We began learning Parshas Emor, which discusses the special rules for the kohanim—the priests. Sometimes, when you see a rule for the kohen, you might wonder: what does this have to do with me, someone who isn’t a kohen? The Torah gives instructions specifically for kohanim, and then it has instructions for all of klal Yisrael—the Jewish people. In particular, the Torah teaches that a kohen is not allowed to become tamey—ritually impure—by touching a dead body. We know that if you touch a dead body, you become tamey. In fact, the impurity from a corpse is called tumah chamurah—a very serious impurity. Unlike most other types of tumah, such as touching an insect or experiencing a bodily event that causes impurity, which usually lasts only one day (with some exceptions), corpse impurity lasts seven days. The person must go to the mikveh—ritual bath—and then, after seven days, becomes tahor—pure. But with a corpse, there’s more: you must also be sprinkled with the ashes of the parah adumah—the red heifer—on the third and seventh days. This is why it’s considered a more serious tumah.
The Torah says a kohen is not permitted to become tamey. You might think, what if there’s a funeral or a cemetery, or if he wants to do a mitzvah—a commandment—like burying the dead? That too is a mitzvah. Still, the Torah says a kohen is not allowed to become tamey. However, there are two exceptions: one is for a meis mitzvah—a corpse with no one to bury it. We learn this from the verse that says ‘baamav’. What is a meis mitzvah? It means if there is nobody else to take care of the burial, such as finding someone dead in the street. Unfortunately, there were times not so long ago—my father o.b.m would tell me about the Second World War, when people died in droves and there was no organized way to care for the dead. He and others would go around to find Jewish people and give them a Jewish burial, instead of leaving them out in the street. Today, we have the chevra kadisha—the holy burial society—and we know that’s the holiest work there is. But back then, it was a huge challenge. In such a case, a kohen who finds a body in the street is allowed to become tamey.
The other exception is for relatives. The Torah defines seven relatives for whom a kohen is permitted to become tamey: a spouse, mother, father, son, daughter, brother, and sister (sometimes depending on her marital status). These are the seven relatives for whom one is obligated to mourn and for whom one may become tamey. For example, when we say kaddish—the mourner’s prayer—it’s for these relatives.
This got me thinking, and I’m sure you can find this idea in some of the meforshim—commentators—that discuss this. What does it mean to become metamey—to defile oneself? It means to come into contact with something impure. Sometimes, people don’t want to deal with others who have strayed from the path, from the derech Hashem—the way of Hashem. The sages say, reshaim bechayeihem kruyim meisim—even during their lifetime, the wicked are called dead. Some people think, “I don’t want to touch, I don’t want to come in contact, I don’t want to be contaminated. If I start dealing with people who are considered ‘meis’—spiritually dead—I might become contaminated myself, I might become tamey.” They want to stay away, considering themselves like the kohen, who serves Hashem and must remain pure.
But what is a kohen? A kohen is the representative of the people, chosen to serve in the Beis Hamikdash—the Holy Temple—on behalf of all of klal Yisrael. The Rambam writes that nowadays, it’s not only the tribe of Levi who can be a kohen or a Levi; anyone who chooses to dedicate themselves to Hashem’s service can become a kohen in a spiritual sense. If someone says, “I want to serve Hashem, but I’m afraid to contaminate myself by coming into contact with people considered dead,” they might avoid those who are spiritually apathetic. Sometimes, spiritual death means there’s no life, no passion, no care—just apathy. If someone fights you, at least there’s a sign of life, and it’s easier to bring them back. But when someone is totally apathetic, people say, “I’m not going to connect with them, because maybe I’ll become tamey myself.”
Here, the Torah tells us there are two exceptions. First, if you consider someone your relative, the Torah says there’s an exception for a relative. If you have true ahavas Yisrael—love for a fellow Jew—and every Jew is like your brother, then spiritually, that person is not a stranger. The Torah says don’t become metamey for a stranger, but if he’s your relative, then it’s a mitzvah to become metamey for him. If you have enough fire, care, and feeling for another Jew that you see them as family—your brother, your sister, your parent, your child—then you’re allowed to lower yourself, to get involved, even if it means you might become a little tamey yourself. That’s the love we saw the Rebbe had—the kohen for all of klal Yisrael. For a relative, we take the risk of becoming metamey and go out there to help, even if it means stepping away from our own learning or spiritual pursuits.
But even more important is the other exception: the meis mitzvah. The calculation might be, “If I don’t do it, someone else will.” In places where there are many Jews, many organizations, and lots of resources, if you don’t do the outreach, someone else will. But when it comes to a meis mitzvah—someone with no one to care for them—then it’s a chiyuv—an obligation—for everyone. There are so many people out there that if we don’t do the work, nobody else will. It’s not relevant to say someone else will take care of them. These are people who are so far removed that nobody wants to reach out to them. Sometimes, people give up on those who seem too far gone, thinking nothing can be done. Those are the real meis mitzvah—because others won’t touch them.
There are popular places where everyone wants to do outreach—lots of synagogues, kosher food, Jewish friends for your children. In those places, if you don’t do the work, someone else will. But then there are the meis mitzvahs—the Jews in far-flung places, where there’s no Jewish life, no kosher food, no community, no friends for your children. These are the souls that nobody else is taking care of. The real kohen, as the Rebbe taught us, is the one who goes out to these places, who ‘defiles’ himself by lowering himself to their level, searching them out, and trying to bring them back. Even if it means you’re not sitting with your gemara or your sefer chassidus, but instead spending time and energy on those who are distant, that’s the greatest mitzvah.
There is no greater nachas—pleasure—than bringing children back to their parents’ table. As the Gemara and the words of our sages teach, to take a child and bring them back into the fold is the greatest joy. The kohen fulfills the highest commandment by doing this holy work.