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Parashat Mishpatim
Rabbi Ben Hollander

Introducing its law compendium, our parashah opens: “V’Eleh ha-mishpatim asher tasim lifnaihem” (“And these are the ordinances that you shall set before them.”) It doesn’t take very long—only until the first letter of the verse!—for the commentators to get involved in a discussion about the fundamental nature of Jewish law.

Let’s look at that first letter, the “vav”—usually translated as the conjunction “and”. I remember an elementary school teacher who sternly forbade us to begin a sentence with “and”. Well, she would have liked the new-JPS translation of our verse: it leaves out the conjunction and translates simply, “These are the rules…!” (Similarly, Ex. l:l.) Besides the linguistic reasons, this fits how modern Biblical scholars regard the collection of laws in Mishpatim: a discrete “book”, the “Sefer Ha-Brit” (Book of the Covenant) of 24:7 whose ratification is described at the parashah’s end.

The classical interpreters of the Torah, for whom every jot of the holy text has significance, also see that the “vav” is somewhat superfluous. But they don’t disregard it as simply stylistic—rather, to their way of thinking that “vav” must be there to denote some special meaning. In fact, they see it as nothing less than the connective between this parashah and the Sinaitic revelation in the previous parashah. It comes to teach that just as the Ten Commandments were given at Sinai, so too were these laws (Rashi)!

Indeed, the commentators’ close reading of the text uncovers several hints of the connection between Mishpatim and the Decalogue. Note, for example, the rather remarkable beginning of the legislation of Mishpatim with judgments regulating, of all subjects…slavery! Nahum Sarna points out that this is unique: despite the common legal tradition of the ancient Near East, no other law collections open with the subject of slavery. Sarna ascribes this choice of opening subject to b’nai Israel’s historical experience in Egypt, but note too how the Torah itself subtly underscores this point and its significance: Just as the Ten Commandments begin with “I am the God who brought you forth (“hotzeit’kha”) from…the house of slavery” (20:2) the laws of Mishpatim also begin with reference to slavery—specifically, that the Hebrew slave will go out (“yeitzei”) free after serving for a number of years (2l:2). “Six days shall he serve and in the seventh go free…” recalls also the fourth commandment’s “Six days shall you work… and the seventh is Shabbat…”, with both echoing the grand rhythm of creation (Ramban). Ramban and Sforno note another textual connection linking Decalogue and Mishpatim: the l0th Commandment concludes with the subject of not coveting “anything that belongs to your neighbor” (20:l4); and now the laws in Mishpatim proceed to delineate the parameters of what belongs to you and what belongs to your neighbor. Ramban notes too that many of Mispatim’s ordinances (2l:l2-l9) expand other commandments of the Decalogue (regarding idolatry, honor of parents, murder, and adultery).

What is the significance of this close connection? Ramban cites Midrash Rabbah: “The whole Torah (alternately, the whole world!) depends on justice; that is why the Holy One, blessed be He, gave the civil laws directly after the Ten Commandments.” Rashi expresses this same principle in explaining why the last verses of Parashat Yitro (laws of the altar, 20:2l-23) intervene between the Decalogue and Mishpatim: “This comes to teach us that the Sanhedrin court should be established alongside the Temple”—graphically demonstrating thereby that the Torah requires religious devotion be linked to societal justice.

The traditional insistence on the shared divine origin and authority of both the Decalogue and the laws of Mishpatim is also reflected in Rashi’s understanding of the covenant-acceptance scene in the concluding chapter of Mishpatim, chapter 24. Following a Talmudic view, he places this scene (vvl-ll) as occurring the day prior to the Revelation at Sinai described in Yitro (according to one of the principles of traditional Biblical exegesis—”ein mukdam u’meuhar”—the Torah isn’t necessarily written in chronological order). Thus, Am Yisrael pledges “na’aseh v’nishma”—”we will do and we will heed”—BEFORE the revelation of both the guiding principles in the Decalogue and the specific applications in the laws. And why might this scene have been placed here after the laws? In order, again, to emphasize the intrinsic connection between the Ten Commandments and the other commandments of Jewish law (a link that also has polemical import against the Christian view).

Let’s now turn to the “seifa” of our verse—“…asher tasim lifnaihem” (“…which you shall set before them”). Moses is to present these rules—but how? Not by repetition of the verses and teaching by rote, stresses Rashi, but by “explaining the reasons for everything and their significance.” For the rules have to be explained and understood before they can be applied properly to situations as they arise. Thus is the Oral Law implicit in the Written—from the very beginning at Sinai!

And who are the people—the “them”—who are to learn and understand the rules? The entire Jewish people, male and female, young and old, who witnessed the awe-inspiring theophany at Sinai only a few verses before in Parashat Yitro—or the legal experts of each generation? Both views are found in the tradition. This debate over who is authorized to learn and interpret the law continues to the present time, but inevitably in our age of the democratization of learning and stress on personal acceptance of the collective heritage, the first view increasingly makes itself heard.

Let’s expand Rashi’s imagery in this direction. In commenting that Moses is required to explain the principles and meaning behind the laws rather than just teach the laws by rote, Rashi states that Moses is to teach the laws “like a table fully set before a person with everything ready for eating”—like a “shulhan arukh.” But if we think about it, what happens when the meal is served? Individual variation ensues: different appetites, different tastes, different rhythms of eating (e.g. gracious dining, fast food), different places at the table, different conversations, etc. Ironically, the Shulhan Arukh, the authoritative codification of Jewish law by Joseph Karo, sometimes “freezes” the food—we have a set meal as well as a set table! But the metaphor can be employed more liberally: the table is set uniformly—we all have the same texts and laws and history to study from in order to understand Jewish principles and be able to apply them authentically in our situation—but we all vary in the use of the utensils and the mix of foods. In short, we all “spice” our Jewish meal a little differently in the openness and multifacetedness of today’s world.

But enough introduction; it’s time to “tzei u’lmad” (go and study). This Shabbat, why doesn’t each of us select one of the Mishpatim to study in depth (use Nehama Leibowitz’ Studies in Shemot as a guide) and try to apply the legal concept to a contemporary situation? It will taste good! (Hint: Read rabbinically, not literally. For example, instead of “your slave” read “anyone over whom you have power,” “the oppressed,” “the weak,” “the needy,” “the other,” and so on.)

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