 A powerful lesson about womanhood sits in a most unlikely place. In the description of the sotah – the woman suspected by her husband of infidelity whom he brings to the Temple to
ascertain the truth of her behavior – the Torah delineates her sacrifice:
“…a tenth eifah measure of coarse barley flour; no oil; no frankincense.”
The commentators explain most of the requirements. Barley flour, because barley is animal fodder and her actions were those of an animal. No oil, because oil symbolizes light, and her furtive act was carried on in darkness. No frankincense, because it represents the Matriarchs whose model she has desecrated.
But what the commentators do not explain is why the flour must be kemach -- coarse. All Rashi says is that the sacrifice may not be made of solet -- fine sifted flour; but he offers no reason why.
I want to suggest an insight that puts an entirely different light on the character of the woman willing to drink the Bitter Waters of the Sotah.
When Avraham Avinu is visited by the three angels (disguised as travelers), he runs inside Sarah’s tent and instructs, “Quickly – Take three measures of kemach, solet, knead it and make cakes.” Rashi says he is advising her to use two different kinds of flour: fine flour for the cakes, and coarse flour as a cooking aid. What is going on here? Since when does Jewish Mother extraordinaire Sarah need her husband to give her cooking tips?
What Avraham was doing was imparting a timely and invaluable lesson to his honorable and dignified life partner.
The way we typically relate to potential is by aiming for the fulfillment of as much of it as we can. But great people approach potential by demanding nothing less than its total fulfillment. Sarah was one of those great people, and not only did she demand this of herself, but she demanded it from everyone and everything she worked with – even her flour. Flour’s potential is to be solet – the delicate and feathery powder sifted and refined again and again until it is ready to be baked into the finest dainties. And so Sarah never worked with kemach. If she needed a cooking aid, she would use sawdust or some other substance, but to allow flour to be used in its lowly kemach state would be below its potential and unacceptably beneath its dignity.
Avraham did not want to reduce his wife’s greatness one iota. But he had this insight to offer her: There exists one condition under which functioning beneath your potential is approved, and that is when by doing so you allow yourself to acquire even greater potential. “It’s okay to use kemach in this situation,” he informs her, “because I detect a certain greatness about these particular guests. If using the kemach will help us connect better to these guests by making a superior product, it’s worth shedding some of the dignity of the flour in the short term in exchange for the greater gain it will yield for the future.
Consider for a moment: Who is probably drinking the sotah waters? Is it more likely a woman who IS guilty or a woman who is NOT? A truly guilty woman has very little to gain by drinking the waters. As it is now, with no witnesses to the misdeed, she has no way to be prosecuted and executed for adultery; whereas if she drinks the water she knows she will die on the spot. As part of the procedure, she is offered a chance to opt out of the drinking and simply accept an end to her marriage! What reason has she for drinking?
The one who is likely to be drinking is the innocent woman. Now, let’s look at what she’s dealing with. She has a jealous husband, an unjust suspicion, and every right and reason to decline to drink and just walk away. And yet she chooses to drink. What is she saying? She is saying, “I know I do not have to do this, but as things are, with my husband’s apprehensions about my loyalty making it impossible for him to be with me in a relationship of trust, if I do not drink this water, a relationship will be broken and a home destroyed. Rightly or wrongly, my participation in this ritual is the only thing that can restore shalom bayit, trust and harmony. For the sake of shalom bayit, I am willing to humble myself before the Kohen, appear disheveled in public, and drink dust and ink. I have determined that is worth it for me to undergo this short term humiliation in exchange for the greater long term value of preserving a Jewish family and returning a home to its previous foundation of harmony and trust.”
What a heroic act of greatness! This is a woman who has truly imbibed the lesson of the kemach. It is worth shedding some dignity in the short term to attain the greater and long-lasting gift of domestic harmony and family unity. Let her bring a sacrifice of kemach to reflect the powerful personal sacrifice only a great woman can make! And let us all learn from this surprising heroine to disregard our egos when peace and harmony are at stake and to be willing to accept indignities as the trivial price for the great gift of shalom.
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