It's the Grown-up Thing to Do.

Parashat Ki Tetze 5770

             

Having young children in your home at times feels like being the anthropologist living among warring tribes of ruthless Ya̧nomamö warriors.  Take my two year-old twins (please).  I like to observe Hannah and Micah when they don’t think I’m watching.  It’s interesting to see how they figure out problems together (like how to help each other climb up a book shelf) or how they are learning to share and take turns.  But, they are two years old and it usually doesn’t take long before the harmonious little society they’ve created in the living room breaks down.  One of them decides sharing is overrated, the other grabs the toy, the other screams, then the other replies with hitting or pinching, then it escalates to bighting or pulling hair.  Meanwhile I sit in the corner wearing my pith helmet recording it all in a field journal.  Of course, I’m kidding… as a parent I break up the fight and I discipline them.  It drives me crazy when the kids fight.  But I try to remember that they are, after all, two year-olds.  They don’t yet have the impulse control to respond appropriately when they feel wronged.  They haven’t learned that there are more important things at stake than who has the ball.    

It’s also interesting to observe how our 5 year-old, Koby, behaves differently.  His little brother and sister gang up on him – they break his stuff, they hit and pinch, they pull his hair; but, matter what they do to him, he very rarely will retaliate in kind.  It’s interesting to observe what a difference a few years makes: he’s begun to understand that even when someone does you harm, it isn’t always justifiable to do the same back.  He’s learned that there are higher principles to take into account: he understands that they are still learning how to behave; he knows that escalating isn’t going to solve the problem; he trusts that he can rely on grown-ups to help him; and he’s learning that hurting his siblings is wrong no matter what.  Approaching age six, he’s become more mature and I’m proud of him for that.  It isn’t easy to do the right thing when your instincts dictate otherwise.  

 This week’s Torah portion is largely about the rules that ask us to transcend our instincts and inclinations – even when giving in to them might be justifiable.  At first glance, Parashat Ki Tetze reads like a laundry list of laws that don’t have much to do with one another.  But one theme that ties together most of the mitzvot in Ki Tetze is the irreducible dignity and worth of every human being.  These are laws that demand that we uphold principles, even when it feels like a sacrifice.  Here are some of them:

                The Torah says that if you, as a soldier, are fighting in a war and you take a woman captive; and if you find her attractive and want to marry her, you have to wait for a month.  In the meantime, she’s supposed to make herself as unattractive as possible.  If after a month you still like her – only then can you marry her. If not, you have to set her free?  Why?  Why is it that in a world in which it was typical for men to rape women in war, Israelite soldiers had to go to such lengths to marry a captive woman?  Would our enemies have afforded our women the same rights?  After all, he’s not forcing her.  But God says no, you have to give her time to mourn her parents and you have to transcend the passion you felt on the battlefield in order to preserve her dignity.  If you’re going to marry her, you have to actually fall in love with her.  

The Torah says when you see someone’s lost animal, you have to return it.  Why?  Why is it your problem if your neighbor can’t keep his ox tied up?  What if your neighbor is a jerk?  But God says no, you can’t ignore it, lo tuchal l’hit-alem.  It doesn’t matter if you like your neighbor; you have to go out of your way to help him.  

The Torah says when you build a house with a flat roof, you need to build a wall around it to prevent people from falling off.  Why?  It’s your house.  If someone’s walking around on your roof and they don’t look where they’re going, why is that your fault?  You didn’t push them off!  But God says no – you have to protect other people, even against their own clumsiness.  

The Torah says if your father is married to a woman who isn’t your mother and your father dies, you can’t marry his widow.  Why not?  Your single; she’s single.  You like her; she likes you. What’s wrong with that? –she’s not even related to you! But God says no – you have to transcend your instincts and respect your father’s dignity even in death.  

The Torah says if you lend someone money you can’t take the clothes off his back or the tools he uses to make a living as collateral.  Why not?  If he wants to pawn his shirt, why’s that your problem!  But God says no, you have to look out for his dignity, even if poverty has stripped him of it. 

The Torah says if someone owes you money and doesn’t pay up, you can’t enter her house to seize property.  Why not?  You’re the repo man; and you’re taking what is rightfully yours.  But God says no - it may be yours, but you have to afford her the dignity of handing it over herself.  

The Torah says if you hire a day laborer you can’t wait till the next day to pay him.  Why not?  You’re not denying him his wage, you’re just saying, “I’ll pay you in the morning”?  But God says, no – a person who lives hand-to-mouth deserves to eat dinner after an honest day’s work and shouldn’t have to go hungry till morning.  

And there are several other examples like these throughout the Torah.  Taken together, they teach us that God holds human dignity as a primary value and an unconditional right.

                But the question remains: why do we have to be so moral? There’s nothing I just listed that is in itself wrong.  Doing the things prohibited by this list doesn’t make you an overtly bad person.  Why should we be expected to be better than what human inclinations dictate?  Why should we be better than the other nations amongst whom we live who don’t follow these rules?  But God says no, you do have to be better. 

Over and over the Torah says that it isn’t enough to refrain from doing harm.  Again and again, the Torah teaches us that human dignity is not up for debate.  You don’t get to choose which people are deserving of dignity and which are not.  You have to act fairly and respectful of others even when your inclination is to do otherwise, even when it costs you something, even when it doesn’t feel fair, even when it is uncomfortable for you.  But that takes maturity to understand.

The Torah does not use the language of “rights,” but in modern legal parlance we would say that human dignity and freedom are rights.  As Jews we should be proud of our religion for holding us to high standards.  And I think this is also true for us as Americans.  Like Judaism, we have a Constitution that holds us to high standards.  Like Judaism, the law of this land is one based on principles that uphold human dignity for all people.  That’s really hard to do!  Like the soldier who has to go to a lot of trouble to marry a woman who, by anyone else’s standards has no rights, sometimes upholding our principles is costly.  Like the guy who owes you money and fails to repay; or the schlemiel on the roof, some people take advantages of the system – they act irresponsibly or offensively; nonetheless, we afford them rights and dignities, even if we think they don’t deserve them.     

                Judaism acknowledges that it’s hard to be that moral.  If these standards were easy, God wouldn’t have to command them.  Likewise, the US Constitution recognizes that providing freedom equally and standing on principles is hard to do.  If these freedoms were easy to ensure, we wouldn’t have to declare them as rights.  

                Being Jewish and also being American means we don’t measure ourselves by other people’s lower moral standards.  We’re not governed by the lowest common denominator.  We don’t act like children who say “I’m going to treat you the way you would treat me if the tables were turned.”  We stand on principle even when we don’t like it or find it convenient.  Upholding our ideals not only makes us better people; it is a sign of maturity.  Like parents who have to teach their children not to lash out every time someone offends them; the law is there to help us be more mature, even when we don’t like it.

               

Be Wholehearted With God

Judaism draws our attention to the preciousness and holiness of moments in time, reminding us of the limits of our power as human beings.

Until recently, if you had asked me to go camping, I probably would have made an excuse not to go.  I’ve been camping before and I’ve had good experiences.  But I’ve never been enthusiastic to go on a camping trip.  I have to admit I’m a city kid and a bit… let’s say… fastidious.  I don’t much like to get dirty.  I don’t like bugs and reptiles.  I like sleeping on a good quality mattress surrounded by 4 solid walls and roof.  I like having a bathroom with a flush toilet and a shower.  (In short, I’m a wuss.)  At least that’s how I used to feel until this past weekend. 

I spent last weekend with Melanie and the kids at Camp Ramah in the Rockies for the annual family Shabbaton.  I have to admit that prior to the weekend I was not very enthusiastic about the trip.  Ramah in the Rockies is secluded in the wilderness of Pike National Forest on the site of an old Girls Scouts camp, which even in its heyday was pretty rustic.  As a person who likes his home environment, I get very nervous about all the possible contingencies – all the “what ifs.”  I don’t like being caught off guard without my stuff.  I want to know what to expect… but camping requires the kind of flexibility that I find uncomfortable. 

So when we arrived at camp on Friday afternoon, we set up our tents and unpacked our gear and I was still pretty agitated.  But then something happened.  As the sun began to set behind the beautiful red mountains on the west side of camp, we made our way to where the young campers were holding their Kabbalat Shabbat service in a wide open field next to where horses were grazing.  The campers’ spirited singing to the tune of guitars blended with the gentle outdoor sounds of evening… and a calm came over me that I haven’t felt in a long time.  Suddenly I became aware of the beauty that surrounded me – the crisp breeze, the smell of pine trees, the babbling of a nearby creek, the waving tall grass, the majestic horses a few feet away, the expansive valley and towering mountains all around, colorful rocks and rich dark earth, and even the insects that I usually dislike.  I looked at my children running around – healthy and happy.  I looked at my beautiful and talented wife, who had organized the Shabbaton.  I took a deep breath of mountain air and I felt at peace – profoundly grateful for everything that surrounded me.  I let go of some of my worries and nervousness and resolved to accept whatever the weekend would bring.

It turned out to be a glorious experience.  On Shabbat we sang, and played and prayed, and learned together.  We had great conversations and enjoyed the outdoors.  On Sunday and Monday we were treated to the activities the camp has to offer – hiking, mountain biking, rock climbing… and I got to go horseback riding for the first time in my life.  And, yes, I got some bug bites, I didn’t bathe, I slept on the hard ground, it rained on us a couple of times, and our kids refused to go to sleep when we wanted them to.  But, somehow, none of that bothered me very much.

For a city boy like me, spending a Shabbat in the wilderness reminded me of some very important lessons.  It reminded me of the wisdom Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel shared: that in humanity’s need to survive and conquer nature, we must not be tempted to believe that we have ultimate control.  He taught that the rhythms and practices of Judaism draw our attention to the preciousness of the moment.  This is especially true on Shabbat, when we refrain from labor and activities related to the conquest of things and space.  And, being out in nature on Shabbat brings that into even sharper focus. Dr. Heschel wrote: “The solution to mankind’s most vexing problem will not be found in renouncing technical civilization, but in attaining some degree of independence of it.  In regard to external gifts, to outward possessions, there is only one proper attitude – to have them and to be able to do without them.  On the Sabbath we live, as it were, independent of technical civilization… Man’s royal privilege to conquer nature is suspended on the seventh day.”[1] 

           

One doesn’t have to trek into the mountains in order to be independent of civilization – that, according to Heschel, is what Shabbat affords us.  It is what he called “an island in time.” Nonetheless, taking a break from the creature comforts we all enjoy certainly reminds us that, in the scheme of things, what makes life meaningful is not what we possess or what we can conquer, but how we live with whatever and whomever surrounds us.  It teaches us the limits of our power.  It reminds us of what is truly valuable.  Similarly, and perhaps paradoxically, being attuned to time reminds us that we are not in control of time. 

           

In this week’s parsha, the Torah discusses a very interesting prohibition.  Chapter 18 of Deuteronomy admonishes us not to imitate the practices of the surrounding pagan nations.  Moses warns: “Let no one be found among you… who is an augur, a soothsayer, a diviner, a sorcerer, or who casts spells, or who inquires of the dead… [Instead] You must be wholehearted with the Lord your God.”[2]  These practices are associated with paganism, and for that reason alone they are forbidden.  But, the medieval commentator, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (known also as Ramban or Nachmanides) makes a very perceptive observation.  In his commentary on these verses he asks: how can these things be abominations?  After all, it is only human nature to want to know the future and seek out guidance about what’s to come.  Furthermore Ramban says, these things have some efficacy.  You see, Ramban was himself a mystic and he studied astrology.  He writes in his commentary that some kinds of fortunetelling actually work!  So what’s wrong with wanting to know the future?  To answer this Ramban draws on Rashi (the most famous of the medieval commentators) who points to the next verse that says, “Tamim tih’ye eem HaShem Elohecha.”  “You shall be wholehearted with the Lord your God.”  Rashi says that to be “wholehearted with God” means to trust in God.  Wholeheartedness means accepting with equanimity whatever comes – both the good and the bad.  Ramban expands on this and says that the problem with necromancy and fortune-telling isn’t that it doesn’t work; rather the problem is that these things feed into our impulse to control the future and manipulate time.   

            One of our challenges as human beings is that we are indeed very powerful; but that power is also seductive.  We start to believe we can defy time and space.  But, Rashi and Ramban wisely counsel us to accept what the future holds without fear.  That doesn’t mean being passive.  Instead it means believing in the capacity that God gives us to deal with what life brings.  It means we should embrace what Rabbi Irwin Kula calls the “sacred messiness of life” with humility, awe, and gratitude. 

Like the experience of Shabbat that Heschel prescribes; and like the experience of nature and wilderness, the prohibition against sorcery in the Torah teaches us to put into perspective the limits of our power.  These things teach us that our very lives are themselves precious; that the present moment is unique and valuable… but, only if we cultivate that awareness and let go of our desire to control everything.  That means instead of always trying to cheat the limits of time and space, we should respect what we have been given; that we should trust in our capacity to deal with what life has in store for us with grace and dignity. 

We are less than a month away from Rosh Hashanah.  During this month of Elul leading up to the Holy Days is a time to reflect on the year that has passed and look to improve ourselves in the year to come.  Paradoxically, one of the best ways we can do that kind of reflection is to be more fully present in the current moment.  So, sometime between now and Rosh Hashanah, I hope you will find some quiet time – perhaps in the peaceful rest of Shabbat, or maybe in the tranquility of nature – to look around you, to gain some perspective, to think about the many blessings in your life, to be honest with yourself about the challenges, to feel grateful, to experience wonder and awe.  It is the sort of reflection that happens when we let go a bit, when we refrain from trying to manipulate time or overpower space, when we take some time to just be rather than to do.

           

As Moses said, “May you be wholehearted with the Lord your God.” Shabbat Shalom.

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[1] A. J. Heschel (1951) The Sabbath.

[2] Deut. 18:10-13