In religion, it seems, there are few things in which we can hold absolute certainty. But, of this I am sure: ask a room full of people to share a moment in which they felt the presence of God, and most certainly many will identify the birth of a child as such a moment. When I speak to groups, and here the immediacy of this answer, I will often ask them to come up with another example, thinking that perhaps identifying the moment of a child's birth is the obvious or easy example. So, thinking I can offer a chance for intellectual and spiritual challenge, I will encourage another response. Yet, in re-reading this week's Torah portion, I wonder anew if perhaps that answer is not so easy or simple, and if perhaps it signifies something much larger than either the people who respond in that way or I anticipated.
Parashat Tazria opens with the articulation of the laws of ritual impurity surrounding childbirth: "When a woman at childbirth bears a male, she shall be impure seven days ... On the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised. She shall remain in a state of blood purification for thirty-three days ... if she bears a female, she shall be impure two weeks ...and she shall remain in a state of blood purification for sixty-six days" (Leviticus 12:2-5). Throughout this period of time, the Torah tells us, the woman is neither to touch any item consecrated for use in the Holy Temple nor even enter the sanctuary. Many are the questions that arise from this short passage.
Throughout the ages, commentators have struggled to understand if, in fact, the extra week of separation for a baby girl is about the recognition of the mother's production of a baby who herself will one day have the power to create life, or if, in fact, the intention was for there to be a full two week period, and the mother is given permission to shorten it for a boy lest she miss the Bris (whose command to be done on the eighth day is explicitly understood from the Torah itself).
On the other hand, in a section of the Talmud devoted to the discussion of Nidah, ritual purity and impurity, the story is told of Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai whose disciples come to him seeking an answer to understand why the Torah stipulates that a woman must bring a sin offering as part of the purification ceremony. After all, they seem to say to him, what is it that a woman has done that is so wrong that she is required to bring a sin offering before re-entering God's holy sanctuary? The Rabbis response: Because when she kneels to give birth, she impetuously swears that she will never again submit to her husband. And since she later violates this oath, the Torah says that she must bring an offering." (Babylonian Talmud, Niddah 31b) This is the image often portrayed on television and in the movies. In the raw moments of pain, anticipation, and pure emotion, the woman on screen screams her promise never to have sex, never to have another child. Later, in the moment of rational thinking, this changes, and she indeed changes her mind. So, the Talmud says, she brings her offering to account for the words she may have said that are ignored.
For many modern readers, this Talmudic missive is but one example of the challenges in reading or finding meaning about niddah (separation) and tum'ah (ritual impurity) as it feels degrading and derogatory, especially towards women. As the Etz Hayyim Humash commentary describes so meaningfully, much of what we read about tumah is about what one cannot do, about the isolation from people and places that are usually the source of holiness, connection, and Godliness. And, as Judith Hauptman writes in Rereading the Rabbis, for many, the subject of ritual impurity is but "a set of rules that is degrading to women, that regard them as objects."
To understand ritual impurity any differently, it is important to note that a woman after childbirth is but one example of one who is considered ritually impure. In fact, according to the Torah, the highest form of tumah comes after contact with a dead body. Would we worry that a doctor who unsuccessfully tries to save a life would not only lose a patient, but would also be filthy? Would we consider repulsive the person who volunteers as a member of a hevra kadisha to prepare a body for burial?
There are moments, however, when the overwhelming sense of life and death are so powerful that we simply cannot exist as we normally do. We do emerge, but when we do, we emerge different than before, full of recognitions of the enormity of creation, balancing the thin line between the blood of life and the water of life. It is precisely in moments of birth and death that we experience the most intense, existential feelings and reactions, and we become transformed. The miracle of birth and the tragedy of death are both awe-inspiring experiences, and it is impossible to walk away unchanged or unmoved. Furthermore, the presence of God and holiness of that moment is deep and impactful, and is very different than the regular quest for holiness that one pursues in daily life. Tum'ah is the necessary period of transition from the existential sense of God/Godliness and provides structure to arrive at the place when we can once again resume the daily, normative search for holiness.
For the woman who has given birth, there is in that moment of blending of life and death. For a moment, the source of life and death may be confusing - is it God? Is it the woman? Is it the man and woman? On this, the Talmud reminds us that there are indeed three partners in the creation of any human being - the father, the mother, and God. Yet, in the moment, there is awe, and there is wonder, and there is confusion. And, as the water and blood mix, there is a powerful blend of life and death. And, we are moved. We are transformed. And, we cannot simply move on. We need time to adjust and assimilate this new reality, these new understandings. And, we come to know and see God in new ways.
So, the real challenge is not about the authenticity of feeling God's presence in the powerful moment of childbirth. It is in the opportunity to allow that awareness to change us each and every day knowing that any or all of us - man or woman, child or senior - have the potential to experience life and death at any moment, making any moment one in which we feel the presence of God, in which we participate in God's creation. For that awareness and connection, I happily accept the need for separating and eventually re-entry.
Shabbat Shalom.