Few of us these days spend much time thinking about our own personal purity. And with good reason! If two people in a conversation can easily hold three opinions, imagine how many different concepts of personal purity can be entertained on a planet of 8 billion people! Group these people into religious and philosophical schools of thought, and it won’t be very long before their ideas on the subject go beyond mere opinion and become codified into law. Naturally, where there are laws, there are law enforcers, and do we really need more morality police these days?
So when this week’s Torah portion, Naso, delves into rules for purity, very few of us will be taking notes. Numbers 5 starts out inoffensively enough, touching on atonement and contamination from contagious illnesses and dead bodies, but it veers sharply into upsetting instructions for testing a married woman whose husband merely suspects her of fidelity, forcing her to drink “water of bitterness” that might cause “the belly to distend and the thigh to sag.” This delightful passage is followed by the injunction that men or women who have taken a Nazirite vow stay away from all forms of grapes and razors. Heaven forfend that someone die in the Nazirite’s presence, as this would defile their "consecrated hair" and lead to the necessary sacrifice two innocent turtle doves or pigeons. Um… okay? So noted? What does this have to do with my life in the here and now?
Believe it or not, Nazirites are still a part of the world today—as are married people seeking love and fulfillment elsewhere, but I digress! The law of the Nazir, be it undertaken for 30 days or for a lifetime, hardly seems a model for purity for the modern adult, but it does beg the question: Why might someone take this vow? Is there an underlying, unmet spiritual need? More puzzlingly, why, after abstaining from certain pleasures and practices for a set period, would the Nazirite then need to present purgation and burnt sacrifices, along with an offering of well-being? [One commentator on 929 holds that the Nazir were both praised for their discipline and seen as less than ideal members of community because of their self-imposed restrictions. So, what is best? Should we refrain or indulge?]
To answer this question, I find myself looking to 21st century wellness trends. There may be times in our lives when we need to separate ourselves from others, to take an emotional or a physical detox, if you will. Swearing off alcohol for a time is common, for multiple reasons. Dry January, anyone? Even taking a break from physical intimacy can have its benefits from time to time, and stepping away when we feel unwell or stressed is de rigueur in today’s world. So, while we may not be looking for someone else to prescribe a recipe for personal purity—let alone a Nazirite vow—there may be a benefit to pressing pause on our own lives on occasion, clearing out the emotional clutter and giving ourselves permission to step outside of the “camp” when we feel so moved. Pressing pause on the habitual might even allow us to make room for a different kind of purity: pure presence. Without the distraction of sex, grapes, or razors (pick your poison!), we might find ourselves paying attention to different things: our breathing, our heart strings, our emotional habits, our longings, even our souls. Perhaps, in the newly cleared landscape of our internal selves we can tune in differently and hear our own authentic voice.
Most importantly, we need to take time to find ourselves in the middle of the myriad distractions, crises, and anxieties that fill our daily lives. As we come to know, nurture, and forgive ourselves for all of the places where we fall short, we can respond, refreshed and whole, to whatever will arise to meet us tomorrow. And what could be more pure than that?
Shabbat Shalom!
Rebecca Abbate
With thanks to Leah Benamy for her careful reading and suggestions
