The British anthropologist Mary Douglas recently wrote a book entitled Leviticus as Literature. It is a striking title, if one pauses to consider it at all. She was unfamiliar with her subject before she began her project, and approached it in a secular spirit of scholarly investigation. She was expecting to discover how the ancient Jewish dietary practices harmonized with the principles of pollution theory, which explains dietary taboos among primitive tribes. Much to her surprise, she had to change direction completely. Although the main subject of Leviticus is the sacrificial ritual in Tabernacle and Temple, she found it to be an expression of a modern religious sensibility, centering on the concept that, as the Psalmist says, “God is just in all his ways, and loving in all his deeds.” Her sense is that Leviticus needs be heard as a work of literature to understand its bold conception for personal and social transformation and to appreciate how different the religion of ancient Israel was from everything around it.
But is it kosher to think of Torah as “literature”? I find that this word can alienate traditional believers and liberal Jews alike. After all, these are sacred scriptures, and need special treatment. Many still hear Torah as the literal word of God, given to Moses word for word in the Sinai Desert. “Literature”, by contrast seems to connote a mixture of truth, untruth, and essays to find truth. In liberal denominations I find many who see Scripture as something very different from that body of work that we call Western Literature, from Aeschylus to the latest best-selling author. Laws mix with stories; genealogies and lists abound; coherence seems lacking. Yet others would see the Hebrew Bible as a relic of an ancient and very different epoch, with either limited relevance to a modern age, or with large amounts of “problematic” material that we may safely ignore.
I am hoping, perhaps unrealistically, that my love of Torah and Tanakh will shine through my words radiantly enough to counter these prejudices. I have sung the verses of Torah thousands of times, and find them always fresh. I say Amen when at the end of an aliya, the honoree thanks God for giving us a Torah of truth, planting eternal life in our midst. There are no parts I would excise. It is helpful to open oneself up to the impressive array of literary devices that Torah uses to impact hearts and minds: beauty of sound – rhythm, alliteration, and assonance; vivid and creative metaphor; stunning universal moral pronouncements, which connect to the stories in complex ways. And the stories are told with verve and liveliness. They feature lifelike characters with convincing psychology, gripping plots, humor, and pathos. They are rich and complicated, with surprising moral ambiguity and sophistication. When we appreciate these aspects of Torah’s artistry, we do not disrespect Torah, but are led to an increased sense of wonder and admiration. Israel has always depended on the occasional thoughtful outsider to appreciate its own tradition. Mary Douglas’ analysis of the dietary laws of Leviticus echoes the words of the blind gentile prophet, “How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob…”
