Dear Friends,
We don’t always realize it but each time we pick up a Siddur, a prayerbook, for worship we take hold of an anthology of Jewish thought and text. In a single service we read Biblical text, Talmudic legal teachings, medieval poetry and modern Midrash. As such, each service is not only an opportunity to express gratitude and share our longing, but it is also a journey into our past in the service of building our Jewish future.
This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tissa, contains an example of this. It states,
The Israelite people shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time: it shall be a sign for all time between Me and the people of Israel. For in six days יהוה made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day [God] ceased from work and was refreshed.
If these words seem a bit familiar it is because they are the words of V’shamru and we sing them each Shabbat evening.
And while this is a powerful statement that makes clear the centrality of our day of rest, it is the verse that follows that truly stands out to me this year. That verse states,
Upon finishing speaking with him on Mount Sinai, [God] gave Moses the two tablets of the Pact, stone tablets inscribed with the finger of God.
The first tablet, we are taught, contains commandments (more accurately “utterances”) that pertain to our relationship to God while the commandments on the second tablet focus on our relationship to one another. One might see the first five commandments as more important than the second simply by virtue of their position. But a grammatical nuance in the text would argue against that perspective.
One of the great Chassidic teachers observed that, in this verse, the Hebrew for “tablets” is rendered in an unusual manner. He writes,
The Torah writes the word for tablets, luhot, without the vav, as if it was luhat, the singular form -“tablet.”
Thus the verse might instead be rendered,
Upon finishing speaking with him on Mount Sinai, [God] gave Moses the TABLET of the Pact, inscribed with the finger of God.
But we know there were two tablets and, from this, the great commentator Rashi concludes while there were two distinct tablets, the Torah wants us to understand, “that each of the two tablets was equal to the other.”
He continues, “‘the two were equal,’ means that the One who gave the Torah gave both tablets together, and one cannot separate the one from the other. One cannot fulfill his obligations as a Jew by observing only the commandments between [humanity] and God but not those between [one person] and [another], and vice versa.’
In other words, how we treat others is a reflection of how we relate to God. Each interaction is an expression of our theology, our core belief structure. If we show love to others, we are also showing our love for God. But if we mistreat others, if we are callous and uncaring, if we cheat in order to gain advantage over others, that too is a reflection of our theology. The two cannot be separated.
And yet, how often do we see people who claim to be religious using their “piety” as a justification to mistreat others? They may attend synagogue or church weekly but their behavior out in the world is in direct conflict with the words of prayer they utter. They lift up the first five commandments as Divine writ while selectively choosing when, and with whom, to apply the commandments on the second tablet. But the two tablets are equal and inseparable and, as a result, their actions are a desecration of God’s name.
Said a bit differently, how we treat others is a reflection of how we treat God. Moreover, if we love God it is incumbent upon us to love others. The two are interconnected. So the next time someone tells you they are “a person of faith,” don’t look at how often they attend public worship or the religious trappings they wear. Instead, look at how they act. Whether they know it or not, if they work to expand the rights and privileges of others they are doing holy work.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen