For Jews of all denominations, finding a way to live the life of the mitzvot (the commandments) is a sacred journey. The mitzvot are a road-map by which our individual actions become linked to a higher purpose and to an awareness of the divine-human partnership. Although profound disagreements abound within modern Judaism about where the mitzvot come from, which mitzvot are still applicable, and whether mitzvot can be modified, the belief that mitzvot are an essential building block of an authentic Jewish life is not disputed. In a real way, all modern Jews are rabbinic Jews.
In general, within Judaism, more is better. Greater intensity in trying to live the life of the mitzvot by and large is seen as good for the Jews. When we see a person trying to study more Torah, to attend services with greater frequency, to give more to tzedakah, or to bring greater levels of observance into his home, we are moved by this growth because we see it as something holy and positive for Judaism as a whole.
However, can the desire for greater piety and more intense observance in one’s personal life ever lead us in the wrong spiritual direction? A careful reading of Parashat Naso and its discussion of the institution of the Nazir can lend perspective on this question. The Torah describes a person who took upon himself for a limited period of time a special personal vow of piety. These people imposed upon themselves a set of individual restrictions. They vowed to refrain from consuming wine or anything else made from grapes; to abstain from cutting their hair, and to prevent themselves from having any contact with the dead. Undoubtedly, their inner motivations were deeply spiritual. Indeed, Numbers 6:8 clarifies their spiritual state by saying: “Throughout his period of naziriteship, he (the Nazir) is Holy to God.” People sought this approach to piety because they wanted to feel God’s presence in their lives in a very personal way.
What is most intriguing to me about the Nazir is the ritual that must be untaken to end this special spiritual status. According to the Torah, when a person decided to end this period of pietistic restriction, he was required to bring a sin-offering---a sacrifice of atonement. (Numbers 6:14) Yet, what was the sin? What had he done wrong that required this atonement sacrifice? How could a person living such a restrictive spiritual life be seen as a sinner by the Torah and Jewish tradition? Clearly, this perplexed rabbinic sages.
In Masechet Ta’anit 11a, the Talmudic sage Samuel answers the dilemma with a surprising insight: “Whoever indulges in fasting is referred to as a sinner.” Obviously, he is not speaking of the fast of Yom Kippur or Tisha B’av. He is speaking about people who take on additional obligations beyond the 613 commandments. The Talmudic sage thought such extreme religious behavior was dangerous and misdirected. In the Mishneh Torah Hilchot De’ot 3:1, Maimonides utilizes this source and argues that people who, in the name of faith, take on extreme religious practices are pursing an evil path:
Whoever does so is called a sinner. Indeed, God says about the Nazirite: “He (the priest) shall make atonement for him because he sinned against the soul.” (Numbers 6:11) The sages said: If the nazirite who only abstained from wine, needs atonement, how much more does one who abstains from all (legitimate pleasures) need atonement. Therefore the sages commanded that a person only abstains from things forbidden by the Torah alone... Concerning these things and others like them, Solomon commanded, saying: “Do not be overly righteous or over-wise. Why should you destroy yourself?” (Ecclesiastes 7:16)
Although it is not stated directly, I believe that there is sociological reason why the Nazir’s approach to spirituality is misguided. Extreme piety has a profound social cost for the individual. As a person enters a super-restrictive spiritual life, there is a danger that this noble pursuit to get closer to God will lead the individual away from people in social alienation. Not infrequently, we find as a person becomes more ritually restricted, he ends up distancing himself from his neighbors, his family, and his friends. In Judaism, holiness must have a communal dimension to it. So much of Jewish spiritual life is rooted in rituals and observances that bring people together. When piety pushes people away, our tradition is skeptical of it.
We live in age of spiritual seekers. Seeking greater relationship with God through study, prayer, and mitzvot is clearly noble. But, spirituality can be a very solitary path, and Judaism is about being part of a covenantal community. Pirkei Avot teaches: —“Al tifrosh min hatzibur,” ... don’t separate yourself from the community. (Ethics of our Fathers 2:5) The Laws of the Nazir are a reminder that a religious path that is super restrictive and alienating from others is not the way to build a rich and meaningful Jewish life. Perhaps this insight can be useful as we try to build a more loving, tolerant, and inclusive world Jewish community.
Rabbi Alan David Londy, a member of the UJC Rabbinic Cabinet, is the Rabbi/Educator at Temple Israel of New York City. He is also a candidate for his Doctor of Ministry in Pastoral Counseling at the HUC-JIR .
UJC Rabbinic Cabinet Chair: Rabbi Ronald Schwarzberg Vice Chairs: Rabbi Jonathan Schnitzer, Rabbi Steven Foster, Rabbi Amy Small
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