By Rabbi Yehoshua Mizrahi[1]
America is a shortcut culture. Want to make a fast fortune? Find a shortcut for something people hate to do. TV remotes. Wash & wear clothes. Plastic food. Online shopping. Take-outs. Instagram. Amazon (now with same day delivery!) EZPass. Tan in a Can. Diet Pills. If there is a shortcut, you can be assured that we will find it. “As Seen On TV!”
This week’s Torah portion talks about the dangers of spiritual shortcuts. In it we read the segment of the Nazir (a term related to the word for “crown” in Hebrew.) (Numbers 6:1-21)
Who is Nazir? Any person who, with great public fanfare, swears off three things: (1) wine, alcohol and other intoxicants, and by extension any product made of, or containing grapes; (2) haircuts – they must let their hair grow long and shaggy; and (3) who cannot become exposed to death (tumat hamet) – even for their closest relatives, like mom and dad. Thus, he places a virtual crown upon his own head to elevate himself above the Hoi Polloi. Witness the fate of the Biblical Nazir, Samson.
It is interesting to note that Christians often confuse the term ‘Nazirite’ with ‘Nazarene.’ A “Nazir” takes the Nazir vow to abstain from wine, as we just explained; a Nazarene is a person who hails from Nazareth, Israel, Natzeret in Hebrew. Nazir, with a “Zayin,” Nazteret, with a “Tzadee.” Two unrelated words in Hebrew but easily confused in translation. (And we know that Jesus was not a Nazir because he drank wine at the Seder.)
Is the Nazir to be praised for his self-denial or is he to be condemned? On the one hand, the Torah describes the Nazir as ‘kadosh,’ holy. On the other hand, he must bring a sin offering upon the successful completion of the vow.
There are venerable rabbinic voices down through ages on both sides of that question. I stand firmly with those who condemn the Nazir.
Consider the following: why would anyone in their right mind undertake such a disruptive, restrictive oath? What kind of mindset would volunteer for the life of a religious ascetic?
An out-of-control person is like a raging alcoholic, who desperately hopes that the power of the vow will buttress his weakening resolve against the bottle.
Or someone who needs to call attention to themselves; one who derives self-esteem in holding themselves to a higher standard than their peers. This individual constantly gauges their religious performance against others – and consistently finds everyone else lacking. This type of Nazir finds bargain-basement self-esteem – not through hard work and honest achievement, but through building himself up by tearing others down.
And by the way: who (besides our Nazir) is the one other person on the planet who cannot be exposed to tumat hamet, the death tumah, even for a spouse, parent, sibling, or child? Answer: the Cohen Gadol, the High Priest of Israel.
On a certain level, the Nazir is trying to be as holy as the High Priest of Israel himself.
Reaching the level of the High Priest requires a lifetime of reflection and self-development. The Nazir, by contrast, appears to leap from ordinary to holy with only a few spoken words. It is a striking illusion.
The Nazir seeks a spiritual shortcut, but the Torah teaches that no such shortcuts exist in matters of holiness. For that reason, the Nazir must bring a sin offering, and at the end of the vow, the Nazir’s long hair is cut and burned as part of the prescribed ritual. Let us consider the meaning of both practices.
A sin offering (chatat) is brought for the commission of an inadvertent sin: the person meant no harm but accidentally violated a serious Torah prohibition. Thus, the Nazir brings a sin offering because his intent for self-improvement was laudable, but the execution was flawed.
And in one of the most curious aspects of the concluding ritual of the Nazir, his/her hair is shaved off their head and thrown into the fire. Why? This luxurious mane of hair, this very public sign of the Nazir vow, is symbolic of the entire Nazir experience. And in the end, it goes up in smoke. The acrid smell of the burning hair says: your spiritual shortcut accomplished nothing, your self-abnegation was all for nought, you are back where you started, you still must deal with your issues.
Because no vow, no pill, no Easy Button, can fix the things that are wrong in your life.
There are no Easy Buttons for the problems that vex the Jewish People in our times. There is no Easy Button to fix the atherosclerotic liberal Jewish Establishment that is more concerned about imagined Islamophobia than it is very real antisemitism on our college campuses. There is no Easy Button to fix dying liberal congregations in America. There is no Easy Button to fix assimilation and intermarriage. There is no Easy Button to fix American Jews’ reluctance to make Aliyah. There is no Easy Button to fix the renascent Jew-Hatred, which is now considered a valid, mainstream point of view in the American public square.
Which is not to say that these problems are unfixable, just that they are not given to easy, cheap, quick solutions.
As we see in the war against Iran: The White House was certain that an overwhelming show of force would bring the mullahs to their knees. What we learned was that after 40 days of round-the-clock bombing and billions of dollars of expended ordnance, we found the ayatollahs to be as defiant, insulting and rejectionist as ever. They strut around, cursing America, threatening, dictating, negotiating terms as though they were the victors. And now we are reading that during this so-called cease-fire they are quickly recovering and repairing the damage from Roaring Lion. Missile launchers and missiles are again being made ready to terrorize the region, and they have made it abundantly clear they will not stop their headlong rush for a Jihadi nuclear weapon.
There is no Easy Button for this conflict. Which, again, is not to say that this war is unwinnable, just that it is not given to easy, cheap, quick solutions. The question is: does the United States have the stomach to accomplish its stated war aims? History suggests not, and once again, I believe that Israel will find itself de-fanging a nuclear Iran – alone.
Because we do not have the Holy Temple back in Jerusalem yet, we do not have the Nazir vow in our day. But sadly, we still see the all-too-human Nazir impulse: not just in the addictive personality, but in mean-spirited, petty people who derive their self-esteem by denigrating others – with an acerbic tongue, or an arrogant attitude, or competitors in the frumkeit (holier-than-thou) Olympics.
True story: A dear friend of mine, a tremendously pious and humble man, a great scholar, and author of dozens of books, hosted a small kiddush in his home for his neighbors after shul one fine Shabbat morning. He noticed that one of his neighbors was not eating. My friend invited him to partake. The invited guest replied in a booming voice for all to hear: “Oh! Sorry, I would never eat in this house, I do not trust his kashrut.” Let me ask you: why did this guest even accept the invitation?
This is the mindset of the Nazir – condescending, arrogant and superior; not afraid to humiliate someone in public if, in so doing, he can rouse his own feathers in the process.
There are no shortcuts to spiritual growth and development. Spiritual growth is challenging work. It requires humility and introspection; a sober evaluation of one’s strengths and weaknesses; a receptiveness to the still, small voice inside us all; a willingness to see steady change over time; consistency; and patience with oneself. It requires deeper Torah study and increasing the quality and quantity of our performance of mitzvot. It requires constant vigilance against complacency, intellectual stagnation, and arrogance. It is the work of a lifetime – you cannot bang it out in a weekend or two, or sub it out, or find easy answers on the internet. It is the ultimate do-it-yourself project, and it comes with no instruction booklet.
But the results of applied effort will, over time, yield inner peace, wisdom, and improved relationships. We will become kinder, more generous, more refined, and more educated people. And if everybody on the planet focused on fixing themselves, imagine the kind of world we would inhabit! That is the Torah’s eschatological vision; and isn’t that the place where we are all supposed to be trying to get to? As the Vilna Gaon once asked: if we are not in a mode of continual self-examination and improvement, what is the meaning of life?
So instead of trying to impress everyone with ostentatious demonstrations of piety, do something truly Jewish: fix yourself from the inside out, and by extension, repair the world.
[1] Rabbi Yehoshua Mizrahi is the rabbi at B’nai Israel Synagogue in Pensacola, Florida. He is the author of Holistic Judaism: A Radical Rethinking of Our Service to God and to Our Fellow Man in the Age of the Ultimate Redemption, Amazon, 2023.
