Rabbi Neal's Weekly Commentary

Copyright 2013 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Copyright 2010 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

Hello again!

It’s been too long since we’ve been learning together. This week we’re reading the Torah portion Shoftim and the fourth of seven haftarot of consolation , which are read between Tisha B’Av and Rosh Hashanah.

All of these haftarot [readings from the prophets] are taken from the second half of the book of Isaiah, which has the general theme of redemption, restoration, and rebuilding Jerusalem and the Temple. These texts are poetic, with metaphors upon metaphors; the prophet addresses the city of Jerusalem as if she were a person, yet it’s understood that Jerusalem herself is symbolic of the people Israel, ready to return from exile:

^“ Awake, awake, O Zion!
Clothe yourself in splendor;
Put on your robes of majesty,
Jerusalem, holy city . . .

Arise, shake off the dust,
Sit [on your throne], Jerusalem!
Loose the bonds from your neck,
O captive one, Fair Zion!” (Is. 52:1-2)

In context, this and other verses (cf. 51:17) which commands Jerusalem to “arise,” “rouse” or “awake,” are probably exhortations to the people to find courage and encouragement in the imminent return from exile. That is, exile to Babylon is like the dust that needs to be shaken off or the sleep which dulls one’s senses- awakening, rousing, and shaking off the dust are metaphors for the people’s return and restoration. (See Rabbi Riskin’s take on this here.)

Some readers will recognize these verses in the Shabbat evening him Lecha Dodi, which we’ve discussed previously. I’d like to interpret these verses a little differently than I did last year, based on a text from the Ba’al Shem Tov, whose teachings I’ve been learning with a friend. The Besht, as the Ba’al Shem Tov is know, draws a distinction between two spiritual states: katnut and gadlut, which literally mean “smallness” and “bigness” but which refer to a spiritual experience of constriction, fear, or distraction, compared to an experience of expanded awareness, connection and love.

Yet these ways of experiencing aren’t real or objective. Even when we’re in katnut, or smallness, if we can just think of the “upper worlds,” we’ll be there, “for a person is where his thought is.” [Tzava’at HaRivash 69] That is, you might think you’re “covered in dust,” or in a constricted spiritual place, but that’s just your thinking talking to you, as it were. The Besht teaches that you can think of the “upper worlds”- that is, expand your spiritual horizons- because you’re already there. If you weren’t already there- how could you think of it?

Returning to our text, and to its placement on Shabbat evening, I see the image of “shaking off the dust” as remembering that it’s possible to be in a different state than the hurried, distracted and ego-centric rushing around that many of us are doing throughout the day. Just thinking: “I can be more centered, more God-aware, more generous, more connected to the Source of love,” moves us there, because if that wasn’t the root of our being, how could we even think of it?

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright Neal Joseph Loevinger 2009

(This was posted on rabbineal-list Aug 21, 2009)

Hello one and all!

We’re continuing with our discussion of the seven haftarot of
consolation (see previous messages), and we’re up to number 4 with the
haftarah for this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim. All of these readings
are taken from the book of Isaiah; in these chapters the prophet
addresses a personified Jerusalem, telling the city to awake and
arise:

Awake, awake, O Zion!
Clothe yourself in splendor;
Put on your robes of majesty,
Jerusalem, holy city . . . . .

Arise, shake off the dust,
Sit [on your throne], Jerusalem!
Loose the bonds from your neck . . . (Yeshayahu/Isaiah 52:1-2)

Astute readers of the Hebrew and even the English may note that
phrases from these verses are quoted in “Lecha Dodi,” the hymn for
bringing in Shabbat. In context, the idea that Zion, or Jerusalem,
arises or shakes off the dust is clearly a metaphor for the Jewish
people regaining hope and dignity as their redemption approaches.

The phrase “arise, shake of the dust” [hitna’ari, m’afar kumi], is
interesting not only for the image of a people “arising” from a
degraded state but also because the word for “shake off” has a root
similar to that of “youth,” or “na’ar.” Thus Hirsch says that “when
Israel attains her goal she arises in youthful beauty,” which itself
is a metaphor not for physical beauty but the moral beauty of youthful
passion and idealism.

Along these lines, a homiletic interpretation of “hitna’ari” could be
“make yourself youthful again,” and perhaps the prophet himself
intended this doubled meaning, given the homonyms. If so, “shaking of
the dust” could be understood as shedding our cynicism and fear, and
renewing our ability to hope and thus work towards a better and
brighter world. Please note: I am not saying that young people are
never cynical, nor that older people lack hope; rather, I’m
interpreting these verses as poetic images, in which the process of
redemption is compared to regaining the passion and hope and idealism
commonly associated with youth.

In this reading, what we “shake off” is not dust on the outside, but
attitudes from the inside. An inner transformation is the beginning of
redemption; or, to put it another way, we can’t bring about what we
don’t dare to dream.

with best wishes for a good month of Elul and a peaceful rest of the summer,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

We’re continuing with our discussion of the seven haftarot of
consolation (see previous messages), and we’re up to number 4 with the
haftarah for this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim. All of these readings
are taken from the book of Isaiah; in these chapters the prophet
addresses a personified Jerusalem, telling the city to awake and
arise:

Awake, awake, O Zion!
Clothe yourself in splendor;
Put on your robes of majesty,
Jerusalem, holy city . . . . .

Arise, shake off the dust,
Sit [on your throne], Jerusalem!
Loose the bonds from your neck . . . (Yeshayahu/Isaiah 52:1-2)

Astute readers of the Hebrew and even the English may note that
phrases from these verses are quoted in “Lecha Dodi,” the hymn for
bringing in Shabbat. In context, the idea that Zion, or Jerusalem,
arises or shakes off the dust is clearly a metaphor for the Jewish
people regaining hope and dignity as their redemption approaches.

The phrase “arise, shake of the dust” [hitna’ari, m’afar kumi], is
interesting not only for the image of a people “arising” from a
degraded state but also because the word for “shake off” has a root
similar to that of “youth,” or “na’ar.” Thus Hirsch says that “when
Israel attains her goal she arises in youthful beauty,” which itself
is a metaphor not for physical beauty but the moral beauty of youthful
passion and idealism.

Along these lines, a homiletic interpretation of “hitna’ari” could be
“make yourself youthful again,” and perhaps the prophet himself
intended this doubled meaning, given the homonyms. If so, “shaking of
the dust” could be understood as shedding our cynicism and fear, and
renewing our ability to hope and thus work towards a better and
brighter world. Please note: I am not saying that young people are
never cynical, nor that older people lack hope; rather, I’m
interpreting these verses as poetic images, in which the process of
redemption is compared to regaining the passion and hope and idealism
commonly associated with youth.

In this reading, what we “shake off” is not dust on the outside, but
attitudes from the inside. An inner transformation is the beginning of
redemption; or, to put it another way, we can’t bring about what we
don’t dare to dream.

with best wishes for a good month of Elul and a peaceful rest of the summer,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

Just a few hours ago, I was going into this week’s Torah portion-
Shoftim- with a plan. I was all set to write about the mitzvah of bal
taschit [“do not destroy”], which is a general commandment of material
and resource conservation (cf. D’varim/ Deuteronomy 20:19 and
attendant commentaries). Then I saw a comment in Abraham Chill’s book
called “The Mitzvot” and my plans changed, so we’re going to write
about another mitzvah, that of “hasagat gvul”, or encroaching on
boundaries.

This mitzvah is plainly spelled out in the Torah portion:

“You shall not move your countryman’s landmarks, set up by previous
generations, in the property that will be allotted to you in the land
that the Lord your God is giving you to possess.”

This mitzvah is not hard to understand: we are not to move property
markers in such a way that one person’s land is increased at the
expense of his or her neighbor’s. Although the verse speaks of the
Land of Israel as its place of application, the moral idea behind it
is understood to apply universally. The idea of “encroaching the
boundary” is even understood to regulate unfair competition. e.g., a
new business moving into a neighborhood and conducting itself in such
a way that the established businesses would be driven out. (More on
this can be found in the link below.)

Going back to the comment that made me change direction for this
week’s drasha, first let me say that I had always assumed that the
moral idea behind the prohibition of “hasagat gvul” [encroaching the
boundary] was to reduce conflict and keep the peace in a competitive
society- that is, I always understood this mitzvah to be about
property or economic relations between equals. Then I read the
following passage in Chill, “The Mitzvot,” and I understood this verse
in a new way:

“In a free economy, it is not only conceivable but it is also a daily
occurrence that the financially strong can devise ways of encroaching
on the rights and property of the weak. The inescapable result is that
the rich become richer and the poor become poorer. The Torah warns us
against hassagat gvul- encroaching on another’s property.”

Seen this way, a law to respect the integrity of a person’s property
(which includes, by extension, their established livelihood in a
particular area), is not only about reducing conflict but also to
protect the poor and weak, who may be unable to defend themselves
against predatory practices. Not only that, but a small landowner or
owner of a small business would be disproportionately affected by
“encroachment,” since they have less to lose.

Ultimately, the mitzvah of respecting the property boundaries of
another is about extending the respect they are due as a person to
those things- like their land or or their business or their web of
relationships- which they have worked to create and by which they may
be sustained. Seen this way, it’s not just about real estate, it’s
about creating a society with compassion, thoughtfulness and human
dignity as core values, which is the very work of Judaism itself.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

The portion Shoftim has many laws pertaining to civil,
criminal, political, and military governance, including a law which
warns the people not let the future king amass too much power and
treasure:

“Moreover, he shall not keep many horses or send people back to Egypt
to add to his horses, since the Lord has warned you, ‘You must not go
back that way again.’ ” (Deuteronomy/D’varim 17:16)

I can certainly understand a warning not to let the king have too
many horses- a king with a large standing army will be tempted to use
it unnecessarily. A large standing army will become an end in itself,
requiring ever more taxes and forced service from the people. Having
said that, what difference does it make where the king acquires the
horses he is, in fact, permitted to have? Why should it matter if he
buys them from Egypt or from any other country?

Perhaps the Torah warns against going back to Egypt because Egypt, in
our ancestor’s historical memory, was the paradigmatic place of
oppression, where human beings were treated as mere objects, to be
used and discarded at the pleasure of Pharoah. Egypt- in the
experience of our ancestors- is where classes of human beings had no
inherent worth or dignity, but only instrumental value as a means to
somebody else’s ends.

I think that is why no representative of the king could go to Egypt
to buy horses- because the Torah doesn’t want any member of the
Israelite leadership to experience such an objectifying way of seeing
his fellow citizens. “You must not go back that way again”- that is,
the way of thinking about human relationships which is characteristic
of “Egypt” in the Torah’s frame of reference. Perhaps a king was
especially vulnerable to losing sight of the inherent worth and moral
standing of each person, but the problem of Egypt, as a metaphor for
how humans dehumanize each other, is still with us, and so the
Torah’s warning still stands: don’t go back that way again.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

Greetings from the Hudson River Valley! I’ve arrived in Poughkeepsie
and begun the long process of avoiding the large piles of boxes in my
house and office. More importantly, I’ve been meeting great people who
for different reasons have been anticipating the arrival of the new
rabbi in town; some want the new rabbi to help with programming plans,
others are looking forward to sermons and learning Torah, some folks
have life-cycle events coming up, and there are those who simply want
a renewed sense of spiritual leadership within the community.

Well, as I’ve said before, one of the amazing things about being
Jewish (which I learned from my teacher R. Brad Artson) is that
whatever issue presents itself at any given moment, there’s always
something relevant to it in the Torah portion of the week. So this
week, as I move into the rabbi’s office on Grand Avenue and meet with
other professional and volunteer leaders of this community, it struck
me how many different models of leadership are named in this week’s
parsha, Shoftim, or “Judges.”

By my count, there are eight different kinds of community leaders
discussed in this week’s parsha, listed in order of appearance in the
text:

1) Shoftim (judges)- legal authorities.
2) Shotrim (“officials”), who seem to be community or civilian
authorities.
3) Kohanim (priests), who have both ritual and some legal duties.
4) Melech, the king, who must learn and fulfill the Torah.
5) Levi’im, or members of the tribe of Levi who have religious
responsibilities but who are not priests.
6) Navi (prophet), a person who speaks the word of God.
7) Ziknei ir (elders of the city).
8) Sharei Tze’vaot (army captains).

A detailed study of the portion, along with comparison to other texts
elsewhere in the Tanach (Hebrew Bible), would yield insights into each
role, and how they support and balance each other. (Separation of
powers is a venerable idea.) For today, however, it’s enough to note
that our ancestors understood that different people possess different
gifts, and the community cannot thrive with only one source of
authority or wisdom.

What was true then is no less true today: our spiritual communities
are in need of the wisdom of our elders, the insights of those with
penetrating minds and good discernment, the moral courage of brave
visionaries, leaders of ritual and song and other connections to the
sacred, and the hard work of those generous spirits who provide for
the well-being and safety of communal institutions.

Done well, leadership is not a zero-sum game, with clearly defined
winners and losers; if it’s all about winners and losers, it’s not
leadership, it’s power struggles. Rather, I believe that a healthy
community encourages everyone- everyone!- to find their voice and
offer their unique contributions. There is so much to be done, and so
much to lose if we restrict our openness as to who may guide us to
just a few traditional types. Our ancestors knew that their community
could not thrive with only one kind of leader; neither can ours, and
we are blessed in proportion to our communal ability to bring forth
wisdom and inspiration from the souls all around us.

Shabbat Shalom,

RNJL

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

Shalom from the muggy `burbs of Boston!

Our nation is currently engaged in debate about who was responsible for what in
the wake
of the recent hurricane. Fittingly enough, this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim,
is also
concerned with issues of justice, authority, civil society, and the
responsibility of
community leaders. Judges must be impartial, society must entrust its leaders
with the
difficult task of interpreting the law and deciding cases, and even the king is
not above the
law of the land.

In Chapter 20, we learn that warfare is to be conducted according to rules of
fairness and
moral seriousness- for example, fruit trees are not to be destroyed during the
siege of a
city, since they will provide food long after the war is over. “Cities of
refuge” are to be
established for those who commit accidental manslaughter, and local authorities
must
repent publicly if there are unsolved acts of violence near their boundaries.

We discussed the “cities of refuge” a few weeks ago,* but it’s a concept worth
revisiting in
both this time of introspection on the Jewish calendar and the current news from
the Gulf
Coast. The basic idea is that someone who commits accidental manslaughter must
be
given refuge in special marked cities, where he or she will be safe from the
“blood
avenger” of the victim’s family. The cities of refuge first appeared in the book
of
Bamidbar/ Numbers, but this week’s recapitulation adds a few new details:

“. . . you shall separate three cities for yourself in the midst of your land,
which the Lord,
your God, is giving you to possess. Prepare the road for yourself and divide
into three
parts the boundary of your land, which the Lord, your God, is giving you as an
inheritance,
and it will be for every killer to flee there. . . . ” (Devarim/ Deuteronomy
19:2-3)

Our teacher Rashi explains that the details of “preparing the road” and dividing
the land
into three parts are to make it easier to find and flee to the nearest “city of
refuge.”
Preparing the road meant putting up road signs at intersections, pointing the
way to the
nearest city of refuge, and the land was to be divided equally so that the the
cities were
equidistant from each other. There should not be a greater distance from one
part of the
country to the nearest sanctuary than from another part of the country- that
wouldn’t be
fair to the accidental killer who happened to be in a remote village.

What I find so moving about Rashi’s explanation is the idea that we know in
advance that
people will make terrible mistakes, and we nevertheless treat these people with
respect
and dignity in their seeking of sanctuary from the angry mob. The very idea of
the city of
refuge is to have society embrace an ideal of justice, which requires renouncing
vengeance
and a commitment to careful distinctions of judgement. It is not justice to
treat murder
and manslaughter equally; therefore, the accidental killer is accorded the right
to safety,
which would be compromised if it were confusing or difficult to find the city of
refuge.

To put it another way, signs at every intersection pointing the way to the “city
of refuge”
mean that every time one walked along the road there would be a reminder of the
society’s
ideals of fairness and renunciation of revenge. These values would be literally
built into the
walls of the community, through the placement of the cities equal distances from
each
other. Society would be founded – in the most literal sense- upon principles of
justice, and
the roads would teach concepts of mercy, which would then surely transform
relationships
throughout the wider community.

Roads teaching mercy? Cities built with justice in mind?

This is the Torah’s challenge: nothing less than the fundemental orientation of
individual hearts and communal structures towards fairness and mercy, with
sanctuary and
understanding (which does not mean total lack of consequences) for those who
inevitably
fall short. Human imperfection does not overcome the possibility of human
dignity; this is
the deepest value of the city of refuge.

rnjl

* This message will probably make more sense when compared with my earlier
discussion
of the cities of refuge:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/rabbineal-list/message/51

PS- as usual, you can read the Torah and haftarah and various commentaries here:

http://www.hebcal.com/sedrot/shoftim.html?tag=fp.ql

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

This d’var Torah was originally distributed by Kolel: The Adult Center for Jewish Learning during the year 5761 and can be found in its archives.

Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9)

OVERVIEW

The word shoftim means “judges.” Issues of jurisprudence and social ethics predominate in this Torah portion, including guidelines for the behavior of courts of law, elders in the community, the king, prophets, priests and even warfare.

IN FOCUS

“You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice. You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the plea of the just. Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may thrive and occupy the land that the Lord your God is giving you. ” (Deuteronomy 16:18-20)

PSHAT

In order to have a just and fair society, there must be institutions which make justice happen, and which can settle disputes. These institutions must be scrupulously fair and ethical themselves, or else the entire system falls apart. Thus, “thriving on the land” is dependent on an orderly and fair justice system- society can’t thrive if there are no mechanisms of justice.

DRASH

Our passage this week seems to have two underlying assumptions: the first is that institutions of justice are needed in order to make justice happen, and the second is that establishing such institutions is not the same as actually achieving a just society. Look at the flow of the three verses quoted above: first we are told to appoint judges, then we are warned that those judges might misbehave, and finally we’re reminded of the very reason to appoint judges- so that justice may be pursued. The institutions are the means to an end, but not the end itself.

The famous repetition of the word “justice” in verse 20 has inspired many commentaries and homilies, although it’s also possible that it is merely a stylistic device, employed for emphasis. Thus, Jeffrey Tigay, in the JPS Torah Commentary, interprets “justice, justice shall you pursue” as “only justice,” or “justice alone.” This is a very plausible reading, given that the whole passage seems to be stressing the idea that human institutions can go astray from their founding ideals.

Rashi, on the other hand, has a very different reading. He says that “justice, justice shall you pursue” means “seek out a fair court of law” [beit din]. The word I’ve translated as “fair” is literally translated as “beautiful,” [ya’fey] probably implying “excellent.” A later commentator, Alshich, points out that Rashi seems to think that verses 18-19 are directed at judges and leaders, while verse 20 (“justice, justice. . “) is directed at potential litigants, the people who will appear before the court. Alshich goes on to say that a court can only apply the law, while the litigants must pursue larger goals, including perhaps compromising and making peace, even if the strict letter of the law does not require it.

I think Rashi’s interpretation, based on earlier text, is quite interesting, for it suggests that both the seekers of justice and those entrusted with its enactment have a responsibility to keep these larger goals in mind. Those who use the courts- or social service agencies, or the media, or the legal system, or governmental agencies- are just as commanded to seek justice as those who work in those institutions. Rashi seems to be saying that it’s hard to have a good result if the institution itself is not “excellent”- so choose institutions wisely, and make sure that justice, and not just the legal process, is really the goal. Of course, this idea applies anytime someone confuses laws or policies with goodness and truth- the former are the means to the latter, never its substitute.

Copyright 2011 Neal Joseph Loevinger

Torah Portion: Shoftim

This d’var Torah was originally distributed by Kolel: The Adult Center for Jewish Learning during the year 5760 and can be found in its archives.

Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9)

OVERVIEW

The word shoftim means “judges;” issues of jurisprudence and social ethics predominate in this Torah portion, including guidelines for the behavior of courts of law, elders in the community, the king, prophets, priests and even warfare.

IN FOCUS

“When, in your war against a city, you have to besiege it a long time in order to capture it, you must not destroy its trees, wielding the ax against them. You may eat of them, but you must not cut them down. Are the trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city? Only trees that you know do not yield food may be destroyed.” (Deuteronomy 20:19-20)

PSHAT

This whole section of the parasha deals with rules for warfare, setting limits on what the Israelite army may do even in the heat of battle. In these verses, “scorch and burn” warfare is prohibited; the Israelite army may not destroy the source of sustenance of the enemy city, even if they are seeking to conquer it.

DRASH

Beginning in the time of the Talmud, these verses were understood to apply to all of life, not just a time of war. The rabbis derived from these verses a principle called bal taschit, or “do not destroy,” which they formulated as a general prohibition against the destruction or wasting of anything potentially useful or necessary to sustain life. For example, the Talmud itself says

Whoever breaks vessels, or tears garments, or destroys a building, or clogs a well, or does away with food in a destructive manner violates the negative mitzvah of bal tashchit. (Kiddushin 32a)

Hundreds of years later, Maimonides applied the law to both trees and other objects, though he concedes that trees may be cut down as part of a thoughtful agricultural decision:

It is forbidden to cut down fruit-bearing trees outside a besieged city, nor may a water channel be deflected from them so that they wither. Whoever cuts down a fruit-bearing tree is flogged. This penalty is imposed not only for cutting it down during a siege; whenever a fruit-yielding tree is cut down with destructive intent, flogging is incurred. It may be cut down, however, if it causes damage to other trees or to a field belonging to another man or if its value for other purposes is greater. The law forbids only wanton destruction…. Not only one who cuts down trees, but also one who smashes household goods, tears clothes, demolishes a building, stops up a spring, or destroys articles of food with destructive intent transgresses the command “you must not destroy.” (Mishna Torah, Laws of Kings and Wars 6:8,10)

Because the principle of bal taschit demands that we refrain from engaging in destructive or wasteful actions, many contemporary Jews have understood it to be part of an emerging Jewish environmental consciousness. For example, some contemporary writers have suggested that a commitment to bal taschit in its original context might lead Jews to greater activism to prevent the wasteful exploitation or destruction of wilderness areas. On a more everyday level, bal taschit might serve as a religious language for greater conservation and recycling efforts on the part of Jewish homes and institutions.

The Sefer HaChinuch, a 13th century explanation and discussion of each of the 613 commandments, finds an even deeper teaching embedded in the principle of bal taschit:

The purpose of this mitzvah [bal tashchit] is to teach us to love that which is good and worthwhile and to cling to it, so that good becomes a part of us and we will avoid all that is evil and destructive. This is the way of the righteous and those who improve society, who love peace and rejoice in the good in people and bring them close to Torah: that nothing, not even a grain of mustard, should be lost to the world, that they should regret any loss or destruction that they see, and if possible they will prevent any destruction that they can. Not so are the wicked, who are like demons, who rejoice in destruction of the world, and they are destroying themselves. (Sefer HaChinuch, #529)

According to this interpretation, acting to safeguard the beauty and abundance of the world is a measure of our appreciation of it. Inculcating a consciousness of our behavior is at the core of Judaism, as the teachings pertaining to sacred time and moral rigour might suggest. Bal taschit asks us to apply that same conscientiousness to the ecological consequences of our everyday actions; perhaps that kind of consciousness is an essential part of “righteousness” for our times.

PS- For those interested in more information on Jewish environmental activism and a more in-depth look at Judaism’s perspectives on environmental issues, the best place to start is the Coalition on the Environment and Jewish Life.