Rabbi Sarah Wolf

April 30, 2010

Practically Perfect in Every Way
Parashat Emor 5770

The perfectionist.  You know who she is.  She is never satisfied with her work; she only sees the flaws in it.  She cannot take a compliment.  She can’t be happy unless the assignment gets an A.  When she makes a mistake, she feels ashamed or angry at herself.  She sets impossible standards for herself and everyone around her.  Not that I have any firsthand knowledge of this kind of person.

Silicon Valley knows perfectionism.  Our elementary school-aged kids stay up until all hours of the night doing homework, our B’nai Mitzvah students have to cram in time to practice their prayers between basketball practice, piano lessons, volunteer work, and school projects.  Sleep gets pushed farther and farther down the list of priorities.  A couple of weeks ago, one of our teens was interviewed on the local news about a study she’d participated in about teen stress.  According to the study, at least half of all high school students regularly feel physically ill due to stress.  The amount of pressure our kids are under is unbelievable.

Of course, our children haven’t just imposed these standards on themselves.  We have imposed them.  As Rabbi Shmuley Boteach writes, “Here in America we live under the tyranny of perfection. We are constantly being sold glossy images of people with perfect bodies, perfect résumés, and perfect lifestyles. Convincing people of their inadequacy in relation to these paragons of physical, intellectual, moral, and aesthetic perfection has always been a good racket, but never more so than today.”  If perfection is the objective, we can never be satisfied with anything less; there will always be a higher position at the company, a smaller dress size, more money to earn, more products to buy, more achievements to collect.  Then add to this American striving for perfection our Jewish culture of achievement.  We live in a Jewish Lake Wobegon, where “all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.”  We expect each of our children to be talented musicians, artists, athletes, and scholars.  They simply must go to Ivy League schools and become Nobel Prize winners, or at least doctors. 

Expecting perfection is not new to Judaism.  In this week’s Torah portion, we read that the priests who serve in the Tabernacle cannot have any physical defects: no one who is blind or lame, has a broken bone or a growth on his skin can serve in the holy precincts.  Just like the sacrificial animals described in the same parashah, the priest must be whole and unblemished to serve God.  In the eyes of the author of Leviticus, a flawed person’s very presence in the Tabernacle would profane it. 

The early rabbis saw how problematic this requirement of perfection is.  In the case of the priests who even today are called on to bless the congregation, the rabbis departed from the original biblical precedent.  According to the Talmud, “Rav Huna said: ‘A man whose eyes run should not lift up his hands [to bless the congregation].’  But wasn’t there one in the neighborhood of Rav Huna who used to spread forth his hands? — The townspeople had become accustomed to him.  It has been taught to the same effect: ‘A man whose eyes run should not lift up his hands, but if the townspeople are accustomed to him, he is permitted’” (Meg. 24b).  Early on, the Sages had to face the contradiction of what the law says and what the reality is and decided that, contrary to what is prescribed in Leviticus, people with imperfections, physical and otherwise, can and should serve their communities and God.  This departure from the biblical law is made even clearer in the midrash, which says, “Rabbi Abbah bar Yudan said: Everything that God has made unfit for animal [sacrifices] is made fit for human beings.  In animals, any that are blind, broken, maimed, or have a growth are unfit, but in human beings, God declared fit….  Rabbi Aleksandri said: if an ordinary person uses broken vessels, it is a disgrace for him, but the vessels that God uses are precisely the broken ones” (Lev. Rab. 7:2).  Not only are flawed people allowed to serve God, but God actually seeks us out. 

Judaism challenges us to fight against perfectionism even while striving for perfection.  Through living a life of mitzvot, we are meant to refine our actions and come ever closer to complete purity and righteousness.  Yet we know that as human beings, we can never reach that ideal state because it belongs to God alone.  From the prophet Isaiah, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, and My ways are not your ways, declares the Eternal.  But as the heavens are high above the earth, so are My ways high above your ways and My thoughts above your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8-9).  We will never be God. 

Fortunately, we are not expected to be.  Yes, we should continue to improve ourselves, to be more compassionate, more patient, more generous.  And we should continue to challenge ourselves in life, to put real effort into the tasks that are before us and take pride in our work.  But let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that our worth as human beings can be measured by how many hours we bill or how many trophies we collect.  Each of us is endowed with an inherent worth that has absolutely nothing to do with what we do.  For some people, this is such an obvious truth that it doesn’t even need to be stated.  But for others, it is an epiphany.  Many years ago, a friend of mine attempted suicide.  When I visited him in the hospital, he said, “You know what’s crazy?  My parents love me no matter what I do.”  I couldn’t believe that he was just realizing this, but I was so grateful that he had.  Our parents, we hope, love and value us not because of our talents or skills, but simply because we are.  And when we pray the words of Ahavat Olam, God’s unending love, as we did tonight, that is the love we’re talking about. 

It would be difficult, if not downright impossible, to stop measuring ourselves by our achievements.  But maybe we can take a step in that direction.  One day a week, Shabbat perhaps, we can take a break from perfectionism.  We can put aside our to-do lists and our resumes.  We can remind our children and spouses that their worth is not contingent on good grades or bonuses.  We can look in the mirror and see in ourselves not just our flaws and shortcomings, but also the tzelem Elohim, the image of God that resides in each of us.  At least one day a week, let that holy spark be perfection enough.