One of the more striking institutions in biblical Israel was that of the Nazirite, a person who took a vow to abstain from grapes or grape products, from cutting the hair on the head, and from contact with the dead. The vow would cover a specific period of time (according to the Talmud, at least 30 days) and was only applicable in the Land of Israel.
This week’s Torah portion provides the framework for the Nazirite, including the proper rituals in case the Nazirite became ritually tainted and the appropriate method to restore cultic cleanliness. While there is abundant evidence for this religious practice in the biblical period (both Samson and Samuel were Nazirites) and even in the Talmudic age, the custom of swearing to become a Nazirite seems to have ended somewhere during the Middle Ages, as there is no further mention of Nazirites after the close of the Talmud.
What was the significance of this stringent order? And what are we to make of such a group, who forswore the pleasures of wine, who refused to come into contact with the dead, and whose lengthy curls were an emblem of their different status?
In the Torah, there is a three-fold division of the people, a hierarchy of holiness, corresponding to Kohen, Levi and Yisrael. Elaborate procedures specify the spiritual duties of the Kohen, how to administer in the Mishkan (the Tabernacle) and how to offer sacrifices that would be pleasing to God.
Similarly, the Torah provides a function for the Levi'im that allowed them a unique role in the service of God. But what of Yisrael? How, in the biblical period, could an average Jew who was motivated by a burning piety, find a way to express that devotion and faith? Granted, the festivals were available to all, and the pilgrimages they stimulated were high points every year. But many of the rules of the Torah pertain only to judges and to the administration of the sacrifices by the kohanim.
What of the Jews who wanted to do more, who wanted to make of their lives an offering of love to God, a symphony of holy deeds in the face of the sacred? For such a tzaddik, the Torah provides the institution of the Nazir. Noted scholars have commented on the parallels between the kohen and the Nazir, how both cannot touch alcohol during their moments of kedushah (holiness), how both are described as "holy to the Lord." Neither can expose themselves to the remains of the dead, and in both instances, the head is the focus of sanctity.
Perhaps, then, what the Torah is telling us is that clergy do not have a monopoly on holiness. The privileges of being a Rabbi or a Cantor are many -- the right to lead the service, to select the sermon topic, to organize the community, and to spend every waking moment in the service of God and the Jewish people. For many lay-people, it is enough to leave that all-consuming Judaism in the hands of Rabbi or Hazzan, enough that it is there when they need it for celebration or for comfort in times of sorrow.
But for other Jews, it is not enough. Proud heirs of the prophets and sages, Jews are members of a people in covenant with God. That covenant was not made merely with Moses and Aaron, but with every Jew, past and present. Each one of us is summoned to a unique relationship with God, one that can become as all-embracing as we allow it to be.
The Nazir was the path for the biblical Jew who wanted to make that relationship central and public. But what of our own age? What of the Jew who has those same deep spiritual needs, the same burning desire to make their Judaism a priority? For those people, we need look no further than their own synagogues. Every Rabbi is on the lookout for Jews who are ready to take steps to reclaim their own heritage. Every Hazzan is eager to teach the methods and melodies of our sacred prayers, Torah chanting and Haftarot. Adult education programs thrive throughout our community, often inspired by the request of a seeking congregant who was looking for something that did not yet exist.
The challenge of standing apart, of participating with a full heart in the pageant and drama of Jewish living is still before us. Not as Nazirites, but as enthusiastic participants in adult education and worship services, as practitioners of the mitzvot, we too can claim our places as servants of the living God. Amen.