Tetsaveh / תּצוה

This is a weekly series of parsha dvarim written by a frum, atheist, transsexual anarchist. It's crucial in these times that we resist the narrative that Zionism owns Judaism. Our texts are rich—sometimes opaque, but absolutely teeming with wisdom and fierce debate. It's the work of each generation to extricate meaning from our cultural and religious inheritance. I aim to offer comment which is true to the source material (i.e. doesn't invert or invent meaning to make us more comfortable) and uses Torah like a light to reflect on our modern times. The full dvar is paywalled for four weeks to help me sustain my work as a writer; if you can't afford to subscribe, email me and I'll send you the link for free.

An appeal: It's Ramadan, which means it's a great time to donate to people in Gaza. My friend Madleen needs help to support her children. This fundraiser is run by a friend of a comrade, and I talk to Madleen regularly. Any amount helps, no matter how small.

Content note: capitalism, class, oblique Holocaust reference

Parshas Tetsaveh is essentially a set of instructions on how the Kohanim (Priests) should dress. It is about distinction, separation, and beauty. The robes are specific colors, made of the finest linen. All Kohanim are distinguished by their dress, and the Kohan Gadol (High Priest) is further distinguished. His "breastplate of decision" is set with engraved precious stones and his robe hemmed with bells.

The Kohanim are holier than the rest of us—their lives are dedicated to holiness, and to maintaining the relationship between Hashem and the Jews through maintaining the Beys hMikdesh (the Temple). To my distaste, this creates a caste system: some people are born into special socio-spiritual roles. As an anarchist I'm against hierarchies, especially birth hierarchies. It's one of the reasons I'm not a Hasid—I can't buy into the dynastic structure of most groups. I don't want a king or a rebbe. I do, however, appreciate the need for distinct social roles based on need, interest, and skill.

I also deeply appreciate beautiful clothing. Appreciation for beauty is to be present in the world, to recognize that there is more than just suffering, that there are reasons for living. When we dress well we are not only enhancing our own lives through beautiful colors, cuts, and fabrics, but improving the aesthetics of the world, which is to say improving the world. We all deserve beautiful things. Beauty is political. Luxury should not be hoarded by the rich.

The beautiful clothing of the Kohanim is, as Sforno says, "to render honor and glory to the Almighty through the wearing of such resplendent garments when performing Temple service." We not only beautify ourselves but ascribe honor to Hashem when we dress nicely. Good clothes are a sign of respect.

I'm not only an anarchist but an aestheticist. The purpose of art is to reveal or create beauty in this bleak world, rather than to moralize or serve a utilitarian function. The principle of הידור מצוה or hidur mitsve (embellishing or beautifying the mitsvos, derived from Shemoys 15:2, Bovo Kamo 9b) is extremely important to me. To go above the minimum halakhik requirement and enhance our observance through aesthetics, to choose the loveliest ornate kiddush cup, a silk embroidered challah cover, a vintage enamel bsomim box. We are obligated to enjoy food and wine and the light of the khanike candles. During the month of Oder—this month—we increase our joy (Taanis 29a). Hidur mitsve positively stimulates us into the present through our appreciation of the beauty of the object and the mitsvos themselves, and increases the joy of our observance. I'm a maximalist but there can be beauty in simplicity. By contrast, it is a challenge to see the beauty in our tradition and our world if our ritual objects—or our daily objects—are ugly.

"Industry is the root of all ugliness."

—Oscar Wilde, Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young (1894)

Ugliness is an offense to the eyes and the spirit. We live in a time of over-priced, mass-produced objects with planned obsolescence. The internet is undergoing constant enshittification. And furthermore, it's all fucking bad to look at. The ugliness isn't just insult to injury—it is no exaggeration to say that ugliness itself is an injury, a violence.

Mitsvos are enriched, heightened, when their performance is done with beauty. So too our lives. It is absolutely imperative that we create the world we want to live in. If we want rest, we must rest; if we want cooperation, we must cooperate; if we want beautiful lives, we must live beautiful lives. We deserve more than the base requirements for survival. We deserve luxury. We deserve art. Yes it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.

"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."

—William Morris, Hopes and Fears for Art (1882)

There is an abundance on this Earth and it is our collective inheritance. I do not want to live in a spartan "utopia" where we all share the same gray jumpsuit—why should we have to? The over-consumption of the West is unsustainable, but beauty does not have to mean over-consumption. Like the Arts and Crafts movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, we can reject mass production and prioritize hand-made, beautiful things. We can redefine our relationship to the objects in our lives, to feel pride in them, to take care of them, to clean and maintain and display them instead of simply accumulating and disposing of them.

When I was poor, but with lots of time on my hands, I spent hours scouring the free stuff groups on facebook in London to find beautiful and useful objects. I've been lucky to live in cities where I could find everything from dressers to record players to silver teapots on the streets. When I couldn't buy new things, I repaired and reused and gave things away, and received things. Our communities can be free markets where everyone has what they need and gives away what they don't.

"There is no excuse for doing anything which is not strikingly beautiful."

—William Morris, quoted in his biography by his daughter May Morris (1936)

Torah makes it clear that when doing something important, like glorifying Hashem, we should exert all necessary effort to do so beautifully. Further, we should all be glorifying Hashem through all our actions, not just the Kohanim. Our daily lives should be mitsvos. Yes, our mere survival as trans people right now is a mitsveh. But when at all possible, we should feel compelled to do more than survive—we must make our lives beautiful.

Beauty is a form of genius—is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the Moon. It cannot be questioned. It has divine right of sovereignty. It makes princes of those who have it.
—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891)

I'm slightly less interested in the beauty of young men than Wilde. Rather than thinking having a pretty face makes one a prince (for better or for worse), I believe beauty and art in our lives elevates us to a higher economic and social station. The hierarchy of class is greatly diminished if we can all access the finer things.

"One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art."

—Oscar Wilde, Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young (1894)

Jews dressed differently as God's outcasts. But Jews also dressed differently in premodern Europe because their rabbis understood any emulation of non-Jews as a violation of the divine Law as revealed by God to Moses atop Mount Sinai. The Five Books of Moses, after all, together called the Torah, clearly specify that Jews must adhere to a particular dress code-modesty, for example, and fringes. The very structure of the cosmos demanded nothing less. Clothing, too, served as a "fence" that protected Jews from the profanities and pollutions of the non-Jewish societies in which they dwelled. From this angle, Jews dressed distinctively as God's elect.
—Eric Silverman. A Cultural History of Jewish Dress (2013), p. xv, emphasis mine

Like the Kohanim, the way we dress distinguishes us. Historically, Jews have always separated ourselves from goyim in our clothing. Sometimes goyim mandated that we mark ourselves as Jewish with a specific hat or yellow star (you know the one). Today we still wear distinct dress: yarmulkes, tsitsit, talisim, tefilin. Some of us wear black suits and black hats or straymls, kitls, and sheytls. Some Jews adhere to norms of tsnius, which vary by community. In my neighborhood alone I can see the differences in hair, glasses, and fashion between Chabad, Satmar, Yeshivish, Modern Orthodox, and secular Jews. (In my opinion, the Satmar women of Williamsburg with their perfect sheytls and pillbox hats are the best dressed modern Jews of New York.)

Our physical appearance is the first impression we make, and clothes are a large part of that. I aspire that my clothes telegraph that I'm Jewish, and gay, and thoughtful, and deliberate, and stylish, and tasteful, and maybe even smart. I beautify the mitsvos of my life by robing my body in the nicest clothes I can afford—and because they're nice, I don't need to replace them very often.

I've heard Chabadniks explain that they're dressed that way—black or navy suit, white dress shirt, black fedora—that they make a positive collective impression on the goyim and that they may always be prepared to meet a head of state, i.e. for meeting with Hashem, sovereign of the universe. I reject the king metaphor but share the sentiment: we should be dressed well during the defining moments in our lives, which is to say we should always be well-dressed since we don't generally have the benefit of knowing which moments will be so important. Every second is a narrow gate through which Moshiakh can enter. That every aspect of our lives should be infused with holiness in our עבודות (avoydos: work/service/destiny), we should dress accordingly.