Parshas Mishpatim
Wherever the Torah uses the word “Ve’eleh – and these,” it is adding on to something the Torah has previously told us. Just as the Ten Commandments we read in Parshas Yisro are of divine origin, so too the commandments that we are about to read in Parshas Mishpatim are also of divine origin (Rashi, Shemos 21:1).
This statement presents two difficulties. First, if the commandments that we are about to read in Mishpatim also needed to be transmitted by G-d, because we would not have thought them up ourselves, they should be called Chukim, not Mishpatim. Second, all of the Mishpatim are of divine origin, so why do we emphasize that these particular ones that we are about to read in Parshas Mispatim are from Siani, as if the others were not?
The answer is that at first blush, there is something inscrutable, chok-like, about many of the commandments included in Parshas Mishpatim. But when we internalize them, think about them and practice them, in the spirit of “asher tasim lifneihem,” they begin to appeal to our human understanding. In that sense, they become Mishpatim.
For example, we are told that we must give charity and lend to the less fortunate (Rashi to 22:24.) But why must we share our hard-earned money with others who do not work or cannot work? That seems as illogical as a chok. But when one thinks more about the commandment of charity and puts it into practice, it begins to appeal to our human minds. After all, poverty is a revolving wheel which may well turn our way, because sooner or later anyone can become poor (Devarim 15:10; Shabbos 151b.) When that happens, the logic of charity becomes as clear to us as a Mishpat. Like the passer-by who saw a wealthy person clearing out stones from his mansion into the street and asked him, “Why are you sweeping stones from a property that does not belong to you to a property that belongs to you?” “What are you talking about?” responded the rich man, “this mansion belongs to me!” After a while, the rich man lost his money, they foreclosed on his mansion and he found himself in the street, where he tripped and fell over his stones. Only then did he understand the message of the passer-by (Bava Kamma 50b).
We are also told that when we lend money, we may not charge interest. What? The whole banking system and world economy runs on interest. Why should someone else profit from my money free of charge? It seems like a chok. But when we internalize the words of the Torah, “Do not press him for repayment and do not take interest from him” (22:24) and we consider how cumulative interest can imprison a borrower in a never ending spiral of debt and servitude (Mishlei 22:7), we better understand this baffling chok and it becomes a Mishpat.
If the slave declares, “I love my master … I do not want to go out free, …he shall then serve his master forever” (21:5:6). “Forever” means until Yovel, which may be a short period of time if the slavery began just before the Jubilee year (Rashi). So why does the Torah call it forever?
The psychology of this slave, who stole money, could not repay it, and was sold into bondage to work off the debt (Rashi, 21:2) did not allow him to depend on G-d. After all, we are told that G-d allots each person his earnings at the beginning of each year (Beitzah 16a). So why steal? We are also told that the people of Israel are servants of G-d, not servants of humans. This is the ultimate freedom. We are accountable to no one other than G-d. So we can leave our cell phones at home and go to shul for two days, sometimes three days in a row, and not worry about our boss at work as we enjoy the freedom granted to us by the Big Boss.
But the slave who does not want to go out free is trapped in a mentality of skepticism. He needs to substitute the Big Boss for the little boss, his master who gives him free meals and even a wife and children. Once one is trapped in the mentality of human dependence, it is very hard to break free. The likelihood is that even after the Yovel, this doubting Thomas will steal again and sell himself into slavery again. That is why the Torah calls him eved le’olam, an eternal slave.
You shall not mistreat a widow or orphan. “If you mistreat them and they cry out to me, I will hear their cry” (22:22-23).
Why does the Torah use the double expressions aneh ta’aneh, tza’ok yitz’ak and shamoa eshma?
It may well be that the widow and the orphan, due to their circumstances in life, are much more sensitive to abuse than others. Words that might roll off another’s back may cause them internal bleeding. Whereas the average person might only cry out once in pain, they may cry out repeatedly. The perpetrator might plead in his defense that the standard of care not to abuse others should be linked to the pain of the average person, not to the pain of over-sensitive people, like orphans and widows. The Torah teaches us, therefore, that we have to remember who we are talking to and adjust our words and actions accordingly. If we don’t and the thin-skinned person cries out repeatedly in pain at the slightest abuse, G-d’s ears will be equally sensitive and pick up on their slightest complaint because, after all, G-d is the father of orphans and the protector of widows (Megillah 31a).
“Three times you shall celebrate for me each year” (23:14). Why does the Torah refer to the festivals as “regalim.” Because the world rests on three feet: on Torah, on Avodah and on Gemilas Chasadim. Torah is celebrated on Shavuos; Avodah, service to G-d rather than to humans, is celebrated on Pesach; and Gemilas Chasadim is celebrated on Sukkos when we gather in our harvest and are in a position to share our wealth with others.