A Thought On Parshas Tzav

"...v'es kol ha'eida el pesach ohel mo'ed..."
"...and all of the nation at the opening of the Tent of Meeting..." (8:3)

Right after instructing Moshe to anoint the Kohanim at their induction for service in the mishkan, HaShem adds the instruction cited in our verse:
"include everyone, gathering them at the opening of the ohel mo'ed"

The Chezkuni cites a midrash that this instruction was intended in order that everyone, each member of the Jewish nation, should demonstrate an attitude, and conduct, which acknowledged the sanctity of the Kahuna. By assembling to view the inauguration of these kohanim, everyone would signify their recognition that this ceremony was a vital step toward a vital process: everyone turned to and depended upon the kohanim to represent them in the service of the Divine.

It is important to have leaders to whom we turn and upon whom we can depend. Their mission is to promote our mission. We need our leaders. In turn, it is important that we acknowledge that we need them. We must bestow dignity and respect to those who have earned respect and who deserve this display of our reverence. Without that symbiosis, how long could our nation persist?

During my recent visit to Israel, I took a taxi someplace. The Arab driver was listening to a loud station playing "middle Eastern" Arabic music. At one point, I had to take a phone call and motioned to him my request that he turn the volume down. He did. When my call was finished, I thanked him for understanding. He in turn asked if I minded if he put the radio back on, and I replied that it was fine with me. "I enjoy listening to music", I explained to him.

I was lulled back to my very first Jerusalem cab ride years ago, one night as my wife and I sought out my great rebbe Rav Wasserman zt'l. It was a foggy motzaei Shabbos and that Arab driver was playing the haunting music of his people being called to prayer. (I tell the story in my book.) That was long ago. Now, we drove along and I listened along, before suddenly realizing that this music had a different quality to it.

I asked the man where the station was which broadcast this music and he said, "Jordan." I asked if it was in fact Arabic music, and he assured me it was. I then asked if he was a Moslem, and he assured me that he was. So I then asked him if the singer was a woman, and he said she was. "So this isn't the hymn of a muezzin calling for prayer?", I asked, quite certain that it wasn't.

The driver chuckled and said that it was a love song. I asked him, "Doesn't Islam look at a woman's song as an immodest display and doesn't your faith prohibit the public demonstration of romance between the genders?" Again he chuckled and said, "That was in the old places only. In Jordan, they have made progress. They have become civilized about how to be a Moslem."

Setting aside any political rejoinder that should have come to mind, I sat back and felt sad. This man, a professed Moslem, considered the reconstruction of his faith a form of advancement. He looked at the clergy as old fashioned. He rejected the traditional tenets of how his people should orient toward their moral and religious traditions. "They have made progress. They are changing the old ways. They are getting civilized."

There is something important about giving reverence to the reverent. There is something vital about knowing where the holiness comes from, and displaying honor for those who shoulder the yoke of the sacred. Losing sight, moving on... is moving away. Would that we could all assemble at the gates... and maintain honor for that which is Kodesh and to those who exemplify kedusha.

May we never get to that point, where we will look back and feel that our faith was so much stronger then, that we were so much older then.... Good Shabbos. D Fox