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Yeshivat Har Etzion

Upon his arrival at the camp of Benei Yisrael, Yitro "brought a burnt-offering and sacrifices to God; and Aharon came with all the elders of Israel to eat bread before God with Moshe's father-in-law" (18:12). The simple interpretation of the "bread" eaten by Aharon and the elders is the sacrificial meat offered by Yitro. The Chumash many times refers to sacrificial meat as "lechem" - literally translated as bread, but often referring to food in general. Thus, here, too, "lechem" may simply denote the meat of Yitro's offerings.

Some, however, prefer to understand "lechem" in this verse literally, as ordinary bread. According to this interpretation, the verse comes to draw a fundamental distinction between Yitro on the one hand and Aharon and the elders on the other. Yitro thought that in order for him to eat "before God," he had to offer sacrifices. Only in the sublime context of sacrifices could he connect to the Almighty through the mundane activity of eating. Aharon and elders, however, taught him otherwise: "Aharon came with all the elders of Israel to EAT BREAD BEFORE GOD." They showed Yitro that even an ordinary act of consumption could be transformed into a sacred activity of divine worship. Still in his early stages of learning, Yitro felt the need to reach beyond the physical confines of reality to approach God. Aharon and the elders thus joined his sacrificial feast with their own, ordinary food, but also with their own profound sense of Godliness and spirituality.

Indeed, we need not look to superhuman endeavors as the fulfillment of God's Will. Perhaps more to the point, we may not excuse ourselves from striving further by rendering spirituality beyond the capabilities of our limited, physical reality. We can and therefore must work towards religious perfection specifically within the context of normal living and day-to-day activity. By viewing Torah and mitzvot as our primary responsibility and concern, we too can eat our bread "before God."

[Prepared by David Silverberg.]

A LESSON IN LEADERSHIP

As God prepares to descend upon Mount Sinai in this week's parasha, we find a perplexing dialogue between Him and Moshe (19:21-24). At first, God tells him to give two separate warnings, one to the nation, "lest they trample to Lord to see and many fall from them;" the priests, on the other hand, "shall sanctify themselves, lest God breach them." Moshe objects that the people already know that the mountain must be cordoned off; to this, God replies that "the priests and the nation shall not trample to ascend to Lord, lest Lord breach them."

What is the motivation of the difference between the two warnings? In the first, the nation and the priests receive separate injunctions, with two different hazards, while in the second, the priests and the nation have the same prohibition and face the same danger, that of a "breach." Why does God differentiate in this way? Furthermore, what is the meaning of Moshe's reaction in the middle?

We may answer that originally God addressed only the mob mentality, the human tendency to push and trample each other in a crowd as each tries to see something interesting—perhaps to the extent that "many fall from them," from their own carelessness. The priests "who draw close to God" do not share this common jeopardy, but they face a different danger: that their spiritual inspiration will overtake them and drive them to reach beyond their place, which would, as it were, obligate God to "breach them." Essentially, this is what happens to Aharon's older sons Nadav and Avihu later on, and the Sages see the roots in their conduct at Sinai (Rashi 24:10).Therefore, the priests must "sanctify themselves," i.e., separate themselves to a certain extent from the divine.

Moshe, however, unfailing defender of the nation, objects that the people would never do such a thing, for God has already "warned us, saying, 'Cordon off the mountain and sanctify it.'" Therefore, God responds that even though Moshe and Aharon will ascend, as they are capable of experiencing the phenomenon of the Giving of the Torah from up close, and even though there may be no problem of a mob mentality for the nation, they still have the problem of the priests, namely that they may exceed their boundaries out of a genuine feeling of religious zeal and press forward not "to see" but to "ascend to Lord," forcing God to "breach" them. This time Moshe understands.

Obviously, Moshe did not tell God anything He did not know. Rather, we may say that the divine intent here is to show Moshe, the tyro in national leadership, that he must think about these issues, even those which may turn out not to be problematic; in other words, he has to address equally the issues of lack of spirituality and of excessive zeal. A leader must worry about everything, general and specific, spiritual and physical, idealistic and pragmatic—and none more so than Moshe, who is about to lead the nation of Yisrael through the most important event in human history.

[Prepared by Yoseif Bloch.]

Parashat Yitro begins with Yitro's joining Benei Yisrael. Rashi cites the comment of the Gemara in Zevachim that Yitro's arrival was precipitated by the news he heard of two momentous events - the splitting of the Yam Suf and the battle against Amalek. Many later commentators have attempted to identify the particular significance and impact of specifically these two incidents.

The Kotzker Rebbe suggested that Yitro was driven to relocate to the camp of Benei Yisrael by the audacity he saw within Amalek's unprovoked offensive against Benei Yisrael. In their inspirational song of praise after the splitting of the sea ("Az Yashir"), Benei Yisrael note the worldwide notoriety of this miracle: "The peoples hear, they tremble; agony grips the dwellers in Philisita… All the dwellers in Canaan are aghast. Terror and dread descend upon them; through the might of Your arm they are still as stone…" The Midrash writes that in fact all waters in the world split at the moment God separated the waters of the Yam Suf, further emphasizing the profound, international ramifications of the former slaves' victory over their Egyptian masters.

And yet, in spite it all, Amalek still had the gall to launch an unprovoked military offensive against Benei Yisrael! How is this possible? All the nations of the world tremble in fear, dreading the divine power of the God of Israel. How could a nation dare engage in battle against the God who drowned the entire Egyptian army?

A man as intelligent as Yitro could figure out the reason and draw the proper conclusion. As the Kotzker Rebbe explains, Yitro realized that the nations' inspiration upon hearing the news of the splitting of the sea was but a momentary rush of spiritual awareness. It was destined to be short-lived since the nations had nothing with which to follow up upon these sentiments. Amalek's brazen attack demonstrated that an instantaneous moment of sincere religious reflection quickly fades in the absence of reinforcement. These feelings cannot survive in a vacuum; they require constant nurturing and progressive development in order to leave their imprint upon the individual.

This recognition led Yitro to examine his own religious self. He immediately sensed that his own spirituality cannot survive in the deserts of Midyan. Only by joining Benei Yisrael, by allowing himself to dwell among Moshe, Aharon and the other tzadikim, can he hope to retain the intensity of faith and religious resolve that he had attained. Genuinely concerned about his own well-being, he took his family and possessions and joined the Jewish nation, in order that he be given the opportunity to build upon his knowledge and experience of God.

[Prepared by David Silverberg.]

“Do not place anything [ta’asun] alongside me; gods of silver and gold do not make for yourselves” (Shemot 20:19). With these words, the parasha seems reiterate the first and second of the Aseret Ha-dibrot almost immediately upon the heels of the initial commandment. Furthermore, the encounter at Mt. Sinai seems to provide the reasoning for the latter commandment: “…you have seen that I have spoken to you from the heavens. Do not place…” (Shemot 20:18-9). If the initial encounter was unconvincing, can predicating a command on its memory be more convincing?

Moreover, why does the Torah warn in particular against gold and silver gods? Are other materials worthy of worship? Clearly, this reiteration is saying something more.

In some exegetical traditions, gold and silver symbolize justice and mercy. Thus, when the Torah prohibits us from making gods of silver and gold, it is not repeating a previous injunction; rather, we are prohibited from making God into a god of justice or a god of mercy. We are never to fall prey, as we so often do with our fellows, to the desire to characterize and conceptualize God. We are not to make God in our own image (perhaps this reveals a deeper meaning of “lo ta’asun iti” or, and Chazal explained, “lo ta’asun oti.”

Having encountered God at Mt. Sinai, having been overwhelmed by the manifestation of His presence, we have known that no human thought can begin to know God. We have known that any attempt to describe God, to intuit His Will, to search for the meaning of His ways, is to bring Him down to our level. We are never to be guilty of that. God is not mercy. God is not justice. God is not love or hate, good or evil, truth, or faith. God is God. Hashem hu ha-Elokim.

[Prepared by Elli Fischer.]

Parashat Mishpatim focuses primarily on civil laws, covering a wide array of areas concerning interpersonal relationships and the individual's responsibility towards the societal good. Beyond their narrow, specific applications, many of the laws reflect more general principles relevant to day-to-day conduct and attitude, which must draw our attention as we study this parasha.

For example, one verse in the parasha establishes the prohibition against cursing a judge (22:27). Although at first glance we would attribute this form of disdain for authority to only the very weakest moral exemplars of society, the Midrash brings this prohibition somewhat closer to home. It depicts a case of a litigant convinced of his innocence who was found guilty by the Jewish tribunal. Outraged over what he perceives as an outright perversion of justice, the convicted defendant will likely maledict the judge, who has now become his judicial nemesis. The Seforno explains this prohibition based on the human tendency to overlook his own error and insist upon his correctness. We are admonished to overcome this human inclination and humbly submit to the authority of the court.

And so, a prohibition regarding an act unthinkable for most of us has become a lesson in day-to-day living. When was the last time any of us acknowledged having been wrong? How often does an argument end with the confession, "You are right; I am wrong"? Call it stubbornness, arrogance, or simple intellectual inertia, people often lack the ability to admit to having been in error. This human tendency underlies the Torah's exhortation against blaspheming a judiciary body. One must recognize his own fallibility and seriously entertain the possibility of his having been mistaken.

We may relate this issue to the highlight of Parashat Mishpatim, perhaps the most triumphant moment in Jewish history: "And they said, 'All that God has spoken we will do and obey'" ('na'aseh v'nishma'). Chazal laud Benei Yisrael for their a priori, unconditional acceptance of the strictures of the Torah even before they learn of what such a commitment entails or the underlying rationale of the countless rules and regulations contained therein. Recognizing the shortcomings of their own intellect and the infinite superiority of Divine Wisdom to their own, Benei Yisrael readily submitted themselves to God's Will, whatever it may be. They blindly accepted the Torah because they realized the absurdity of challenging the reasoning or relevance of God's law. Should a contradiction arise between their own rational thinking and a Divine imperative, the former is immediately dismissed.

Indeed, when prohibiting the cursing of judges, the Torah refers to them as "elohim," the word generally used to describe the Almighty Himself. One who refuses to accept the court's ruling - insofar as he refuses to accept his own imperfection - approaches the level of arrogance of one who blasphemes God, Heaven forbid. One so convinced of his own ideas to the extent that he curses those who insist otherwise will find it difficult to submit himself unconditionally to the mandate of the Torah. As soon as the Torah contradicts his own intuition or line of reasoning, he will reject the mitzvah at hand, affording greater authority to his own, limited intellect. Just as the declaration of "na'aseh v'nishma" requires our dismissal of our own ideological preferences when they oppose those of the Torah, so does this prohibition similarly demand that we think twice before rejecting someone else's argument. As we may realize only all too rarely, sometimes even we make mistakes.

[Prepared by David Silverberg.]

Forced and Voluntary Acceptance of the Torah

Rashi quotes the Gemara (Shabbat 88a) in explanation of the words "vayityatzvu b'tachtit hahar" (Shemot 19:18) that G-d suspended the over them and said that if they did not accept the Torah that would become their grave. The Gemara continues to say that this could be an excuse for lack of fulfilment later but that during the the Purim episode the Torah was accepted again.

It is possible that what the Gemara means is that the incredibly imposing exprerience at Mt Sinai, together with the awareness that the world would disintegrate if they refused (see Rashi), both assured their acceptance and stole all meaning from their decision. In the Purim episode the people were were in exile - not in a Jewishly imposing environment. Their hearts were excited, yet not forced by their experience of the miracle.

There are many advantages in imposing experiences and philosophical clarity of vision, yet as far as one's own personal acceptance is concerned it is often those less compatible environments which produce lasting and binding obligation.

It was, however, necessary for them to accept the Torah primarily through an awareness that it is not a voluntary enterprise but an imposing and fundamental obligation, even a condition to the continuation of the world's existence. We must fulfil the Torah out of love and create a personal and binding relationship, yet not lose sight of the fact that it is ultimately a fundamental obligation. (We must do good because we want to, but know that it would be corrupt to even suggest an alternative.) Our acceptance ultimately stems from an awareness that we don't really have a choice, but in order for it to be a real and personally binding obligation it must also evolve in a voluntary context.

[Prepared by Shlomo Dov Rosen.]

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