The paradox of the red heifer, the intertwining of life and death

There are so many things in life that are impossible to understand, and yet every now and then, we are afforded the opportunity to get a glimpse, as if through a momentary clearing of the fog, of what it’s all about. How important is it for us to comprehend all that we do? Where lies the balance between pure faith on the one hand, and our need to understand, on the other?

This week’s portion, Chukat, provides the ultimate example of that which is impossible to comprehend: the mitzvah of the red heifer. (Numbers 19:1-2)

Somehow, this mitzvah (commandment) is unique amongst all the laws of the Torah. And, it seems, what makes it so unique, is that it is impossible to understand.

Rashi, quoting the Midrash, explains that this law, by nature, is impossible to comprehend, and therefore one should not (perhaps even may not) attempt to fathom it; it is G-d’s decree and ours is simply to accept it and fulfill it as best we can.

In truth, the nature of this particular mitzvah is indeed difficult to understand, even bordering on the bizarre.

When a person comes into contact with a dead body, he is rendered “Tamei,” or spiritually contaminated. In order to again achieve a state of ritual purity (to be “Tahor,” or pure), he must undergo the ritual of the red heifer known as the Parah Aduma.

A Parah Aduma is a completely red cow (a heifer) that has never been used for labor of any kind, which is a very rare find.

Paradoxically, while the ashes of the Parah Aduma purify the person who is impure, they also cause the pure person (the Tahor who gathers the ashes in preparation) to become impure!

It is this incomprehensible phenomenon, that the Parah Aduma purifies the impure, while at the same time contaminating the pure, that causes the Talmud to declare that even King Solomon could not fathom the mitzvah of the Parah Aduma.

Rashi seems to suggest that we are not allowed to attempt an understanding of this type of Mitzvah:

“…The Torah writes that it is a “Chok”: “It is a decree from before Me (G-d), and you have no right to ponder it.” (Rashi Bamidbar 19:2)

Maimonides on the other hand, openly espouses the value of attempting to understand the unfathomable:

“Even though all the Chukim in the Torah are decrees (“g’zeirot”)… it is worthy to peruse (explore) them; and everything to which you can assign a reason (“liten lo’ ta’am”), give to it a reason... (Hilchot Temurah 4:13)

So which is it? Should we be attempting to understand that which Hashem asks of us to do, or are we perhaps better off relying on pure faith, simply choosing the path of “ours is but to do or die, and not to reason why”?

It is interesting to note that this week’s portion is actually the bridge between the first generation of Jews who left Egypt, and the second generation, born largely in the desert, who are about to enter the land of Israel. In this week’s portion, Chukat, both Miriam and Aaron die (20:1; 22-29), and in the infamous events at Mei Merivah, Hashem decrees (20:12) that Moshe too, will not enter the land.

As such, it is strange that the laws regarding a person who becomes impure through contact with death are only mentioned now, on the eve of entering the land of Israel. Indeed, the Talmud suggests (Gittin 60a) that this mitzvah was given nearly forty years earlier, and yet the Torah chooses to place it here!

In fact, the theme of this week’s portion, Chukat, is the experience we can never comprehend par excellence: death.

It’s about coming into contact with death (the red heifer), the death of Miriam and Aaron, and the decree of Moshe’s approaching death. Indeed, the verses even share with us (20:1; 21:10-13) some of the wanderings of the forty years in the desert, during which time the entire generation of Egypt die out as well.

Ultimately, there is no portion more fitting for the concept of the mitzvah I cannot understand as this week’s portion of Chukat, which is all about death, the ultimate mystery, and the ultimate paradox. And it is similarly no accident that this week we encounter the concept of the righteous who suffer, when the three leaders of the Jewish people (Moshe, Aaron, and Miriam) are not allowed to enter the land.

The Jewish people here begin the transition from life in the desert, where in certain ways everything was so clear, to the process of entering the land of Israel, where the great questions of life abound.

Understanding anything is really about three things: the reason, the purpose, and the implications or lessons we draw for ourselves.

It would be absurd to imagine that we could ascertain the reason for a mitzvah. A reason is essentially causation; something caused something else. But G-d is not caused to do or command anything; G-d is the cause.

If the Torah comes from G-d, the Mitzvoth cannot have a cause; they are the cause.

Thus we can only be considering the purpose and/or the implications of a given Mitzvah.

Sometimes, Hashem allows us to tap into the purpose of a mitzvah either by stating it clearly in the Torah, as in Shabbat, or by creating us with the faculty to hone in on what a particular mitzvah accomplishes in whole or in part, both as individuals and as a larger society.

But sometimes, we do not get to be privy to the purpose of a mitzvah, or an experience, and this may well be what Chukim are really all about. The purpose of fulfilling such a mitzvah and how the world changes as a result may be beyond our grasp, but this does not mean we cannot consider the implications.

By definition, the meaningful lessons I glean from a closer examination of anything in life, will inevitably make it more meaningful, and as such will help to make me a better person.

And as long as I remember that these are the lessons I choose to learn, and that further study may cause me to reassess my understanding, the process can only be a valuable one.

Indeed, this would seem to be the Torah’s approach to all of life’s paradoxes and mysteries, death chief amongst them. To imagine that we as limited human beings could ever understand death and human suffering in this world, would be arrogance in its most supreme form. And yet, the process of grappling with the challenge of death, and of attempting to learn from the process, can only be a valuable one, within these parameters.

Tumah or impurity as it is often translated, represents contact with death. Every instance of Tumah in the Torah is the result of some level of contact with death, be it a dead lizard (a sheretz), or the loss of potential life as in the woman who is a Niddah after the breaking down of the uterine wall. And taharah (purity) which always comes after immersion in a mikveh (ritual bath) full of water, which represents life, is always the re-emergence of the individual into the mainstream of life.

This then, is the paradox of the red heifer; the intertwining of life and death, and the impossibility of understanding why it so often seems that the pure become impure (i.e. the righteous suffer) and the impure become pure. Perhaps this was why King Shlomo viewed this as the ultimate mystery, because we are not meant to understand the purpose of experiences so beyond our comprehension as death. And yet King Solomon does try, because we are, as the Rambam suggests, meant to try and at least draw the implications from even these most difficult mitzvoth.

We live in a world full of many mysteries, abounding with realities we find impossible to comprehend. But the decision, which is in each of our hands, to find meaning in every detail of every moment and every piece of every mitzvah, will most often be the determining factor, each and every day, between grabbing life and being reborn every minute, or losing life and dying day by day, one slow second at a time.