The Torah Asks Too Much of Us Today

What follows is my sermon about the return of hostages Oded Lifshitz and Ariel, Kfir and later Shiri Bibas z”l.

The rabbis declare, “The whole Torah depends on justice. That is why the Holy One, blessed be God, gave the civil laws directly after the Ten Commandments.” (Shemot Rabbah 30:15)

This week in Parashat Mishpatim, we read fifty-three laws. Most are civil laws. They deal with mundane things such as making loans. They talk about how to determine ownership of disputed property. They offer the all too often misunderstood and frequently misquoted “eye an for eye,” which is not about seeking revenge but instead figuring out how damages should be leveled if a person is injured by another. This week’s laws legislate the punishment for murder and when killing a thief is deemed legitimate self-defense. They detail people’s responsibilities to their neighbors, describing what to do if someone falls into a pit on one’s property or how to deal with an ox who is in the habit of goring people. And on and on. Fifty-three laws, fifty-three mishpatim, about building a society that is founded on justice and fairness.

Immediately following the giving of the Ten Commandments, the Torah turns to the everyday laws that govern society. It is as if to say, “You think it’s all about keeping Shabbat and worshipping the one and only God. No. The real work is found in the details of building a just society.” And so the Torah explains in exhaustive detail how we are to get along with others and how we are going to care for our neighbors and how we might protect others against harm.

But this week, and especially after yesterday’s news about the Bibas family and today’s reports about the brutal murders of Ariel and Kfir Bibas and the unspeakable cruelty of not sending Shiri’s body back to Israel as promised, there are laws in this week’s portion that are to be candid, make me feel like I am choking.

We read, “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” But how can anyone truly know someone else’s feelings? How can anyone understand what we have experienced or felt what we felt in this past year and a half? Then again how can anyone really know another’s pain. I am choking on our pain. I am suffocated by our heartbreak.

The Torah continues, “When you encounter your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering, you must take it back.” (Exodus 23) And, “When you see the donkey of your enemy lying down because of its burden and you might think that you don’t need to raise, you must nevertheless assist your enemy and help it up.” You just want to scream, “You have to be kidding me! You want me to help my enemy care for its animals? You want me to cooperate with someone who is bent on destroying us and who plots such cruelty?” They have not given up on their attempts to kill us. They even terrorize us when humanity dictates it should be a private, quiet transfer of bodies.

This is all too much to ask. Not this week. And maybe not for many weeks to come—and I fear years to come. After such cruel tortures the only helping hand I wish to offer is that to my own people. But I do not have enough hands to heal all this pain. And I fear that we no longer have the capacity to heal ourselves or for that matter do the Torah’s bidding and realize its dreams of lending helping hands to everyone, even our enemies. How can we possibly help lift their burdens when we cannot even carry our own?

In a collection of poetry called Shiva: Poems of October 7th, I discover the writing of Elchanan Nir. He writes,

Now like air to breathe
We need a new Torah.
Gasping for air and with choking throats
We need a new Mishnah and a new Gemara,
A new Kabbalah, and new Elevations of the Soul
And from the midst of all the wreckage, the salt and the desert land, now
A new Hasidism and a new Zionism
A new Rav Kook and a new Brenner,
A new poetry, new Rabbinic Responsa
And new Leah Goldberg and new Yechaveh Daat
New art and new poetry
New literature and new cinema
And new-ancient words
New ancient souls from the treasury of souls.
And a new love out of the terrible weeping.
For we were all washed in the rivers of the music festival and Kibbutz Be’eri
And we have no other mountain with us
Nor another ten commandments
No other Moses and no more strength
From this moment everything is
In our hands.

These hands have barely enough strength after 504 days to help ourselves. They only want justice for ourselves and have no more strength for the loftiness of God’s dreams. Justice, You command, O God. And we respond, first for us and for our tortured and terrorized people. Let us be healed first and foremost.

In the daily Amidah recited at weekday services, the tradition offers this prayer:

Restore our judges as in days of old and our advisors as in former times. And remove sorrow and complaint from among us, and reign over us, You alone, Adonai, in kindness and mercy, and acquit us. Blessed are You, Adonai, our Ruler who loves righteousness and justice.

Every day we pray God, You are the God of justice. Justice is our daily prayer. Justice for our people. Justice for the world. But the prayer makes clear what we feel in this moment. First sorrow must be removed. Only then justice might be achieved.

Finding our way back to the law, to the mishpat, is the path our Torah offers.

These days I am left wondering when it might become our path once again. In these harrowing days I am wondering when it might become the world’s destination. For now justice remains a daily prayer. This week, and this evening, some things are not within reach of our hands and only within reach of our prayers.

Baruch Ata Adonai, melech ohev tzedakah u’mishpat. Blessed are You Adonai, our Ruler who loves righteousness and justice.