Turn on any daytime talk show, or at least the most tawdry examples, and you'll hear it from guests of all stripes: "How dare you judge me?" they shout, full of righteous indignation: "You don't even know me!"
To which, chazal might say, "You raise a good point."
While it may seem funny that guests on a show titled, "I'm cheating on my wife with her best friend" end up surprised by the audience's disapproval, while it is certainly ironic, and while if ever it would be appropriate to say "You asked for it" now would be the time -- Judaism would be the first to caution our rush from couch to judge and jury. (1)
"Al tadon et chaveiro ad shetagia limkomo" we are told, and the traditional translation is fairly straight forward: Don't judge your friend until you reach his place. Simply put, unless you've "been there"(2) you're not entitled to judge(3). Or as we might say, "until you've walked in his or her shoes," don't be so quick to condemn.
The aphorism is not only good-hearted, but appropriate. Life is complex, and there are many factors which, even when they don't excuse bad behavior, at least may mitigate what we think about the person who slips up.
In a lot of ways the idea of "Al tadon et chaveiro ad shetagia limkomo" is an extension of the concept that one shouldn't judge until he/she has the full story -since there are so many nuances that we as observers can't fully appreciate, we never truly have the full story (4).
This weekend I heard a beautiful thought in the name of Rabbi Yosef Carmel. One of God's names is Makom-or Hamakom, The Place. We sing, "Barukh HaMakom Barukh Hu." When we visit mourners we say "HaMakom Yinachem etchem." Makom is a synonym for God, it's a nickname.
And so if we substitute the word God for the word Makom, and look once more at this famous phrase, a new meaning emerges.
Don't judge your friend until/unless you are God.
It's a difference in kind, not degree. Under the classic explanation, we were told what amounts to another English expression: don't rush to judgment. If you cross your t's and dot your i's, if you have in fact considered where the perpetrator was coming from and been in similar straights, then you can judge them. Not any other time, sure, and that is the main point being made, but there is an exception built in.
Now stop to consider the new explanation. We are not God, and we can never be God. It is never man's role to judge.
A final and slightly different explanation can also emerge, taking advantage of both meanings of the word Makom.
The word makom conveys both "place" and God" and so we are told, as you consider their actions, look for that "place" in your friend that is "godly", before you begin to judge(5).
Endnotes:
(1) At the same time, Judaism allows for common sense. To continue with the example of the talk show, you're not required to leave your wife alone with a serial philanderer.
(2) Note the similarity to place, and being there, as in when sympathizing with a friend one says, "I know what you mean, I've been there." Even the more neutral phrase, "Been there, done that" indicates that someone has experienced the same thing.
(3) The only type of judgement encouraged is the act of judging someone favorably: Havai dan et kol adam l'caf zechut.
(4) This recalls the beautiful idea that the Hebrew word for truth, emet, has three letters, an alef, a mem and a tet, the first, middle and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet. The classic explanation is that this evokes the idea of something being true from A to Z, and the need for people to speak, "the whole truth," hinting at the dangers of partial truths. Perhaps, though, the idea of the alphabet's order is as relevant as the idea of full truth -we are saying that you need to know the story from start to finish, from beginning to end, including any relevant history that might serve as exculpatory evidence.
(5) Thanks to Einat Day for a suggestion that ultimately led to this last formulation.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Ark, where art thou? Parshat Terumah and the Deeper Meaning of an Ark that Takes up No Space
I live in Manhattan. Which is to say I am familiar with the need to downsize. Special stores and sub-industries exist for fellow city denizens like me who are space-ially challenged. Coffee tables turn into dining room tables, beds disappear into walls or sofas...anything that can do double duty does double duty.
In this week's parsha, God performs the ultimate decorating trick -it's more like a magic trick and it involves the ark ("aron"). The ark was located in the holiest room of the Temple ("beit hamikdash"), and it occupied center stage. Inside the ark were the ten tablets (aseret hadibrot) and on top of the ark were the two cherubs ("k'ruvim"). So the ark was a pretty big deal, pun intended.
Only one problem: when we pull out our measuring tape and try to chart where things were, there's no room for the ark.
The room was 20 cubits wide. Fact # 1.
To the right of the ark there were 10 cubits. Fact #2.
To the left of the ark there were 10 cubits. Fact #3.
Leaving exactly..NO room for the ark itself.
And so long before me, or AutoCAD, the Rabbis all wonder --both HOW the ark took up no space, and equally at WHAT this might mean for us.
In his work Meged Yoseif, Rav Yosef Yehudah Leib Sorotzkin (1) comes up with an ingenious answer, at least as to the why.
In many areas of our lives, there is a competitive dog eat dog reality: I am the boss or I report to the boss, I own the house, or I pay rent to the man or woman who does.
But Torah, symbolized by the ark which housed the earliest form of the Torah, is something quite different. Torah is something that we can all equally own and share. My scholarship is not achieved at the expense of your scholarship, in fact, we learn best together.
That, suggest Rav Sorotzkin, is the deeper significance of the ark taking up no space: Torah does not intrude on anyone else's space, read: it does not impede on anyone else's needs, territory, or obligations.
Rav Sorotzkin's thought is beautiful and inspiring on its own, but allow me one tiny addition that is already fairly implicit.
Torah is more than the study of Torah. The symbolism isn't merely suggesting that when we sit in the study hall, or sit through the Rabbi's sermon, we can all succeed without cutting each other off at the knees.
It's saying something far more profound: Torah, religion, and spirituality should not come on the back of others.
God should not be served at the expense of people.
Take Torah seriously, very seriously, but do so in a way that won't interfere with anyone else and their needs.
Ennoble others at the same time you work on raising yourself.
The idea of the ark/Torah taking no room away from anyone else, while still being very much PRESENT, is a powerful metaphor, and model.
If a child wants to only keep Glatt kosher, how can the same child also be Glatt about respecting their parents' needs, and communicating their own choices?
None of this is easy. All of this is vital.
The angel is in the details.
--------------
(1)Yosef Yehudah Leib is the grandson of Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, the Lutzker Rav, and the son of Rabbi Eliezer Sorotzkin, founder of Kiryat Telz-Stone in Israel.
(2) Glatt kosher technically means that the lungs of an animal were smooth before death. This is not an actual requirement, but an extra precaution (it stems from the need for an animal to have been basically healthy at the time of its death and so with a great set of lungs like these...we can be extra sure). That said, Glatt kosher is also, even among the religious who know its true meaning, a synonym for "extra kosher" and it is true that it reflects extra caution to be kosher. In the same sense of extra kosher, I suggest being glatt/extra in our dealings with each other.
In this week's parsha, God performs the ultimate decorating trick -it's more like a magic trick and it involves the ark ("aron"). The ark was located in the holiest room of the Temple ("beit hamikdash"), and it occupied center stage. Inside the ark were the ten tablets (aseret hadibrot) and on top of the ark were the two cherubs ("k'ruvim"). So the ark was a pretty big deal, pun intended.
Only one problem: when we pull out our measuring tape and try to chart where things were, there's no room for the ark.
The room was 20 cubits wide. Fact # 1.
To the right of the ark there were 10 cubits. Fact #2.
To the left of the ark there were 10 cubits. Fact #3.
Leaving exactly..NO room for the ark itself.
And so long before me, or AutoCAD, the Rabbis all wonder --both HOW the ark took up no space, and equally at WHAT this might mean for us.
In his work Meged Yoseif, Rav Yosef Yehudah Leib Sorotzkin (1) comes up with an ingenious answer, at least as to the why.
In many areas of our lives, there is a competitive dog eat dog reality: I am the boss or I report to the boss, I own the house, or I pay rent to the man or woman who does.
But Torah, symbolized by the ark which housed the earliest form of the Torah, is something quite different. Torah is something that we can all equally own and share. My scholarship is not achieved at the expense of your scholarship, in fact, we learn best together.
That, suggest Rav Sorotzkin, is the deeper significance of the ark taking up no space: Torah does not intrude on anyone else's space, read: it does not impede on anyone else's needs, territory, or obligations.
Rav Sorotzkin's thought is beautiful and inspiring on its own, but allow me one tiny addition that is already fairly implicit.
Torah is more than the study of Torah. The symbolism isn't merely suggesting that when we sit in the study hall, or sit through the Rabbi's sermon, we can all succeed without cutting each other off at the knees.
It's saying something far more profound: Torah, religion, and spirituality should not come on the back of others.
God should not be served at the expense of people.
Take Torah seriously, very seriously, but do so in a way that won't interfere with anyone else and their needs.
Ennoble others at the same time you work on raising yourself.
The idea of the ark/Torah taking no room away from anyone else, while still being very much PRESENT, is a powerful metaphor, and model.
If a child wants to only keep Glatt kosher, how can the same child also be Glatt about respecting their parents' needs, and communicating their own choices?
None of this is easy. All of this is vital.
The angel is in the details.
--------------
(1)Yosef Yehudah Leib is the grandson of Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, the Lutzker Rav, and the son of Rabbi Eliezer Sorotzkin, founder of Kiryat Telz-Stone in Israel.
(2) Glatt kosher technically means that the lungs of an animal were smooth before death. This is not an actual requirement, but an extra precaution (it stems from the need for an animal to have been basically healthy at the time of its death and so with a great set of lungs like these...we can be extra sure). That said, Glatt kosher is also, even among the religious who know its true meaning, a synonym for "extra kosher" and it is true that it reflects extra caution to be kosher. In the same sense of extra kosher, I suggest being glatt/extra in our dealings with each other.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Too Familiar? Parshat Ki Tissa and the Pitfalls of familiarity
I'm fairly certain that Rav Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (1843–1926) did not celebrate Valentine's Day (1). Or President's Day for that matter. In contrast, we know that he would have read parshat Ki Tissa in shul this week. And a poignant comment he makes in understanding the Chait Haeigel (Golden Calf) debacle sheds light on both secular holidays that bracket our parsha.
According to Ramban and others, the golden calf was not meant to be an idol. The Jews of that day feared that Moshe (Moses) had died and simply wanted to designate a new leader. That was to be the eigel's role -as the new Moshe.
Which begs the question: why not simply appoint Aharon (Aaron), a man of peace and God, Moshe's own brother, the person who had been there all along, the Vice President as it were; why not choose the obvious successor?
And of course the psychologically sophisticated answer (which shouldn't surprise us but somehow does) is that they took Aharon for granted. They wanted the shiny new toy. They picked the young calf they didn't know instead of the person who was there all along. (2)
Supply your own example, whether it is a parent, or child for that matter, whose love and gifts and time we only notice in the absence. Maybe the husband or wife callously tossed aside for a model 2.0 (pun intended), or, perhaps worse, those who continue to live together but without love and appreciation.
So while this is only a piece of the eigel story, we can walk away saying -Oh yeah, the golden calf, wasn't that when the Jews messed up by not appreciating how amazing the people near them truly were. (3)
It's an old story, but one that constantly plays out.
It's an old moral, but one made more tangible, and terrifying, with the linkage to the Golden Calf story.
Appreciation is elusive, and often comes in fits and starts. We need to build artificial ways and times to foster this sense of hakarat hatov.
We do that with God and blessing, 100 times a day.
We need to find ways to do those with the people we love as well -and as often.
-------
(1) For an interesting take on a Jewish approach to this holiday, please see my father's piece at http://www.aish.com/ci/s/A_Jewish_Valentines_Day.html
(2) This comment of Rav Meir Simcha is actually part of a story, and told in a sharper way. In short, when Rav Meir Simcha was passed up for a top rabbinical post in his own city, he expressed no surprise, saying, tartly I imagine, this is no surprise, look what happened....
(3) This includes themselves. I talk about this elsewhere, but in short, the very fact that the Jews felt they needed an intermediary between them and God was understandable (especially as former slaves), but mistaken. And that was something which post-sin, God and Moshe worked hard to correct.
According to Ramban and others, the golden calf was not meant to be an idol. The Jews of that day feared that Moshe (Moses) had died and simply wanted to designate a new leader. That was to be the eigel's role -as the new Moshe.
Which begs the question: why not simply appoint Aharon (Aaron), a man of peace and God, Moshe's own brother, the person who had been there all along, the Vice President as it were; why not choose the obvious successor?
And of course the psychologically sophisticated answer (which shouldn't surprise us but somehow does) is that they took Aharon for granted. They wanted the shiny new toy. They picked the young calf they didn't know instead of the person who was there all along. (2)
Supply your own example, whether it is a parent, or child for that matter, whose love and gifts and time we only notice in the absence. Maybe the husband or wife callously tossed aside for a model 2.0 (pun intended), or, perhaps worse, those who continue to live together but without love and appreciation.
So while this is only a piece of the eigel story, we can walk away saying -Oh yeah, the golden calf, wasn't that when the Jews messed up by not appreciating how amazing the people near them truly were. (3)
It's an old story, but one that constantly plays out.
It's an old moral, but one made more tangible, and terrifying, with the linkage to the Golden Calf story.
Appreciation is elusive, and often comes in fits and starts. We need to build artificial ways and times to foster this sense of hakarat hatov.
We do that with God and blessing, 100 times a day.
We need to find ways to do those with the people we love as well -and as often.
-------
(1) For an interesting take on a Jewish approach to this holiday, please see my father's piece at http://www.aish.com/ci/s/A_Jewish_Valentines_Day.html
(2) This comment of Rav Meir Simcha is actually part of a story, and told in a sharper way. In short, when Rav Meir Simcha was passed up for a top rabbinical post in his own city, he expressed no surprise, saying, tartly I imagine, this is no surprise, look what happened....
(3) This includes themselves. I talk about this elsewhere, but in short, the very fact that the Jews felt they needed an intermediary between them and God was understandable (especially as former slaves), but mistaken. And that was something which post-sin, God and Moshe worked hard to correct.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Broken Luchot Jews and Parshat Terumah
Parshat Terumah is like Extreme Home Makeover -but Betzalel plays the role of Ty Pennington, the client is even More likable than usual (it's God's house after all), and there is no demolition scene.
Among the most cherished things built by Betzlel is the aron, the forerunner to today's ark at the front of the synagogue.
What was stored within that original ark?
The rabbis are explicit and united on this point. Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Yehudah (1) agree that the aron contained the first broken set of luchot as well as the second, final set of luchot.
The first set of luchot were broken by Moshe. They weren't just broken, they were broken for a reason: the Jews had sinned with the golden calf (eigel hazahav) and so Moshe (in anger/disgust, or perhaps feeling that they no longer Deserved the tablets) threw down the tablets.
The second tablets make their appearance later. Moshe appeals to God on behalf of the Jewish people. God grants His forgiveness. Only then does Moshe descend once more, carrying our second chance. (You could say this was not only the two tablets, but Tablets 2.0)
All of which points to just how strange a decision it is for us to not only hold on to the first tablets, but keep them prominently displayed. This is worse than a scarlet letter: it should be a badge of shame, and sin.
And yet...we keep these tablets with us in space, so that their message stays close to us as well. It is, to coin a new expression, top of ark.
We all make mistakes, but if we learn from our mistakes, then the first luchot are considered part of the same path and process -and yes, in the same ark - as the second set of luchot.
In the Jewish tradition, when a person truly repents, his or her sins actually turn into mitzvot.
I don't understand this in a voodoo way. It's simple. We live in a world where regret is somehow anathema to many. The catchphrase and concept is "I have no regrets about anything I did because if not, I wouldn't be the person I am today."
The genius of the Jewish understandings of teshuva is a nuanced response to the above.
Some people may sin and then, tired of that lifestyle, they return to God and goldliness.
Some may be seeking all along.
And so we tell the former sinner, it DEPENDS.
If for you the sinning was a process, or you can at least look into all stages of your life and derive meaning, then we say, perhaps this was truly necessary for you to transform into the person you are today. Then, while your route to God may have been longer than the Hopstop version, you still get credit for the whole trip.
I think that is the deeper reason we were told to keep the first luchot alongside the second luchot: the two luchot truly become ONE linked set of luchot as the original version becomes a stepping stone to our ultimate brit (covenant) with God.
But let's take a step back, no pun intended.
We are suggesting that the second and first luchot are linked in much the same way as when a ba'al teshuva's sins turn into mitzvot.
It's a nice idea. But whether or not you are prepared to accept that analogy, the one inarguable lesson we learn is that for some reason the broken luchot made it into the aron.
The simplest moral here is that we need both pairs of luchot -one set representing our moment of forgiveness and triumph, and the other to keep us humble.
The aron is a reminder of God, and its contents are a reminder of the power of healing and the value of forgiveness.
If we remember our own sins, we also remember to tolerate and understand the sins of others.
If we consider the Jewish people who sinned after witnessing their miraculous redemption from Egypt, perhaps we can spare a little "chanun" for those who sin in our own more confusing times.
This weekend I heard a moving story. It is about Rabbi Eliezer Silver, ztz"l, a true giant of American Jewry in the first half of the 20th century (2).
Apparently Rabbi Silver's congregation in Cincinnati had a fairly mixed crowd. Many attendees were not religious, and so someone asked Rabbi Silver how/why he was okay praying in such non-distinguished company?
Now I recognize that some of us won't even understand the hava aminah (presumption) of the question as we would say in the Talmud -OF COURSE we should pray together! Other people won't be satisfied by ANY answer -let's only pray if we are all identical card-carrying members of the Sonei Achim, Ohavei Lariv sect. But let's put aside what we think, and our initial sympathies or antipathies with the question.
Rabbi Silver answered by citing the example of the aron where both the whole and the broken luchot resided together.
How beautiful. How moving. Simple and deep all at once. I can't help but be haunted by the image of Jews who are maybe not fully there when it comes to religious practice as being "luchot" -created by God, holy, if not wholly there.
And then there is the word shattered which could replace the word broken -these Jews, perhaps unconsciously, are shattered by their alienation from God. Let us not add to that pain by also alienating them from us.
In all honesty, this We are The World approach has practical benefits for all parties. If we embrace the complexities of human nature (and of or own natures), then we know that there are times when we are luchot sh'leimot and times we are shivrei luchot -- we are strong and committed, skeptical and confused, chillul or kiddush Hashems all in one imperfect, inconsistent package.
As long as that imperfect package stands in God's tent, and keeps the tent flaps open to all sides, we can perfect both ourselves and the world.
(1) They argue instead about the identity of the third item stored in the aron
(2) The OU's website describes him as follows: "Rabbi Eliezer Silver (ZT”L) of Cincinnati, OH, achieved national and world renown for his leadership role in a number of organizations-Founder and President of the Agudath Israel of America, President of the Vaad HaRabbanim of the U.S. and Canada, and Founder and President of the Vaad Hatzalah Rescue Committee (he helped save thousands during and after the Holocaust). Rabbi Silver was also instrumental in founding one of the first Jewish Day Schools west of the Appalachian Mountains, the Cincinnati Hebrew Day School/Chofetz Chaim (CHDS)."
Among the most cherished things built by Betzlel is the aron, the forerunner to today's ark at the front of the synagogue.
What was stored within that original ark?
The rabbis are explicit and united on this point. Rabbi Meir and Rabbi Yehudah (1) agree that the aron contained the first broken set of luchot as well as the second, final set of luchot.
The first set of luchot were broken by Moshe. They weren't just broken, they were broken for a reason: the Jews had sinned with the golden calf (eigel hazahav) and so Moshe (in anger/disgust, or perhaps feeling that they no longer Deserved the tablets) threw down the tablets.
The second tablets make their appearance later. Moshe appeals to God on behalf of the Jewish people. God grants His forgiveness. Only then does Moshe descend once more, carrying our second chance. (You could say this was not only the two tablets, but Tablets 2.0)
All of which points to just how strange a decision it is for us to not only hold on to the first tablets, but keep them prominently displayed. This is worse than a scarlet letter: it should be a badge of shame, and sin.
And yet...we keep these tablets with us in space, so that their message stays close to us as well. It is, to coin a new expression, top of ark.
We all make mistakes, but if we learn from our mistakes, then the first luchot are considered part of the same path and process -and yes, in the same ark - as the second set of luchot.
In the Jewish tradition, when a person truly repents, his or her sins actually turn into mitzvot.
I don't understand this in a voodoo way. It's simple. We live in a world where regret is somehow anathema to many. The catchphrase and concept is "I have no regrets about anything I did because if not, I wouldn't be the person I am today."
The genius of the Jewish understandings of teshuva is a nuanced response to the above.
Some people may sin and then, tired of that lifestyle, they return to God and goldliness.
Some may be seeking all along.
And so we tell the former sinner, it DEPENDS.
If for you the sinning was a process, or you can at least look into all stages of your life and derive meaning, then we say, perhaps this was truly necessary for you to transform into the person you are today. Then, while your route to God may have been longer than the Hopstop version, you still get credit for the whole trip.
I think that is the deeper reason we were told to keep the first luchot alongside the second luchot: the two luchot truly become ONE linked set of luchot as the original version becomes a stepping stone to our ultimate brit (covenant) with God.
But let's take a step back, no pun intended.
We are suggesting that the second and first luchot are linked in much the same way as when a ba'al teshuva's sins turn into mitzvot.
It's a nice idea. But whether or not you are prepared to accept that analogy, the one inarguable lesson we learn is that for some reason the broken luchot made it into the aron.
The simplest moral here is that we need both pairs of luchot -one set representing our moment of forgiveness and triumph, and the other to keep us humble.
The aron is a reminder of God, and its contents are a reminder of the power of healing and the value of forgiveness.
If we remember our own sins, we also remember to tolerate and understand the sins of others.
If we consider the Jewish people who sinned after witnessing their miraculous redemption from Egypt, perhaps we can spare a little "chanun" for those who sin in our own more confusing times.
This weekend I heard a moving story. It is about Rabbi Eliezer Silver, ztz"l, a true giant of American Jewry in the first half of the 20th century (2).
Apparently Rabbi Silver's congregation in Cincinnati had a fairly mixed crowd. Many attendees were not religious, and so someone asked Rabbi Silver how/why he was okay praying in such non-distinguished company?
Now I recognize that some of us won't even understand the hava aminah (presumption) of the question as we would say in the Talmud -OF COURSE we should pray together! Other people won't be satisfied by ANY answer -let's only pray if we are all identical card-carrying members of the Sonei Achim, Ohavei Lariv sect. But let's put aside what we think, and our initial sympathies or antipathies with the question.
Rabbi Silver answered by citing the example of the aron where both the whole and the broken luchot resided together.
How beautiful. How moving. Simple and deep all at once. I can't help but be haunted by the image of Jews who are maybe not fully there when it comes to religious practice as being "luchot" -created by God, holy, if not wholly there.
And then there is the word shattered which could replace the word broken -these Jews, perhaps unconsciously, are shattered by their alienation from God. Let us not add to that pain by also alienating them from us.
In all honesty, this We are The World approach has practical benefits for all parties. If we embrace the complexities of human nature (and of or own natures), then we know that there are times when we are luchot sh'leimot and times we are shivrei luchot -- we are strong and committed, skeptical and confused, chillul or kiddush Hashems all in one imperfect, inconsistent package.
As long as that imperfect package stands in God's tent, and keeps the tent flaps open to all sides, we can perfect both ourselves and the world.
(1) They argue instead about the identity of the third item stored in the aron
(2) The OU's website describes him as follows: "Rabbi Eliezer Silver (ZT”L) of Cincinnati, OH, achieved national and world renown for his leadership role in a number of organizations-Founder and President of the Agudath Israel of America, President of the Vaad HaRabbanim of the U.S. and Canada, and Founder and President of the Vaad Hatzalah Rescue Committee (he helped save thousands during and after the Holocaust). Rabbi Silver was also instrumental in founding one of the first Jewish Day Schools west of the Appalachian Mountains, the Cincinnati Hebrew Day School/Chofetz Chaim (CHDS)."
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Widows and Orphans and Strangers, Oh My
My headline is flip but the subject matter is anything but a joke.
And the Oh My, if we think about it, is a comment on just how far the Torah goes to protect those who most need our protection.
Parshat Yitro introduces not only law in the form of the 10 statements/dibrot, but also gives us a glimpse of the mercy behind the law(I'm thinking of that old ad campaign that says, The Softer Side of Sears). This mercy, in particular, is reserved for the defenseless. (1)
The extent of that mercy is actually shocking. According to Ibn Ezra, this is a rare instance where if you just WATCH someone else misbehave, you're as bad and as liable as the perpetrator. That's not true of murder or stealing, or the usual slew of shalt nots, but here, you started up with the wrong person.
And the Torah itself ironically, and dramatically, lays out the key punishment - you mess with widows and orphans, and what do you think will happen to your wife and kids? Yup, they'll turn into widows and orphans.
Growing up, we used to have that color war chant: don't mess with the best, because the best don't mess. What's unique from a moral perspective is that here we are being warned not to mess with the, well if not the worst, at least the weakest.
Amaleik attacks the weakest, kol hanechashalim akharekha, but from day 1 and Parsha 1 of our receiving the Torah we are given a different playbook. Protecting the weak is what will keep us strong, both practically (or we'll "hear from" God), and morally.
Don't think we're just talking about doing really bad stuff to widows and orphans. The Mechilta clarifies that the verse uses double language (if you aneih, ta'aneh -a doubling of afflict) to say, you need to sweat the small stuff too, big or little offenses are both a no-no(see, more double language).
Maimonides in some ways takes this further. In two places he expands the law: more than just refraining from doing them harm, you should teach them, help them, encourage them, and train them. He even, if you take a psychologically sophisticated reading, points to the sensitive balance needed in making sure that While you help them, you make sure they don't feel too much Like a victim.
The widow and the orphan are alone -and God adopts them.
Years ago, I remember sitting with a girlfriend whose father had a terminal illness. We were visiting Richard Joel (then at Hillel) and he shared something at once so personal and so poignant that I have never forgotten it. He mentioned that when he lost his father, as sad as it was, as tragic as it was, there was something almost mystical and uplifting about how we was then able to really appreciate and internalize the idea of God as his Father, capital F. When you have no father, the concept of Avinu Shebashmayim takes on a whole new dimension.
It is a beautiful and a comforting thought -what's perhaps more shocking, is to consider its role in the halakhot we have been describing.
God takes His responsibility seriously. He has an extra tie, however we can understand that, to the underdogs.
Which brings us to perhaps the most poetic and inspiring commentary I have ever seen, brought by the Kli Yakar.
We mentioned that God uses a double language when warning us not to start up with widows and orphans and strangers -
im aneih ta'aneh ..if you afflict/afflict
What we did not mention is that the Torah adds an object pronoun which just seems wrong, the word OTO, him, singular.
im aneih ta'aneh OTO..
Don't oppress/oppress HIM? Him? Him who? Don't we mean to say Them?
The Keli Yakar says the HIM is God, and when we hurt the widow or the orphan, or -fill in the blank re. people who most need our support - then we're also hurting God.
He adds a haunting image: picture, he says, that the victim is crying from earth, while God's sense of justice cries out from heavens above (the verse also has a double language of crying out), until God's mercy answers all cries and takes care of those who need His help and love.
Parshat Yitro not only teaches use to be kind to the stranger, but shows Moshe just doing that in the form of Yitro (2). We welcome not only Yitro, butYitro's suggestions (3). So Yitro is the stranger. And unfortunately, the examples of widows and orphans are common and constant.
May God's sense of mercy and love inspire our own acts of kindness.
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(1) Other than a few small additions and subtractions, this post and all of its sources come from a shiur by Rabbi Daniel Fridman of The Jewish Center; any mistakes are my own.
(2)This part is among my additions.
(3)I mean this seriously, not cynically; it is sometimes easier to accept a person that to accept their ideas, or to separate, as Rabbi Meir did, the wheat from the chaff of someone else's thought.
And the Oh My, if we think about it, is a comment on just how far the Torah goes to protect those who most need our protection.
Parshat Yitro introduces not only law in the form of the 10 statements/dibrot, but also gives us a glimpse of the mercy behind the law(I'm thinking of that old ad campaign that says, The Softer Side of Sears). This mercy, in particular, is reserved for the defenseless. (1)
The extent of that mercy is actually shocking. According to Ibn Ezra, this is a rare instance where if you just WATCH someone else misbehave, you're as bad and as liable as the perpetrator. That's not true of murder or stealing, or the usual slew of shalt nots, but here, you started up with the wrong person.
And the Torah itself ironically, and dramatically, lays out the key punishment - you mess with widows and orphans, and what do you think will happen to your wife and kids? Yup, they'll turn into widows and orphans.
Growing up, we used to have that color war chant: don't mess with the best, because the best don't mess. What's unique from a moral perspective is that here we are being warned not to mess with the, well if not the worst, at least the weakest.
Amaleik attacks the weakest, kol hanechashalim akharekha, but from day 1 and Parsha 1 of our receiving the Torah we are given a different playbook. Protecting the weak is what will keep us strong, both practically (or we'll "hear from" God), and morally.
Don't think we're just talking about doing really bad stuff to widows and orphans. The Mechilta clarifies that the verse uses double language (if you aneih, ta'aneh -a doubling of afflict) to say, you need to sweat the small stuff too, big or little offenses are both a no-no(see, more double language).
Maimonides in some ways takes this further. In two places he expands the law: more than just refraining from doing them harm, you should teach them, help them, encourage them, and train them. He even, if you take a psychologically sophisticated reading, points to the sensitive balance needed in making sure that While you help them, you make sure they don't feel too much Like a victim.
The widow and the orphan are alone -and God adopts them.
Years ago, I remember sitting with a girlfriend whose father had a terminal illness. We were visiting Richard Joel (then at Hillel) and he shared something at once so personal and so poignant that I have never forgotten it. He mentioned that when he lost his father, as sad as it was, as tragic as it was, there was something almost mystical and uplifting about how we was then able to really appreciate and internalize the idea of God as his Father, capital F. When you have no father, the concept of Avinu Shebashmayim takes on a whole new dimension.
It is a beautiful and a comforting thought -what's perhaps more shocking, is to consider its role in the halakhot we have been describing.
God takes His responsibility seriously. He has an extra tie, however we can understand that, to the underdogs.
Which brings us to perhaps the most poetic and inspiring commentary I have ever seen, brought by the Kli Yakar.
We mentioned that God uses a double language when warning us not to start up with widows and orphans and strangers -
im aneih ta'aneh ..if you afflict/afflict
What we did not mention is that the Torah adds an object pronoun which just seems wrong, the word OTO, him, singular.
im aneih ta'aneh OTO..
Don't oppress/oppress HIM? Him? Him who? Don't we mean to say Them?
The Keli Yakar says the HIM is God, and when we hurt the widow or the orphan, or -fill in the blank re. people who most need our support - then we're also hurting God.
He adds a haunting image: picture, he says, that the victim is crying from earth, while God's sense of justice cries out from heavens above (the verse also has a double language of crying out), until God's mercy answers all cries and takes care of those who need His help and love.
Parshat Yitro not only teaches use to be kind to the stranger, but shows Moshe just doing that in the form of Yitro (2). We welcome not only Yitro, butYitro's suggestions (3). So Yitro is the stranger. And unfortunately, the examples of widows and orphans are common and constant.
May God's sense of mercy and love inspire our own acts of kindness.
--------
(1) Other than a few small additions and subtractions, this post and all of its sources come from a shiur by Rabbi Daniel Fridman of The Jewish Center; any mistakes are my own.
(2)This part is among my additions.
(3)I mean this seriously, not cynically; it is sometimes easier to accept a person that to accept their ideas, or to separate, as Rabbi Meir did, the wheat from the chaff of someone else's thought.
Victimless Crime? A lesson from a ramp, a challah cover and Parshat Yitro
We often hear about victimless crimes. I think at the end of Parshat Yitro, the torah raises the bar and quite possibly does away with this category completely. We are told that when the kohanim offer their sacrifices, they use a ramp -because if they took steps, they would inadvertently "flash" the stairs and that would be disrespectful.
Of course we know of other instances where we impute feelings to inanimate objects, most famously Friday nights where we don't want to offend the bread by drinking wine first. This isn't the pathetic fallacy referred to by literary theorists, or mumbo-jumbo spirituality. It's pretty clear that this is an exercise in what an HR department would term sensitivity training.
We don't care about a purported victim, because there is none. We practice because it helps US to have this sensitivity, even as some rabbis explain the goal of charity is as much to keep ourselves attuned to the needs of others as it is to pass on actual help.
Of course we know of other instances where we impute feelings to inanimate objects, most famously Friday nights where we don't want to offend the bread by drinking wine first. This isn't the pathetic fallacy referred to by literary theorists, or mumbo-jumbo spirituality. It's pretty clear that this is an exercise in what an HR department would term sensitivity training.
We don't care about a purported victim, because there is none. We practice because it helps US to have this sensitivity, even as some rabbis explain the goal of charity is as much to keep ourselves attuned to the needs of others as it is to pass on actual help.
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