Shabbat Mishpatim: Narrow Bridge

וְדַע, שֶׁהָאָדָם צָרִיךְ לַעֲבֹר עַל גֶּשֶׁר צַר מְאֹד מְאֹד, וְהַכְּלָל וְהָעִקָּר – שֶׁלֹּא יִתְפַּחֵד כְּלָל

Know that a person needs to cross a very very narrow bridge, and the rule, the essence, is to not give in to fear at all. Rebbe Nahman of Bratslav, Likkutei Mohoran II.48

וַיֹּ֨אמֶר יְהוֹשֻׁ֜עַ אֶל־הָעָ֗ם לֹ֤א תֽוּכְלוּ֙ לַעֲבֹ֣ד אֶת־יְהֹוָ֔ה כִּֽי־אֱלֹהִ֥ים קְדֹשִׁ֖ים ה֑וּא אֵל־קַנּ֣וֹא ה֔וּא לֹא־יִשָּׂ֥א לְפִשְׁעֲכֶ֖ם וּלְחַטֹּאותֵיכֶֽם

Joshua, however, said to the people, “You will not be able to serve the ETERNAL—who is a holy God, a jealous one – and who will not abide your transgressions and your sins.” (Joshua 24.19)

In 1920 a play was presented by the writer and playwright Shalom Aleichem at the Second Avenue Yiddish Art Theatre in New York City; it was called Shver Tsu Zayn a Yid, “it’s hard to be a Jew.” That hasn’t changed since the people of Israel first arrived in what was supposed to be a safe haven in the land of Canaan, according to the alternate haftarah for this week’s parashat Mishpatim from the Book of Joshua. 

A particularly compassionate modern midrash (created by former journalist and current Israeli opposition leader Yair Lapid) about the death of Moshe Rabbenu in the wilderness suggests that it was not so much a punishment for the legendary leader not to complete the journey, but rather a way to keep him from having to witness the less than dreamy reality. The chaos and confusion, the falling short of expectations, the reversals, defeats and self-doubts fell to Joshua, his successor, to handle.

Last week, we read of the moment when our people (including us ourselves as well) stood at Sinai and encountered a Place where they were all One; with a single mind and a whole heart they, for their sake and ours, committed to the spiritual path we call Judaism. This week, we get the “fine print”: not ten Words but more than fifty mitzvot are presented to us in parashat Mishpatim, and they range from kashrut and treatment of animals to business ethics. 

It’s clear: the Jewish path, called halakhah, “going”, is a path of a distinct and carefully thought out morality. From the beginning, ideals were applied to human situations, and each application, messy and inexact as it would have to be, was to be weighed in the scales of both justice and mercy. 

It sounds lovely. Why, in one of the haftarah readings for this Shabbat, did Joshua warn us that we wouldn’t be able to carry out our intention to follow this path? Is it because we are basically selfish, weak and ornery, as the prophets remind us regularly?

Or is it possible that we might not be able to cling to the path of justice and mercy, Jewish-style, because of fear? What if, on either side of this carefully delineated path, there is nothing but darkness, nothing but endless abyss? What if there is no justification for our days, no security as a reward for our good behavior? 

In these days when we watch as what might have been called normal social expectations of the rule of law and the pursuit of justice in U.S. courts and legislatures are undermined, we become painfully aware of the tenuousness of the social contract that undergirds and defines our lives. We can see that it is a construction, and that it depends on the common belief of all those participating to have meaning.

O the irony: we are watching a breakdown in what we thought we could rely upon in society which echoes the great breakdown of religious belief in the early modern era. In truth, we all need a common belief in something in order to function, and whatever the belief in U.S. law and justice was, for those who held it, they are now reduced to protesting “this is the United States of America, you can’t do that here.” Yet we are, and they do.

How shall a Jew act in these days of uncertainty and growing fear? In one of readings assigned as haftarah for this Shabbat, Joshua outlines the choices: you can go “back” to what your ancestors believed – that is, you can seek out an “originalism” to save you from the moral work of making just judgements where you now find yourself. Or you can follow the ways of the people among whom you now live, and go along with deportations, and harassments, and segregations, and opressions. Or, as Joshua declares in conclusion of his address: וְאָנֹכִ֣י וּבֵיתִ֔י נַעֲבֹ֖ד אֶת־ה “I and my household will serve the Eternal.” (Joshua 24.15)

To “serve the Eternal” is not a free pass to Eden. It is a self-willed determination to keep one’s eyes on the Jewish ethical through line, even as it is revealed to be a swaying tightrope through a darkness that you cannot define or tame. It is to know fear without letting it rule you; to seek meaning with no guarantee of success; it is to hold on to this path, this halakhah, which demands that we do justice because it is just. Not because we will win, but because it is our path, and for us it is the right thing to do.