Mishpatim

By Adam Allenberg

When travelling in London a couple of weeks ago, for a short stint outside of the Promised Land, I was reminded of something so inherent to the life that I’ve led up to now, that seven and half months in Jerusalem has made me forget. The outside world, the Western world is so terribly easy. It is so natural to just lose yourself in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. And it's so attractive...the cafe's are busy, the shopping is fantastic, the transportation is accessible and cheap, the world is easily distracted by worthless entertainment or the newest advertising fad, the streets are even and the sidewalks are clear and me, well, I'm just great. I'm like everyone else, a shopper, a consumer, a walker of the streets, a people-watcher by day, a theatre-goer by night. And it was being just such a theatre goer that I was reminded of the distinctions I took for granted between living in an entirely Jewish world here in Israel and in the outside world.

The stage is captivating. Drama is compelling, and a catalyst for our own living. It gives a glimpse into the world we live that cannot be harnessed in another setting. There is a truthfulness to the stage, a blatant honesty of the stage that is addicting. This is not because the story told on stage is accurate to the way we live our lives, but it is entirely accurate to the way we feel our lives being lived. Theatrical moments - the perfectly timed sound effects, the orchestra cued and directed in harmony with the movements on stage or the pounding of our very own hearts from the seats of the theatre - these dramatic moments are the way we feel life, not how we live it, but how we experience it. The stage reminds us and urges us to "suck the marrow" from life, to give it purpose, to make our lives equally dramatic. And so we infuse our lives, especially our Jewish lives, with drama.

At the end of last week’s parsha, Yitro, we stood at the foot of Mt. Sinai with lightening, thunder, fire, smoke and a distinct sound ringing through the air. We were told not to come to near the mountain and not to touch it, lest we die. Out of fear of the elements of the world and G-d gracing the mountaintop, we backed away. But Moses, from upon the mountain presented the ten commandments for us to hear. At which point we responded with na’aseh, we will do. These first commandments were direct and seemed reasonable. So we agreed. These we could do. This week’s parsha, Mishpatim, Moses has returned into the fire to receive more direction from G-d. We are told how to treat the orphan and the widow, how to treat a slave, or a person who has committed murder; these are some of the laws which lead us to a moral AND just way of life. Moral action is important and a true commitment, but here our actions are being defined even more clearly than they were in the first ten commandments. Nevertheless, a people of undying faith, but perhaps skeptical confidence, we agreed to these precepts too. Our newly appointed elders, on behalf of all of us affirmed these commandments with the same na’aseh, “we will do.” However, at the very end of the parsha we are brought to a dramatic moment in the history of our people. Having accepted the ten commandments and now a further set of principles guiding our sense of morality, we are confronted a third time, before Moses is to, again, return to the mountain and speak with G-d. We know that each time Moses returns to the fire we are asked to do more, to be more, to walk a more directed path. Each time our freedom is further confined and defined, and yet, the reward is clear. A set of directions, from the creator of the very world we live in, to make our lives more directed and more meaningful. And so we respond this time, in a preemptive manner. We see how G-d is working and we want to be a part of this plan. So we respond this time in unison, “na’aseh v’nishma”, we will do and we will listen. We will do what you have said and we will listen for further instruction.

In all of this, the drama of this story is the strength behind our response. Our words are the ultimate "punchline" for the situation. After the fire and thunder have settled, all of us still gathered at some sort of distance, the dessert winds blowing, our feet tired from the journey, our minds racing with all that has happened, there is a perfectly timed dramatic pause, and we respond, na'aseh v'nishmah"--We will do and we will listen. The order of the wording of this declaration is vital to understanding it. The "we will do" precedes the "we will listen." Our action will precede our understanding. This of course is to be understood twofold. Allow me to illustrate.

If I were to call one of you on the phone and explain how to crochet a mitten, hang up the phone and then expect you to understand the directions, I would, of course, be asking and assuming to much of my abilities to explain complex directions and of your ability to understand abstract directions. Now if I were to sit you down for an hour or two and explain these same directions while demonstrating them and guiding you along, then our collective success would greatly contrast our previous attempt at the same task. So na'aseh v'nishma means that we will do it and then listen, we will try and then we will listen to the directions again. Suddenly, in action, our understanding is greater. So firstly, our role is to do, but our doing is useless if we do not see the connection between our action and the greater world. What good is a well-constructed mitten without knowledge that it may keep your hands warm in the chilly winter in Jerusalem? Or even better, that your newfound ability for crocheting mittens can be used to improve the world. You can now ensure the warmth of every needy hand. What is most astonishing is you may never have realized that all this was possible had simply said, I have no interest in crocheting.

Why is there such a fuss over "doing" in Judaism? And what does it have to do with our drama? Is this action an ever-present reminder of the drama of Sinai? Yes, but that's not entirely it. Does it mean that being observant honors the covenant made at Sinai? Yes, but that's still not entirely it. Our actions, our distinctly Jewish actions, from being kind to marking the calendar with days and festivals of holiness, are practice for the stage. The ultimate drama that we call everyday life. But greater than that, they are practice and they are the performance all at once. An actor treats practice, often, as seriously as a performance; because practice makes perfect and practice makes habit. As Jews continue to act distinctly Jewish in all our actions because they are practice for the big show, and simultaneously the big show itself! We are constantly learning how to act and what it is we are supposed to do, at the same time fulfilling the very action itself. Our actions are distinctly ours! They are the stage directions for our collective particular drama. We were all there at Sinai, we are all players in this ongoing drama. Often it feels like we're only practicing, and other times it is without question as - real - as - it - gets.

Even though we have a guidebook, the Torah, given to us for instruction, our lives are not made simpler. For certain keeping Shabbat is a difficult task, but so is being a moral human being. In fact I would venture to say that the latter is a far more daunting responsibility. No stage is complete without actors or directors and so, as Reform Jews we can look upon the stories and the lessons of the Torah as useful stage directions. It may be that we do not follow every direction exactly as it is written, or it may be that we believe we take the direction further than perhaps it was given. We may decide that it is inconvenient to refrain from work on Shabbat, but that there is value in making it a distinct day in our week, one that is filled, if only for a few hours, with reflection and rest. Or perhaps we view kashrut as an area that needs improvement, and so we adopt vegetarianism or veganism as a form of ethical kashrut, where we take into account the effects of globalization and food processing. Whatever the issue may be, as Jews we are commanded somehow to respond to it. As Reform Jews we should know that our actions are the most important part of being Jewish, and that the lessons of our actions go far beyond the actions themselves.

Na'aseh V'nishma - we will do, and we will listen. Most importantly we will do and then we will listen. Our drama is real and it takes place everyday; we are commanded to act accordingly and to speak with our actions. Our every movement is built upon the previous one, summing up a life filled with meaning. So we will do and will listen. We will do, we will make, we will create, we will act. Our actions will speak, and our instructions will continue to speak to us. So we will listen. We will listen, with all of our abilities to what it is that we CAN do, to what we NEED to do and, what it is THAT we do. We will listen to the voice inside of us, which screams to us for a life of meaning. We will do while we listen. And our lives will resemble the real drama which we often seek to impersonate. For all the world is OUR stage.