T

Shoftim

By Rabbi David Hartley Mark

Shoftim: The Constable’s Tale, 622 BCE

“You shall appoint judges and constables in all of the gates [of your settlements, in the Land] which the LORD your GOD is giving you, and they shall judge the people according to righteous judgment....If an anonymous corpse is found lying in the woods, and no one knows who killed them, the elders and constables shall go out...and take a young heifer....”

--Deut. 16:18, 21:1-2

            My name is Bodek ben Zahir, and I am Shoter, or Constable, for the Village of Ein Yirah, Shechem Township, South Israel Judiciary—or Judah, I should say, begging your pardon, Stranger. Blame it on my age—I will be fifty years old, Adonoi willing, at the next harvest half-moon. I was born and raised here in this town—I’ve lived here all my life; know every bush and tree, oasis, camel driver encampment, and whatever straw-and-mudbrick shack exists in these parts. No, bless you! I am not political; I have served both the religious conservatives and the pagan-leaning leftists. I care little about a man’s politics; I mainly desire peace, quiet, and for my jail to remain empty of cutthroats and thieves. Yes.           

My duties are simple, for the most part: I patrol the streets—mainly at night; frequently by day, as the job requires. I drop in on the taverns, which are especially popular during this harvest season. The farmboys like to celebrate, guzzling down our potent local brew: “It’s only wheat, Constable, Sir,” they tell me; well, it’s wheat that packs a punch, and no mistake. On the off chance that two of the louts get into a quarrel, I always carry a stout blackthorn stick with me—I call it my “Peacemaker.” I crack the heads of both malefactors, and haul their unconscious carcasses before Judge Shofet ben Emet, a fair man, a man who cannot be bribed, bless him! Finally, I toss them into our local jail to dry out. It doesn’t take long; soon, I will let them go, and have crack to their heads again. Ah, well. It is the way of the world, with our youth. And it doesn’t seem to hurt them. Our Jews, may they be blessed, have exceptionally thick skulls. If a man believes an error, and hugs it to his bosom, why then: he becomes his error, and no mistake.           

There are other law-cases I settle on a de facto basis: this one stole that one’s goat; another citizen claims that his neighbor moved their boundary-markers and is claiming an extra five cubits of his land. Once, I had to help lasso and haul a frightened, bellowing ox out of a hole in the ground—can you imagine? and rule whether its purblind owner was guilty of allowing it to wander about the town, frightening and goring innocent folk. No two days are the same, and every day is an adventure. I have been doing this work for nigh unto twenty-five  year, now. I do love it: the rough-and-tumble aspect is what attracts me. What, should I be renting an acre from Farmer Ploni, and wasting my life trying to coax onions from the ground? Bah!

            Just t’other day, a Levite, name of Tipesh ben Hevel, comes a-knocking at my door.

“Bodek!” he cries, all a-tremble with the importance of his mission, “Sir Bodek—”

“That’s Constable Bodek, Levite Tipesh,” I address him sternly, thinking, Now what does this fool want of me? Someone mislaid the powder and herbs for the incense-offering, doubtless, and he’ll have me all over town searching for it—

            “There’s a dead body!” bawls this Levitical twit, “As God lives, a corpse! A dead one! Right there in the woods!

            “What? Where?” I ask. I am not rushed; if the rascal’s dead, he won’t be going anywhere until I find him.

            “On the boundary between our town and Milech, the next town,” he shouts in my face, all a-flutter with the urgency of it.           

“Whereabouts? What corner?” I ask.           

“At the corner of Katriel the tinsmith’s,” he says. I seize my blackthorn staff and rush out, with Tipesh hard on my heels.                       

A few minutes later, I am gazing upon the corpse of some poor young fellow—he looks a great deal worse for having lain out in the summer heat all night. Buzzards and kites, you know. Some folks are queasy about this sort of thing. As my saintly grandfather would say, “He doesn’t look well.”  But he is most sincerely dead. I hear a sound behind me and turn: there’s an entire Levite Delegation, headed by Chief Levite Shakran ben Pesha, a cool customer if ever I saw one. I have heard that he picks out the choicest bits of meat from the sacrificial try-pots. I have no proof, but I do watch him closely: we understand one another. He knows I will be happy to arrest him one day. Still, he is in charge of the religious part of this business; I am merely the civil investigator.           

“Constable Bodek,” he sneers, and I grip my stick more tightly, “have you any theories regarding this—this unfortunate person’s identity?”           

“No, Chief Levite Shakran,” I answer, unable to render justice for lack of evidence. The sub-Levites have already “purified the scene,” as they call it, obliterating any bit of dust, bent twig, or powder that might have served as a clue. Which doesn’t help me. Are they trying to hide something? Hm.           

“Then we will proceed. The civil authorities—you, Constable—admit your helplessness before the Invisible Demons that surround us, especially in these dark woods; we Men of God will take over from here and pray God that we succeed in cleansing our municipality of this abomination!” All the Levites mumble assent, nodding like a bunch of halfwits.            

This also infuriates me; religious types such as Shakran (that thief) are always so quick to placate the gods—God, I mean—while justice here on earth goes begging.           

The ceremony goes very quickly: two of the junior Levites haul forth a pretty little heifer, all red except for one white spot on her forehead. She looks at me and “moos” gently, seeming to plead: What have I done, whom have I offended, that you treat me like this?         

            The Chief Levite and the Town Scribe (he is Katav ben Ate, another buffoon I have no use for) lay their unclean, bribe-taking hands on the beastie’s head and intone: “Our hands did not shed this man’s blood; our eyes did not see it done. Absolve us of blood-guilt, O’ Lord!” A beefy sub-Levite wraps an arm around the heifer and snaps its neck, and the ceremony—barbaric as it is—is done. What will happen to the heifer’s carcass, I can’t say; pity we can’t eat the meat—it’s not kosher.           

            After this so-called Ceremony of Purification, I feel unclean. It is now late afternoon, and I hie me to the downtown tavern, to keep order among the drunkards. I may even force myself to have a little drink, to get the mental picture of the corpse and the cow-carcass out of my head. And those self-serving Levite scoundrels! Better an honest drunk than a thieving priest any day, say I. Well, Friend, shall I pay for the next round? L’Chaim! Good Health!

OUR RABBI - David Hartley Mark

WATCH RABBI MARK , To Life, L'Chaim #217 - Rabbi David Mark (You Tube)

Rabbi David Hartley Mark was born in New York City, and grew up on the Lower East Side, that legendary Jewish immigrant neighborhood, attending Hebrew Day School. He was first from his school, the East Side Torah Center, to attend Yeshiva University High School for Boys—Manhattan. David attended Yeshiva University, where he attained a BA in English Literature, a BS in Bible and Jewish Education, and a Hebrew Teacher’s Diploma (HTD). He spent his third year of college at Bar Ilan University in Ramat-Gan, Israel, where he developed a fluency in Hebrew, and toured around the country. He has also attained a Certificate in Advanced Jewish School Administration from the Hebrew College in Brookline, MA.

David attended the City University of New York Graduate Center, where he earned an MA degree from Queens College, as well as an M.Phil. degree, majoring in 17th Century English, specializing in the work of John Milton, as well as the Romantic Poets. A year teaching Hebrew School in a Reform temple in Brooklyn convinced him of his great love of Judaism, and he began attending the Academy for Jewish Religion, Yonkers, NY, where he was ordained a rabbi in 1980.

He met Anbeth, who was hired as temple secretary the same day he was hired to teach. They were married in 1978. They have two grown children, Tyler and Jordan, as well as a grandson, Aidan.

Rabbi Mark served pulpits in Warren, NJ, Fayetteville, NC, and Portsmouth, NH, in which last pulpit he spent 22 years, a record for that state. Seeking warmer climes, as well as closer family members, he and Anbeth took the pulpit of Temple Sholom in 2009. He also fulfilled a lifetime dream of teaching English at Keiser University in Ft. Lauderdale.  

OUR CANTOR - ANITA SCHUBERT

 

Cantor Anita Schubert, grew up in Queens and Lynbrook in New York, says it was a combination of her love for both singing and religion that led her to train to become a cantor. “I grew up in a conservative synagogue. My parents weren’t super religious,” she said. “I started going to shabbat services and never stopped. I learned the musical chants . . . all the right stuff. I picked it up and was able to lead services as well. When I was a teenager I was asked to be one of the adult leaders in the junior congregation. I graduated to running it.”

Although she found her niche leading her congregation, it never occurred to her to be a cantor. “I was the wrong gender until the 80s.” As for her musical style, “It’s mostly a cappella. But I have been accompanied by someone on guitar and piano.”

Her academic background includes both undergraduate and graduate courses in music theory, sight-singing, ear-training, music history, conducting, choral arranging, voice building for choirs, vocal training, as well as studying the piano and flute. Plus, “I began singing in choirs starting in the third grade.”

She also took college courses in Hebrew, modern Jewish thought and the history of Jewish music.

Schubert said although women had been taking cantorial courses, they were not considered cantors at first. However, things changed for the better when women were finally accepted into the Cantors Assembly, an international association representing the cantorial profession.

Schubert has been actively working as a cantor at various congregations around the nation for many years before her new position at Temple Sholom. She realizes her coming here will be an historic event for the local place of worship. And what will she bring to her new congregation? “My spirit, my choice of music. We have a lot of options. We go beyond the traditional.”

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