Purity and Maturity -- Coming of Age on Our Own Terms and in Our Own Time

This past Saturday, I went to the adult Bat Mitzvah of a dear friend, Liz Free, who had struggled in her youth with faith, community, identity, and belonging, and therefore had foregone the traditional Jewish rite of passage at the time her body first was changing.

A few years ago, as her body once again began to transform, and feeling a wholeness of experience that might better guide her choices, she looked once again to the religion of her birth. But this time, it was through a lens informed by a fuller understanding of her sexuality and the divine feminine -- and in the company of a group that could see through to the more essential levels of her being, which was vital as she does not conform to many of the traditional values held by those who practice her faith.

At the service, she gave a moving presentation, which referenced the "purification" procedures in Leviticus 13, meant to exclude and (hopefully) reintegrate those whom society has seen fit to cast out. Here is the full text of her speech:

What is this Parsha talking about? 

As most of what Leviticus talks about, it describes the Priest’s responsibility to discern pure from impure for the health and safety of the community, and of the sacred places and of the sacred rituals associated with them.   Cleanliness was very important back then considering the climate of that region and how it dictated how to live in a self-contained community that did not have air conditioning. It was the Priest’s responsibility along with the “afflicted person” to discern if they were healthy enough to remain in the community or if the “afflicted person” needed to be quarantined for an amount of time in order for the “affliction” to heal. 

How was this determined? Who gave the Priests this kind of authority and where and how did they obtain the knowledge to judge this? Right back to Leviticus we go, and what do we find? A whole slew of do’s and don’ts--mostly don’ts. For what purpose? As it is stated in the essay by Jay Michaelson, “It’s the Purity Stupid”: Back in the Biblical times it seems there was lengthy "team" meeting that took place between Moses, Aaron and Aaron’s remaining sons, in which rules were set forth for regulating priestly behavior in order to maintain the purity of the Israelite nation, and to guard against assimilation to the "pagan" influence.

Leviticus 13 verse six states: “He shall be impure as long as the disease is on him. Being impure, he shall dwell apart; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.” In the commentary, from Etz Haym, Torah and Commentary, it states, from verse 45: He shall call out “Impure” --"Impure” according to the Talmud. One does this not only to warn others of the contagion but also to elicit compassion and prayers on one’s behalf. It is the responsibility of an afflicted person to recognize the illness and ask for help; and it is the responsibility of the community to offer support and prayer rather than shun or ignore the afflicted.

So how long does this self-appointed quarantined last? According to Leviticus 14, about 7 to 14 days give or take, then the priest travels outside the camp and examines the afflicted person. If the afflicted person is found to be healed then a ritual of purification takes place before the person can rejoin the community. These rituals included animal sacrifice along with a mikvah bath.

I can’t help but compare this to what took place in the 80's when Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome made its dent in the community. How devastating was that, the way society at large shunned those “afflicted”, the isolation that took place for the “good of the society at large” -- and not just AIDS, but cancer, mental illness, addictions. Society at large shuns those who are deemed to be “impure” either physically or mentally. It seems that anybody that is labeled “different than the standard set” is then set apart.

I have felt apart and isolated at times. Not due to any physical affliction but just because there was something different. When I attended Jewish summer camp it was the first time I experienced Shabbos services, but not being able to read or comprehend Hebrew while all the other campers did, made me feel left out and alienated. I recall one of my fellow campers asking me if I was really Jewish because I didn’t know how to read Hebrew.

Identifying as Bisexual has at times been a challenge, as people question my identity, asking me to choose, or they make assumptions because I wear nail polish, or berate me for my choices.

So, how then can those persons who have been labeled as “outcast” rejoin society? How do we welcome back in a person who has gone through chemo or radiation, or a twelve-step program?

With today’s modern medications and treatments available, the first step is to acknowledge something is wrong and then, because we don’t have the “priestly caste” anymore the next step is to go to what would substitute as that priest -- a doctor, therapist, Rabbi -- and obtain treatment for the “affliction”. OK fine, but that is only a part of the healing. What about society’s role in the healing? Where are the compassion and the support? Where is the ritual that helps make the impure pure again? Since we no longer have a high priest to assure us that this shall pass with sacrifices and prayer, we have our so called experts who ease our troubled minds and assure us that you can’t get “that” from a toilet seat or by shaking hands. Do we have a ritual of purification? Since we don’t practice animal sacrifice anymore what do we “do”? Is mikvah immersion enough? Ok that’s a start, but what else?

Trying to find a warm and welcoming environment with no judgment where we can be ourselves -- all of ourselves -- with no fear of recrimination, only unconditional support. Is it that hard? Look around you -- here we are, as if we didn’t know; open door policy is a fine sentiment, what happens when we step out the door? Is it still there, in our hearts and in our minds? What is the text of Leviticus telling us? That the priestly role which is now taken over by seeking out “professional” assistance is good but just a part of the process; the community has a role as well, to reach out and support each other, and if not here then where? If not now then when? If not us then who?

A Tale of Two Men

I have been thinking about two men who have been important to me... one is John, an actor, director, and cabaret singer from my old theater company who had a way of finding hidden meaning in plays (sometimes to the chagrin of the playwright) that astounded me.

John had lived most of his life hand-to-mouth and suffered an horrific gay-beating which demolished his smile (as well as his career potential, in spite of a spellbinding voice and riveting stage presence), but he lived fully and somewhat foolishly at times, in spite of his finances.

And then there was Bill -- hyper-rational, intellectual (IQ somewhere in the 170s, he said) -- an odd duck, but I adored him. We met through a mutual friend when Bill was looking to sell his modem (remember those?) back in the mid-90s. He wanted $20 for a 1200 baud... He had just purchased a 14K and bragged, "What I have now is TWELVE times faster than this one..." -- the one he was selling me at that moment -- and for which he still demanded $20 though he gleefully bragged he'd only paid $30 for it new.

Looking back, this first interaction set a pattern for our relationship. In that moment, he mocked, even degraded me for my accepting his sale (and ultimately his friendship), and yet for reasons which only became apparent years later I chose to ignore this.....

That evening -- before this remark -- we'd had a sparkly conversation about Star Trek and other science fiction stuff and I was enraptured with him, even flattered that he held my intelligence commensurate with his own (or so it seemed).

We connected on many levels -- at least on the levels that I thought were important to me at the time (i.e. mostly intellectual) -- and became each other's go-to friend for many activities.

Within a few years, we moved in together and often talked late into the night about any number of life's fascinations. Some of my friends thought he was strange, possibly because he had a touch of Asperger's (I think), but I would defend him: "Love me, love my Bill!"

In other words, it was like we were married, except there was no sex. So it was like we were married.

Yet even as I delighted in his company, there was, in retrospect, always a subtle undercurrent of mockery. He, it turned out, was one of these people who always needed to hold himself superior to all others, regardless of whether his high self-esteem proved justified.

In particular, he liked to mock my mystical side and my curiosity for Tarot, Astrology, and Psi phenomena in general. He also liked to mock the unusual beliefs and practices of some of my friends.

John was a favorite target.

Springing eternally with hope, amidst misfortunes Bill and I could only wonder at, John was an avid Lotto player. He conjured a series of numbers based on his prior addresses and played religiously each week.

He built a shrine to The Ticket and would ask visitors to bless that week's gamble.

"He's basically buying a fantasy!" Bill would rail. He liked to chide his mother about this too. "Why don't you play '1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6'," he liked to tell her in mixed company. "Oh, that would NEVER come up!" was her inevitable response, much to Bill's superior delight.

But the hyper-rational side of my own mind had to agree: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6" had as good a chance of "coming up" as any other number series -- extremely unlikely, but possible.

At some point in the friendship, Bill became convinced that I believed I had psychic powers. I do not believe this about myself, by the way, although I must admit to some strange experiences which have convinced me there is more in heaven and earth...

To wit, one booze-soaked night, Bill devised a plan to "test" my "powers." "Oh, come on," he chided, "you said yourself you're not psychic so what do you have to lose?"

Grudgingly, I agreed to the "test."

He disappeared into his room for several minutes and emerged with a deck of cards. "I'm going to pull from the top, and you say whether it's red or black. Red cards go on the right, black cards go on the left."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Red... black... red ... black.." He put each of the cards face down in two columns. "No, come on," he urged, "really try to guess!"

I took a breath. "OK. Black ... black... black ..." He laid out the cards. "That's weird," I said, "I'm getting black, black, black, black... that can't be..."

"Just go with your gut," he said with effusive sincerity.

I threw in a red or two, but went back to "black, black, black, black..." We went back and forth like this for a while... with me occasionally switching to "red, black, red, black" figuring the law of averages demanded a red card show up, but I kept feeling pulled into a steady stream of black cards.

Then Bill turned over both sets -- all black on the left, all red on the right.

"See!" he chirped, "You're psychic!"

"Holy shit!" my jaw dropped. "That is not possible."

He exploded in laughter. "It is completely possible. I split the deck!!!"

I took the cards... on top were all black cards, reds were on the bottom. With sleight-of-hand, he had pulled from the top or bottom depending on which color I chose.

And he laughed and laughed. And when he stopped laughing, I said, "Wait a minute... but wasn't I saying, 'Black, black, black ...' I mean... doesn't that count for something?"

And he said -- I kid you not -- "Well I think at that point they were all red."

Of course, even in my stupor I knew this was a bunch of bullshit -- there was not nor could there have been any change in the way the cards were stacked in the deck -- yet I lacked the backbone to defend myself and did not argue further. I had let him define the situation; and in his definition, he was Top Dog, and I was a mealy-minded gullible fool.

Over the following year, our relationship deteriorated as I began to realize that he held little true affection for me and appreciated my presence merely as a means to feel better about himself.

Finally, I threw him out of the apartment.

And John's Lotto numbers won $45 million dollars.