Torah Posting: נשא
The count continues in this second parashah of “Numbers,” with more specialized Tabernacle duties for members of the tribe of Levi. Men of the clans of Gershon between 30 and 50 years of age are assigned to carry the coverings, hangings, enclosures, screens, and service equipment of the Mishkan, and those from Merari are assigned the poles, planks, bars, posts, sockets, and so forth of the Tent of Meeting under the supervision of Itamar, son of Aharon.
These mature men of Levi are counted on their own along with the clans of Kohat, who were given their duties at the end of the previous parashah. It is interesting to consider that the clans assigned the most sensitive and sacred duties — porting the actual ritual implements — were separated out into their own parashah.
Now that the instructions for moving camp are complete, we delve back into strict behavioral laws for the community. Surely, we missed them after one whole parashah of something different after weeks and weeks of the stuff. After one rather redundant section about keeping people defiled by eruptions or touching corpses outside of camp, a process of restitution for general wrongdoing is described in specific financial terms (to be made out to the priests, of course).
These predictable passages establish that we’re being lectured by the priestly author again, and then comes a shocking and — on the surface, at least — fairly horrible ritual prescription. It concerns the marital infidelity of a wife towards her husband — or even the suspicion of it — and I’ll say up front that I find it disgusting and humiliating.
No comparable practice is described for an unfaithful man, though I will point out that even thinking about it is a violation of one of the 10 commandments, and actually doing it violates another one, so cheating on your spouse is pretty bad no matter your gender. In that sense, having a procedure for repairing it written out like this actually fixes a problem. I just wish it weren’t gendered. Sometimes it’s possible for me to extend an understanding of a law like this into gender-agnostic terms, but the shameful particulars of this practice make that harder for me to do here.
I will just add that, as a bit of ritual magic to perform upon a marriage that has broken down in an inequitable society like this one, I find it well designed. It is understandable to concentrate on how it humiliates the woman; I just want to point out that it humiliates the man, too, and that may be the only way out of this situation.
So, the setup is, either a woman cheats on her husband willingly, and she hides it from him, and he finds out, or he merely suspects it happened. The key is, a “רוח-קנאה” — a “spirit of jealousy” — overcomes him. The exquisitely (if uncomfortably) detailed ritual about to be described is for assuaging that feeling, not just atoning for the violation.
I have to admit, there’s something impressive about the emotional intelligence of that. We know how Israelites who break God’s laws are supposed to repent for it, at this point, but repairing trust in a damaged relationship is not as simple as that. In order for a marriage to survive that, some profound work needs to be done.
Here’s what that work looks like in this civilization, such as it is:
The couple appears before the priest. The husband brings a barley flour offering with no oil or incense to beautify it, for its purpose is to embody wrongdoing and jealousy. The priest brings the wife forward to stand before God. He takes an earthen vessel full of pure water and sprinkles some of the dirt on the floor of the Tabernacle into the water. It is worthy of note that at this point the Torah begins to refer to her as “האשה” — “the woman” — rather than “אשתו” — “his wife” — which should be taken as a sign of her responsibility and agency in this ritual. She’s not just property here, though that doesn’t do a whole lot to diminish what I find humiliating about this practice for her.
The priest bares the woman’s head (which a married woman would otherwise have covered outside of her house) and places the meal offering in her hands. The priest holds the water vessel. The priest speaks to the woman, saying, “If no other man has lain with you, if you have not been unfaithful to your husband, be immune to the bitter waters of this spell. But if you have been unfaithful, may God make you a curse upon your people and cause your thighs to sag and your belly to bulge as this water enters your body.” And the woman is to respond, “amein, amein.”
The priest then writes this incantation down and — it seems — puts the paper into the water. The priest takes the meal offering from her hands and offers a scoop of it on the altar. Then he makes her drink the water. As the text goes, if she has been unfaithful, her body will be deformed, and she will become a curse upon her people. If she hasn’t, nothing will happen, and the man’s “spirit of jealousy” — presumably — will be relieved.
So. Not a perfect practice from my 21st-century perspective. It’s a little uniquely body-shame-y for me to make my usual move of saying, “If you just adapt this to contemporary culture a little bit, there’s something valuable here.” But… I still think there is, honestly. Like, perhaps most people who interacted with this text and practice in its historical context believed that a woman who had cheated on her husband would be magically disfigured before the eyes of everyone here. But, assuming this practice was really employed, how often do you think that actually happened? Yes, it’s shaming and humiliating for her. Yes, I am sure both the husband and the priest were huge assholes about it. But maybe there’s something to the idea that there is a ritualized way for the aggrieved spouse to feel his feelings, and then it’s over afterwards?
Maybe not, I dunno. I am not actually trying to rehabilitate this bit. But I’ve gone on about it at length because I feel like it demonstrates that even the most uncomfortable religious practices in the Torah have some kernel of a useful moral teaching in them still. Like, marriage is founded on trust. If the trust is damaged, it takes majorly uncomfortable work to get it back, but it can be done, and it’s worth trying. Something like that.
Anyway, there you go. I gave it a shot. The next part is pretty cool, and it’s a very important Jewish teaching relevant to @taalumot-y householder stuff. Thankfully, this one is explicitly delineated as gender-neutral, which is pretty unusual in the Torah. It concerns the practice of becoming a נזיר (“na-ZEER”), which is the Biblical Hebrew term for a spiritual renunciate or monastic or similar, if you’re ever wondering if we have those. The verb להזיר (“leh-ha-ZEER”) means to dedicate, consecrate, or separate.
So here’s the thing about that: The Torah recognizes the spiritual drive to take extra stringencies and renounce worldly and material matters and draw closer to God; it’s just a thing people need sometimes. It provides a clear path for doing so that seems pretty appealing to those with that drive. But the importance of it setting all this down exactly is that it creates guardrails around the practice, to keep it from getting too far off the path. Judaism is of the world; it is life-affirming first and foremost. You can do ascetic practices if you need to, but you can’t go too far and try to leave the world. You have to come back and fulfill the other commandments to be part of a People.
A man or a woman — איש או-אשה — can take the vow to become a nazir. First rule: no wine or other intoxicants. In fact, you can’t even eat grapes or things that made contact with grapes or grape byproducts. Second rule: You can’t cut your hair at all until your term as a nazir is over. Rule #3: No contact with dead bodies, even from your immediate family. Your hair is now sanctified, and you cannot let it be defiled. If someone dies near you, you become impure for a week, and then on the seventh day, you have to shave your head. The next day, you have to bring two doves to the priests as an offering of expiation, and then you can start your term over, bringing a lamb in its first year as a penalty offering. Your previous nazir period is nullified.
When your term as a nazir is over, you go to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting and offer three sheep — a male lamb and a ewe lamb in their first year, as well as a ram — plus a basket of unleavened cakes of choice flour and oil, wafers spread with oil, meal offerings and libations. After the priest makes those offerings, you shave your head and offer your consecrated locks of hair up in the fire. The priest then places some of the cooked offering food in your hands. Then the priest takes those as a donation, along with some of the other barbecue. Then you can drink wine.
In short, being a nazir is time-limited, quite strict, and expensive. If you can handle all that, you can temporarily become a spiritual renunciate.
After that, God suddenly gives Mosheh the text of the foundational priestly blessing over the whole people:
יְבָרֶכְךָ֥ יְהֹוָ֖ה וְיִשְׁמְרֶֽךָ׃
יהוה bless you and protect you!
יָאֵ֨ר יְהֹוָ֧ה ׀ פָּנָ֛יו אֵלֶ֖יךָ וִֽיחֻנֶּֽךָּ׃
יהוה shine יהוה’s Face upon you and be gracious to you!
יִשָּׂ֨א יְהֹוָ֤ה ׀ פָּנָיו֙ אֵלֶ֔יךָ וְיָשֵׂ֥ם לְךָ֖ שָׁלֽוֹם׃
יהוה turn יהוה’s Face towards you and grant you peace!
This blessing is a central part of Jewish liturgy to this day. There are parts of the prayer service where people who still trace their paternal lineage to Aharon (and are still called kohanim) get up in front of the synagogue to make this blessing, and the other people cover their heads with their prayer shawls to absorb the glory of it. Parents also make this blessing over their children when bringing in Shabbat at home each week.
With that, it seems Mosheh is finally finished setting up the Mishkan! After he anoints and consecrates everything, the chieftains all show up with many massive oxcarts full of riches from their tribes to offer. Every offering by every person by name is catalogued exactly, going on for 12 days. It’s 88 verses long, and I’ll let you read it if you feel like it. I don’t currently have any comment on the mystical significance of the numbers or weights or materials of the objects or animals offered, unfortunately, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind.
There’s just one more verse at the end of the parashah. Now that everything is all dedicated, Mosheh goes into the Tent of Meeting to speak with God, and he hears the Voice addressing him from the space between the carvings of the two heavenly messengers on top of the Ark of the Pact. Here, in the inner sanctum, now fully established, God begins to speak to Mosheh.
🏺
