua ben Prachya. The story goes that Rav Yehoshua ben Prachya, one of the leading sages of his time, was travelling with his students when one of the students made an indecent comment. Rav Yehoshua was shocked by his student’s comment and banished him by putting him in cherem. The student, named Yeshu, which is Hebrew for Jesus, begged his teacher for forgiveness numerous times. Each time he was rejected. Until finally, the student came to ask for forgiveness, and his teacher, Rav Yehoshua, was ready to forgive him, only that he was davening. So instead of speaking, he motioned to his student. Rav Yehoshua meant, hold on a moment. Yeshu understood him to indicate that he should go away. And he did. The Gemara concludes that all the evil that befell the Jewish People at the hands of this man and his followers were caused by the great sage, Rav Yehoshua ben Prachya.

I love this Gemara because it is a perfect example of how Jews are supposed to learn history. We do not point fingers. We do not vlame or play the victim. Instead of highlighting all the things that Jesus and his followers did to us, the Gemara challenges us to ask, what did we do wrong in this situation? How can we grow? How can we change?

I love this Gemara, but the Christian censors in medieval Europe did not. They felt like it was offensive and forced the printers to remove the whole story from the Talmud. If you have an older edition of the Talmud from a Christian country, that section would be missing.

Of course, censorship was the least of our problems for much of medieval history. As James Carroll observes, Christianity was originally a movement that opposed violence and power. And yet, Constantine, the Roman Emperor came along and made Christianity synonymous with power and violence. For the next thousand years, Jews were persecuted for their faith by their Christian neighbors.

In the 15^th century, a decision was made by the leaders of the Inquisition that would have ripple effects all the way to the Holocaust. Until that point in history, Jews were evil because they chose to reject who they believed to be the true messiah. But in the 15^th century this posed a problem. Many Jews, especially in Spain and Portugal, started converting to Christianity. The church was not happy; they had all sorts of incentives, political and financial to continue discriminating against these converted Jews. And so they decided to discriminate against Jews not because of their faith but because of their race, allowing the church to lead a witch-hunt against Jews who converted, who they described as Marranos, literally, pigs. Carrol argues that this shift, from discriminating by faith to discriminating by race, paved the way for the Nazis a few hundred years later, to do the same. The road from Rome to Auschwitz, argues James Carroll, is a straight one.

It’s an intriguing thesis. James Carroll, a former priest uses it to point a finger at the modern church, begging them to introspect and ask themselves if they have don enough to undo the harm they caused.

Following in the footsteps of the story of Rav Yehoshua ben Prachya, I’d like to use this story not to point fingers outward, but inward, and use this story for introspection.

For virtually the entire history of Christianity, Christians were the ones in power and Jews were powerless. The church abused that power to amass wealth and to gain political support. But now, for the first time since Jesus was born, we, the Jewish People have power. We, the Jewish People have a country and an army and the ability to wield that power over others. And now we need to look in the mirror and ask ourselves if we are using this power appropriately.

Let’s be abundantly clear, does the State of Israel need to do everything in its power to defend her people? Yes. Has the State of Israel gone above and beyond in limiting the deaths of Arabs in all its wars, including in the current war against Gaza? Without a doubt. When a nation wages war, there are consequences and people in that nation, even if they are entirely innocent, will die. And the only one to blame, in this case, is Hamas. Have peace deals, the exit of Gush Katif in any way shape or form worked? Have the PA or Hamas been partners in peace? No. Not even close. Full stop.

But there is a growing trend of racism in some of our circles. Jews who deny the notion of tzelem Elokim, of the intrinsic value of every human being, and comfortably describe Arabs as subhuman. There are Jews who argue that we are allowed to take justice into our own hands by firebombing mosques, by terrorizing Arab children, and much worse. None of that is acceptable.

This is not an indictment on any current or past political figure in Israel. It really isn’t. They don’t matter. (See Noam Weissman for a great analysis of modern Kahanism: https://unpacked.media/meir-kahane-jewish-defender-or-jewish-supremacist/.) We’re not talking to them. As the Talmud teaches us through the story of Rav Yehoshu ben Prachya, the only thing that matters is us; what we do and what we think. How do we, Jews who are finally in a position of power, think about that power?

Are Arabs ‘animals’ that must be treated as such by vigilantes, or alternatively, are we in a war, and must do whatever is necessary to protect the Jewish People and fight our enemies through the State of Israel’s military apparatus? Those are not the same.

Are all Arabs ‘bloodthirsty’ and undeserving of peace, or alternatively, must we be exceptionally skeptical of any peace agreements, and yes, entertain idea that may even be politically incorrect to ensure the safety of the Jewish People? Those are not the same.

There is a big difference between those two sides. One is about denigrating other human beings and the other is about personal safety – the ethical imperative to ensure one’s own safety and the safety of one’s family.

We now have the sword and we now have authority. And that is a terrible and complicated responsibility.

Which brings me back to Pope Francis.

I’ll be honest, I was initially very excited when he was elected as pope. I was enamored by the images of him riding that dinky little car instead of a royal entourage. I was moved by the pictures of him caring for the most needy and broken. He exemplified one of the characteristics that the original priests, the Kohanim, were meant to characterize. In our parsha we read how the Metzora, the leper, who is banished from the camp, is visited by the Kohein. The Kohein is there not only for technical reasons, but to give chizzuk, to give support, to give guidance and love to the individual who is an outcast. In this respect, Pope Francis was a model of what a spiritual leader should look like.

But there is another role for the Kohein; he is also the spiritual guide, a person of authority. This week’s parsha goes into overwhelming detail as to how the Kohein assesses whether or not the leprosy is indeed Tzoraas. He visits the Metzora once and then again and then a third time. Each time, he measures, he analyzes, and he weighs. To be a spiritual leader one must be able to be mavdil bein kodesh l’chol, bein hatamei uvein hatahor. Crystal clear guidance is needed.

And in this respect, Pope Francis fell woefully short. He spoke positively about gay unions but outlawed gay marriage. In doing so, he confused his followers and caused confusion to the entire religious world. He spoke out against sexual abuse in the church, and appointed a friend, Victor Manuel Fernandez, as prefect despite his well-known history of sexual abuse. In doing so, he gave false hope and sewed frustration in the hearts of the most vulnerable. And, as he did in his final address, he spoke out against antisemitism – he was undoubtedly opposed to those who discriminated against Jews, and in that same speech, vilified the Jewish state, and in doing so, paved the way for even more antisemitism.

A spiritual guide is an authority, his or her role is to provide clarity. One of the greatest gifts that our Torah presents to us is the knowledge that this is moral and this is not, from the moment of conception until we take our last breath, the Torah clearly defines what we should do and should not do, what is right and what is wrong. Religion is meant to provide clarity in a relativistic confusing world, l’havdil bein kodesh l’chol, bein hatamei uvein hatahor.

Will the church learn the lessons of history and elect a pontiff who will once and for all undo the harm caused by two thousand years of the Christian sword? Will they put into power someone who can provide moral clarity in a world of confusion? I really hope so. But even more importantly, will we?