Mishpatim - The Many Meanings of Mitzvot

Mishpatim/Laws

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth!

Very good; that way the whole world will be blind and toothless.

–Fiddler on the Roof

            When Tevye the milkman made the statement above, he did not realize that the verse “an eye for an eye,” which appears in this week’s portion, was interpreted by the Rabbis to mean that a person is required to give monetary compensation for committing a bodily injury.  According to Maimonides, no Rabbinic court ever ruled that one who blinded another should himself be blinded; rather, he must pay the value of the eye (or other injured limb).  Still, if Tevye’s sentiment was that we should not be overly harsh in our treatment of one another, even our enemies, then he makes a good point.  The parasha certainly agrees with this sentiment, admonishing us to return an ox to our enemy if we encounter it wandering off.

           

These laws are part of a wide range of mitzvot (commandments) given to the Israelites immediately after the revelation at Sinai.  In total, fifty-three mitzvot appear in this parasha (which is appropriately titled Mishpatim, or “laws”).  Twenty-three of them are imperative commandments, such as bringing agricultural gifts during the three seasonal Festivals; the other thirty are prohibitions, including those against taking bribes in court, charging excessive interest and cooking a kid (i.e. a goat) in its mother’s milk. 

Jewish laws are often divided into two categories:  chukim (statutes or decrees) and mishpatim (laws or judgments).  Mishpatim are laws with readily apparent utility or rationale, such as not murdering; such laws stress the function of the mitzvot as educators and enlighteners of human life.   By contrast, chukim (such as the dietary regulations) have no apparent rational basis; we follow them simply because they are God’s decree, and thus they emphasize the supra-rationality of our commitment to God. 

Of course, even the rules we don’t understand can be powerful communal markers.  For many people who are committed to Jewish life, it is the force of history, family and tradition that compels them to keep the laws of kashrut and others.  And as we all know, without our traditions our lives would be as shaky as—well, as a fiddler on the roof!

Yitro - Experiencing Revelation

Yitro/Jethro

 

In Parashat Yitro, Moses is visited by his father-in-law, Yitro.  Like any good father-in-law, Yitro gives out plenty of advice, and it turns out to be very helpful; realizing that Moses is burned out from dealing with the people's problems, Yitro helps Moses devise a new system for judging their disputes. 

            The high point of the parasha (and perhaps of the whole Torah) is the arrival of the Children of Israel at Mt. Sinai, where they receive the Ten Commandmants (aseret hadibrot, literally "the ten statements," or "utterances").  Six weeks after leaving Egypt, and after hundreds of years in slavery, the Israelites as a whole people now experience divine revelation and enter into a covenantal relationship with God.

            According to Neil Gillman, a preeminent Conservative rabbi, scholar and theologian, "revelation is what creates Judaism as a religion; it is what brings God into a relationship with a community of human beings. Without God's revelation - however we understand it - Judaism would be a matter of peoplehood and culture alone, and God would be irrelevant to the human enterprise."

            How do we understand revelation?  Was the Torah indeed revealed directly by God?
Are there other ways in which God reveals Godself - or God's will?

            One traditional Jewish response is that the Torah is in fact the explicitly revealed word of God.  God dictated the words of the Torah to Moses, who recorded God's words in the text we have today. This understanding has been articulated by Norman Lamm, president of Yeshiva University, who writes that the Torah was revealed "in discreet words and letters."

            By contrast, Mordecai Kaplan (who taught at JTS before founding the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College) described God as "the power that makes for salvation." He viewed revelation as human discovery; for Kaplan, God works naturally in and through human beings.

            For the 20th century philosopher Franz Rosensweig, what was revealed at Sinai was God's presence. The verse in the Torah that says "God came down on Sinai" concludes the revelation; the next passage is already interpretive. Torah, then, is Israel's response to the revelatory encounter, spelling out how Israel undertood its relationship with a commanding God.

            Abraham Joshua Heschel likewise wrote, "As a report about revelation, the Torah itself is a midrash (interpretation)." The Torah, he explains, was divinely revealed, but interpreted by people into the text we have today. Heschel accepts the personal, transcendent God of the Bible, but insists God cannot be conceptualized by humans.

            Martin Buber had a unique view.  He wrote about engaging in a fully present “I-Thou” relationship with God, a relationship that serves as a model for our interactions with all people.  In an I-Thou relationship, each person turns toward the other with openness and ethical engagement.  It is a relationship characterized by dialogue; each participant is concerned for the other person.  The honor of the other—and not just his usefulness—is paramount.  According to Buber, it is through such encounters with other human beings that one encounters God. 

            According to this view, how we engage with others not only affects our human interactions but can actually lead to a divine, revelatory experience...even with our in-laws.   Shabbat shalom! 

Beshalach - Mourning into Dancing

Shabbat Shirah ~ Beshalach/When he Sent

“Then Miriam the prophet took out a timbrel in her hand…”  

            This Shabbat is known on the calendar as Shabbat Shirah (Sabbath of singing), and indeed, this week’s readings are truly filled with song.  In Beshalach, Moses and the Israelites sing a song of praise after crossing the Red Sea, and Miriam then leads the women in joyful music and dance.  Additionally, in the haftarah we read Deborah’s song celebrating her military victory.  And why shouldn’t there be lots of singing?  After all, the story is also filled with God’s miracles, which the people experience directly and powerfully:  After the splitting of the sea, God sweetens the bitter waters at Marah; causes potable water to spring from a rock; rains down manna to eat each morning; and sends quail to eat in the evenings. And when the Amalekites attack the Israelites along their journey, Moses raises his staff in the air, enabling them to miraculously defeat their attackers. 

After providing them with manna, God instructs the Israelites to gather a double portion on Friday so that it will last them two days, as none will descend on Shabbat, the day of rest.  We reenact this gathering of the double portion every week in our homes by reciting Ha-Motzi (the blessing for bread) over two loaves of challah at the Shabbat table. 

            This instruction to refrain from going out on Shabbat to look for manna was an exercise in faith for the people; instead of being concerned with where the next batch would come from, they focused instead on what they had at the present time, resting assured that there would be more in the week ahead.  And so it is with us each Shabbat.  When we recite the Shabbat Amidah we omit the usual prayers of petition (for wisdom, redemption, success) that appear in the normal weekday liturgy.  Instead of focusing our Shabbat prayers on things that are lacking, we instead reflect on those things—the everyday miracles, the joy, the songs—that we already have in abundance.  

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            This week we mourn the loss of beloved singer/songwriter Debbie Friedman, who for decades enriched the lives of Jewish congregants, campers, students and families with her joyful music.  Many people are familiar with her melodies—such as the well-known “yai-dai” Havdalah—without even realizing it.  Among her greatest hits are “Miriam’s Song” and “Devorah’s Song,” about the heroic women in this very week’s parasha and haftarah.  And her rendition of “Misheberach,” the prayer for healing, is used in synagogues and schools around the globe. 

            In her recent album, Friedman quotes Psalm 30, singing, "You turned my mourning into dancing, so that my soul might sing to you and not be stilled."  When we raise our voices in joyful prayer and invigorate the synagogue service with spirited music, we carry on Friedman's monumental legacy.  This Shabbat Shirah, as we read about Miriam's dance and Deborah's song, may the songs of our own mouths and hearts turn "mourning into dancing." 
Zichrona livracha - may her memory be for a blessing. 

Debbie Friedman performs "Mourning into Dancing" and Video Tribute