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D'VAR TORAH | 
B'chukotai : Counting Days, Measuring Merit
Sue Levi Elwell
Each year, for forty-nine days, from the second night of Pesach until Erev Shavuot, we Jews count. We count the days of the Omer. Some of us count every evening. Some count sporadically. And some don't count at all. But regardless of our personal or communal practice, night follows day, and day, night. Like our ancestors, each year we make our way from Egypt to Sinai, reenacting the journey from slavery to freedom, from involuntary servitude to Pharaoh to the chosen service to the Holy One. We count the days as we travel from one reality to another, from the degradation of enslavement to becoming a self-determined community.
But we are not yet there. This week, as we read Parashat B'chukotai , we are making our way to Sinai with increased excitement: on the 18 of Iyar (this year Friday, May 23), we celebrate Lag BaOmer, the only holiday that falls during this period of counting.
Rabbi Jill Hammer teaches that this thirty-third day of the Omer is, according to Jewish mystical tradition, "a wedding between heaven and earth" (www.telshemesh.org/iyar). As we anticipate Shavuot, when we celebrate God's union with the Jewish people, the 18 of Iyar is a day to redraw connections that have been strained or broken during the years of slavery and throughout the difficult wilderness journey. After a month of shuffling through sand and sleeping under the stars, of making do with inadequate provisions and dealing with exhaustion and frustration and fear, this day is a gift. On the 18 of Iyar, our people, then and now, lift up our eyes and see not dislocation but connection. We remember the promise of an end to dispersion and to settling in our own land. Rabbi Hammer teaches that this is a time of "linking: heaven to earth, human to Divine, one person to another. . . . The 18th of Iyar is a moment of union par excellence, signifying the knowledge that all of us are leaves on one tree of life" (ibid.).
How does B'chukotai , this final Torah portion in Leviticus, help us claim a day that reminds us who we are and where we are going?
B'chukotai challenges readers by beginning with a series of "blessings and curses" and continues with direction on the funding of the sanctuary. Throughout our history, sages have struggled with this portion as the conclusion of our law book. Robert Alter writes, "This miscellany of laws seems, by modern lights, an odd way to conclude a book. Interpretive attempts have been made to rescue it as a thematically appropriate conclusion, but none is altogether persuasive. This final chapter is best regarded as an appendix to Leviticus. . . . Perhaps these . . . issues, necessary for the maintenance of the sanctuary but not altogether agreeable for the audience of the book to contemplate, were deliberately tacked on at the very end" ( The Five Books of Moses [New York: W. W. Norton, 2004], p. 667).
We are left with what seems to be an assessment of the comparative worth of men and women of various ages were they to dedicate their labor to the sanctuary: "Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When anyone explicitly vows to the Eternal the equivalent for a human being, the following scale shall apply: If it is a male from twenty to sixty years of age, the equivalent is fifty shekels of silver by the sanctuary weight; if it is a female, the equivalent is thirty shekels. If the age is from five years to twenty years, the equivalent is twenty shekels for a male and ten shekels for a female. If the age is from one month to five years, the equivalent for a male is five shekels of silver, and the equivalent for a female is three shekels of silver. If the age is sixty years or over, the equivalent is fifteen shekels in the case of a male and ten shekels for a female" (Leviticus 27:2–7). What are we to make of this text?
Our people has just come out of slavery, escaping from a system that coldly measured the worth of each individual. For Americans, pre–Civil War images of African American slaves huddled together—or standing alone—on the auction block are a source of our national shame. How can we read this text as a response to—and not merely a perpetuation of—an arbitrary system of objectifying human beings?
The scholar Carol Meyers suggests, "Many commentators now understand that . . . [the separate assessment of men and women of various ages] relates mainly to labor potential rather than to intrinsic worth . . . [and thus] provide[s] an insight into the labor patterns in Israelite households . . . [which] correlates with the maximum prestige for women" ( The Torah: A Women's Commentary, ed. Tamara Cohn Eskenazi; Andrea L. Weiss, assoc. ed. [New York: URJ Press, 2008], p. 780).
If Professor Meyers is correct, this text assumes the essential equality of all human beings. Even in our so-called postmodern world, the equality of all people continues to be debated. This challenging text posits a measure of one's ability to contribute to the collective; this measure of individuals' worth is based on how people fit into a functioning community. But most importantly, this assessment is made in the context of creating a culture of interdependence, crafting a free society of individuals who choose how to serve one another and how to serve God.
We read this concluding chapter of Leviticus as we reach this single, sweet day in our days of counting. On Lag BaOmer, we see the possibility of connection and of working together as diverse individuals to build a society that works for all its members. We need to continue our journey to Sinai and beyond, working toward a time when distinctions will be made not on the basis of gender or age, or on predetermined assessments of strength or talent or ability. B'chukotai challenges us to think about how we measure ourselves and others, empowering us to see one another as free, self-determined participants in creating and sustaining sacred communities.
Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell , Ph.D., serves as the director of the URJ Pennsylvania Council and the Federation of Reform Synagogues of Greater Philadelphia, and as co-president of the Women's Rabbinic Network.
DAVAR ACHER | 
Leaves on the Tree of Life
Judith R. Baskin
B'chukotai , the concluding parashah of Leviticus, a book devoted to divine commandments, begins with an exposition of covenantal theology. This idealized priestly vision proclaims that if the Israelites follow all of God's mitzvot , their blessings will include fertility, peaceful relations with human beings and wild beasts, victory over enemies, and an enduring consciousness of the Divine Presence. However, should they transgress, they will suffer devastating calamities. This conviction that observance of God's statutes guarantees a healthy and prosperous existence is not questioned in Leviticus. It is only in later biblical writings such as the Book of Job that doubts about this conventional wisdom are expressed.
There is, however, an interesting link between B'chukotai and Job that expresses the same concern. Leviticus 26:36 and Job 13:25 are the only two biblical passages to invoke the "driven leaf" ( aleh nidaf ) as a metaphor for disconnection. In Leviticus 26:36, the Israelites are warned that if they disobey God, they will be terrified even by the rustle of a windblown leaf. Since they have severed their connection to God, they will succumb to a constant and crippling anxiety. Similarly, the suffering Job inquires, "Why do you hide Your face . . . ? Will You harass a driven leaf?" (Job 13:24–25). As this phrase implies, and as Milton Steinberg so brilliantly demonstrated in his 1939 novel, As a Driven Leaf (New York: Berman House, 1996), a Jew who is cut off from God and community has no moorings and no comfort. The devastating catastrophes delineated in Leviticus 26 are not always preventable, even for those who observe divine commandments faithfully. However, adherence to Judaism's teachings, our Tree of Life, can provide consolation and assurances of a larger meaning, even in times of desolation.
Dr. Judith R. Baskin is Knight Professor of Humanities and director of the Harold Schnitzer Family Program in Judaic Studies at the University of Oregon. She served as subeditor for postbiblical commentary for "The Torah: A Women's Commentary" (New York: URJ Press, 2008).
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