The Gemarra in Pesachim has difficulty with the verse “On that day, G-d will be one and G-d’s name will be one.”  What, G-d is not one now?  Well, says Rebbe Acha Bar Chanina, this world is not like the next world.  In this world, upon hearing fortunate news, we say ‘[G-d] is good and does good,’ and upon hearing unfortunate news, we say ‘[G-d] is the true judge.’  But in the world to come, everything is [G-d] is good and does good.’  When it is clear that what G-d has done is good, we recognize that goodness; when it is not clear, we continue to recognize that goodness, but blindly: I know that, somehow, it is good, but I cannot see it.

When Moshe returns to G-d after the sin of the calf, he asks G-d ‘Let me know your ways.’  Rashi translates it as saying, ‘If I have in fact found favor in your eyes, let me know your ways; meaning, what reward is there in finding favor in your eyes?’  Perhaps this relates to the Gemarra in Brachot 7a, “Moshe said to the Holy One, ‘Master of the Universe!  Why are there righteous people who suffer and righteous people who don’t suffer?  And why are there wicked people who do not suffer, and wicked people who do suffer?”  How is this good, Moshe asks, that good people suffer and wicked people thrive?

According to R’ Tzaddok (Pri Tzaddik Ki Tisa 7), Moshe wants to see the goodness as it happens.  Whereas one can recognize retroactively that what has happened, there is inevitably a period of doubt, or suffering, that precedes that recognition.  Moshe wants to see it as good when it happens.  This is the face of G-d.  ‘One cannot see my face and live’, says G-d.

But one is responsible for finding the actual good in what happens to him.  As R’ Tzaddok writes (Pri Tzaddik, 14^th of Adar I, 1), Rebbe Akiva said, “A person should accustom himself to saying, ‘all that G-d has done, G-d has done for the good.’”  As R’ Tzaddok explains, Rebbe Akiva’s gift was that he could recognize the actual good in everything, and that it was not at all bad, just like we will see in the world to come, where everything is ‘[G-d] is good and does good.

Though there are certainly differences between Moshe’s level of understanding and Rebbe Akiva’s, we should be striving toward both levels.  First, we should insist on finding the good in everything that happens to us, after the fact.  And secondly we should be striving for the level of Moshe, whereas we can see G-d’s goodness as it is happening.

Both of these levels would seem challenging to many people.  It seems that we all-too-readily accept that what G-d does for us is good, without really trying to understand how it is good.  And we certainly would never dream of attaining the level of Moshe, where we could see it as good as it is happening, without having to go through the seemingly requisite period of doubt and suffering.  But we should not idolize Moshe by seeing his level as unattainable.  It is this idolization that leads to the Sin of the Calf.

We should desire and aspire toward the level of relationship with G-d that Moshe wanted to experience.  Let us hope and pray and long with every ounce of our being.  Let G-d have to tell us no, rather than saying no to ourselves.

Perhaps we imagine one who has face-to-face encounter with G-d as some ideal human being, devoid of specific character in the face of G-d.  It is perhaps difficult to imagine a ‘person’ per se attaining such lofty heights.  It may have been this very point that troubled the people Israel as contemplated his absence: “This Moshe, the man, we don’t know what became of him.’  We know where Moshe went, but we have ceased relating to him as a man.

Often our specificity is what troubles us as we imagine a relationship with G-d.  We might in theory accept that, yes, actual people with actual flaws can have relationship with G-d.   And, yes, those flaws can in fact become conduits for deep relationship to

G-d.  But that doesn’t look a certain way.  That phenomenon cannot manifest in me.

This problem of specificity marks the beginning of the Parsha.  Moshe is told ‘when you count (lit. ‘lift up’) the heads of the children of the people, according to their numbers, and each man shall give atonement for himself… This is what they shall give, all who pass through the census – a half a shekel.’  The question arises – why do they need to give atonement for being counted?  If it is negative or harmful, why count at all?   The answer may be that the atonement does not come for being counted – it comes for being specified.  The atonement is for having one’s ‘head lifted’, for being momentarily taken out of the general populace and seen as an individual.  It seems that we are meant to live as individuals as well as members of a populace.

The path to G-d has rules, but none of those rules obviate the personality of the seeker.  In fact, the personality is the rule.  Self is path.

We find Moshe’s personality shining through, even while speaking face to face with

G-d.  We would such moments to be moments of total nullification and loss of independent selfhood.  But we find Moshe arguing, reasoning, persuading, and thinking quickly.  We find Moshe not only in a place of receptivity, but in a place of active pursuit.  He has his own goals and aspirations: Let me know your ways.

Moshe’s expressions of person-ness are solicited and rewarded by G-d.  We find in the Gemarra Shabbat 88b that, when Moshe went up to get the Torah, his mission was met with scorn my the Ministering Angels.  ‘What is this ‘child of woman’ doing among us?’  When they complain that the Torah which is the most sublime of Lights, has no relation to the world of humans. Hashem tells Moshe ‘You give them an answer.’  Moshe goes through each of the ten commandments: ‘I am Hashem your G-d who took you out of Egypt,’ and asks the angels, ‘did you go down to Egypt and work for Pharaoh?  What do you need the Torah for?’  Among the reasons that Hashem has Moshe answer is that he Torah is meant for people who answer, who think creatively and respond.  Torah is not for angels – angels do not have all of the accoutrements of personality.

Further on, Moshe, when he sees the calf, throws down the tablets and breaks them.  We have no indication that he was commanded by G-d to do so.  But we do find in the Gemarra Shabbat 87a G-d telling Moshe, ‘The tablets which you broke – good job (lit. your strength should be straight) that you broke them.’

It is the very sense of Moshe as man that marks the people’s contrite response after the Sin of the Calf.

And Moshe would take the tent and pitch it outside the camp, distanced from the camp, and he called it the tent of meeting.  And anyone who sought G-d would go to the tent of Meeting that was outside the camp.  And when Moshe left to go toward the tent of meeting, all the people would stand, and each man would stand at the entrance of his tent, and would watch as Moshe would arrive at the tent.  And when Moshe would arrive at the tent, the pillar of fire would come down, and would stand at the opening of the tent, and the entire nation would stand up and bow, every man at his tent.

We see Israel finally recognizing that Moshe is, in fact, still very much a man, and they see what a man is capable of achieving.  As Rashi writes on the phrase ‘and they looked after Moshe’: A form of praise, saying ‘Fortunate is this one, born of woman, who is promised that the Divine Presence would enter after him to the opening of his tent.’  Rashi echoes Moshe’s humanity, ‘born of woman’, capable of such relation to the Divine.  Rashi echoes the derision of the angels ‘what is this son of woman doing among us?’

When Moshe has received the second commandments, one of the first subsequent commandments he is given is the commandment to do pilgrimage.  This commandment requires that each of us ‘see (or be seen – see Gemarra Hagigah 2a) the face of The Master, Hashem the G-d of Israel (Shemot 34:23).’  We are required to see and be seen before the face of G-d.  The relationship with G-d is not an option.  We cannot hide behind abstractions.  We must present ourselves as people before G-d, and allow for the possibility of seeing G-d’s face.

The tension between being ‘of one’s time and place’ and being eternal is a palpable one.  When people discuss the great sages of the Talmud and their halachic rulings, they ask whether the rules those sages laid down were meant to be eternal, or were merely speaking to their times.  The answer is that the only way they could speak eternally was to speak to their times.  To pretend to obtain toward the highest abstract good is impossible and a fallacy.  On must recognize that becoming fully conscious of the present moment the fullness of it’s subjectivity is the only way to relate to the eternal G-d.

Before eating from the Tree of Knowledge, Adam and Eve were naked, and they were not ashamed.  When they ate from the tree, they realized that they were naked, and they sewed together leaves to cover themselves.  This moment of creating garments is the clearest indication to G-d that they have eaten.  ‘I was afraid, for I am naked so I hid,’ explains Adam.  ‘Who told you that you are naked?  Did you eat from the Tree?’ asks

G-d.  As Rashi explains, ‘how do you know that there is shame in standing naked?’   And yet, after G-d gives them their sentence, ‘and G-d made for the man and his wife robes of leather, and dressed them.’  Here, we find G-d not only agreeing as to the necessity of having clothes; G-d makes clothes for them.

It seems that, as a result of eating from the Tree, clothing does become necessary, for the eating of the tree brings about an admixture of Good and Evil.  Once difference, or ‘good and evil’, is introduced, there is a need to treat different parts of ourselves, and the world, in different ways.  One manifestation of this is in perception of the human body.  Whereas there had been no perceived distinction between the genitalia and other parts of the body, there was suddenly a sense that certain parts of the body should be covered.  As Rashi explains, ‘they did not know the ways of modesty, to differentiate between good and bad.’  Shame about genitalia is the beginning of shame in relationship – it leaves an opening for one to claim ‘there are some parts of me that I need to hide.’  Clothing, as Adam and Eve design them, are designed to cover shame.

It is clear that clothes are necessary.  And it is clear that they primarily serve to cover that which should not be revealed.  But even within that primary purpose there are two possibilities.  Clothes can function to hide our ‘shameful parts’, or they can also allow those points of shame to be filtered in such a way that they can be expressed in the world in a positive way.  Clothes can serve as barriers to relationship or as catalysts of relationship.  The difference between the two is the difference between כתנות עור – robes of skin, and כתנות אור – robes of light, as was written in the Torah of Rebbe Meir (Bereishit Rabba 20:12).

When Aharon assumes the priesthood, Hashem commands Moshe to make for Aharon clothes for ‘honor and splendor’.  With these garments, Aharon is able to perform the services of the high priest.  And each garment serves another purpose, as Malbim explains, ‘to teach them how they should clothe their souls with good character traits that will lead them toward purity and holiness (Rimzei Hamishkan Titzaveh).’   The Gemarra Zevachim 88 spells out the function of each garment: the robe is to atone for spilling blood; the pants atone for illicit sexual relationship; the turban atones for pride; the avnet atones for the thoughts of the heart; the choshen atones for (distorted) judgment; the apron atones for idolatry; the overcoat atones for evil tongue; the head plate atones for brazenness.  Each of the garments clears the way for deeper relationship – between man and G-d, between man and man, and between man and himself.

According to Rashi and others, the command to make the priestly garments comes after the sin of the calf.  All of the acts and attitudes for which the priestly garments atone were violated at the sin of the calf – murder, idolatry, illicit sexuality, arrogance, evil speech, brazenness, the thoughts of the heart, and distorted judgment.  So by wearing these garments, Aharon is serving G-d with full consciousness of the potential ills of humanity.  His clothes do not serve as an escape, but as a reminder.  The emotions behind all of these negative acts and attitudes do in fact have a place in relationship to G-d.  Since they are present and real, they must have a healthy place in that relationship.  But they must be properly clothed.

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The Malbim writes, when discussing the garments Hashem made for Adam and Eve, ‘Initially, the Torah written upon his very heart, and he was filled with a spirit of awareness and fear of G-d.  But now that he had strayed from the path that rises toward the house of G-d, he required a written Torah.’  There is a direct association between the garments they wore (made of leather) and the written Torah they would require (which was written on parchment).  As Rebbe Natan writes in Likutei Halachot Netilat Yadayim Shacharit 4:12, ‘Initially they were able to be subsumed and nullified in the Infinite Light at all times with no effort, and to draw down light from there not with coarse garments, but with extremely refined garments – as it says כותנות אור – garments of light… But because of the sin… it requires great effort to be subsumed in that light, and it is impossible to receive that light except when it is clothed in many garments and condensations, in a sense of כתנות עור – garments of skin.’

The Malbim and Rebbe Natan both allude to the fact that a formerly free-flowing relationship with G-d that required no more than instinct now required a far more solidified and specified approach.  That which had resided in the realm of the unspoken was to be subject to the rigor of Torah and mitzvah.  The Torah, and the mitzvot therein, becomes the ‘path that rises toward the house of G-d.’  With its specifications of kosher and not, pure and impure, permitted and forbidden, holy and profane, the Torah offers a clear path of what to embrace and what to avoid.  If we have desire to reach G-d, we can no longer express it as Adam and Eve did before the fall.  We must express that desire in a specific way – the desire must wear specific clothes.

The intense specificity of the path is not instinctual – it requires education and humility.  The Mishkan, for example, comes with the promise ‘and I will dwell among them.’  But its design and details are so intricate, even Moshe is confused by them.  So, too, the garments we are called upon to make for our desire, so that we might ‘properly express our love of G-d’, are so detailed, we might be tempted to spend all of our time and energy learning about them.  Or, worse, we might find our fire dying from the daunting enormity of the task.  On the other hand, we are told that, like with the Mishkan, every detail is required in order to bring down the Divine Presence.  The temptation to express that desire by intuition alone might lead one far from the path.

The light without the proper vessel leads to painful separation, but the vessel without the light leaves no fire in that relationship.  And both sides beckon seductively – it is all too easy to hide in the minutiae of the law, forever pursuing the ‘right way’ and never being able to commit to one action for fear that there is a better one.  And it is also all too tempting to throw the ‘letter’ aside in favor of the ‘spirit’.  Neither approach leads to G-d – only in honoring the narrow bridge that spans the chasm between the way of light and the way of structure can we be assured of finding G-d. Once again we are met with garments that are necessary, but threaten to obscure.

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The word mitzvah implies not only commandment, but also connection, as written in Degel Machane Ephraim, Kedushat Levi, Sfat Emet, and more.  A mitzvah provides opportunity for connection, but bears the danger of the opposite, as it says in Yoma 72b ‘if he merits, it is an elixir of life; if he does not, it is an elixir of death.’ Mitzvah is G-d saying ‘connect to me this way.’  But in doing so, one might take such relief in knowing ‘what to do’ that one might not feel obligated to invest that action with personal meaning.  Without the specified action, one cannot connect to G-d fully.  But with the action alone, one might create a perfect structure that is empty of G-d.

Therefore mitzvah must be seen not as an end in and of itself, but as a conduit for relationship to G-d in the world.  A mitzvah is how we access G-d’s manifest Presence.  Its fulfillment requires, but is not limited to, knowledge of ‘what G-d wants’.  And it requires, but is not limited to, desire to connect to G-d through the mitzvah.

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In prayer as well, it is tempting to lose one’s self in the words.  One might think that, with all these wonderful words and ideas, he need only say them to gain the desired effect of closeness to G-d.

The external problem is, of course, only a reflection of the internal one.  As we have explained many times,  Haman/Amalek only comes as an external force when the internal Haman/Amalek shows up.

Haman’s complaint about the Jewish people to Achashveirosh – which was a true complaint, mind, on many levels – was that the Jewish people were ‘scattered and disconnected’.  This was true geographically and in terms of our national unity.  Everyone was in a different camp, and each camp rejected every other camp.

This is the challenge that faces us every year before Purim – disconnection from other Jews.  Hatred, even.  Right before Purim, it is perfectly natural to feel about another Jew, ‘I cannot stand him.  I cannot even be in the room with him.’  This is our test.  If you are feeling these feelings toward any Jew, know that Haman/Amalek has you by the throat.

In order to merit to the salvation of Purim, we must fulfill the verse, ‘and Mordecai gathered all of the Jews.’  We must gather together – or else there is nothing to save.

In this week’s Parsha, Trumah, we read, ‘and they shall make for me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.’  This is usually interpreted by the groovy Jews as meaning, ‘each one of us makes a Temple for Hashem in our own hearts.’  And that may be so.  But it is not what the verse says.  The verse says, ‘and they shall make for me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.’  The Presence of G-d dwells amidst the totality of the people, together.

Every Jew must contribute to the traveling Sanctuary.  Even if one person would want to finance the whole thing, it is not possible.  Everyone must contribute.  This is similar to what Rebbe Nachman says: ‘Every Jew has a particular point in him or her that can be found nowhere else.’  If you want that point, you must get it from that person.’  Or, in another place: ‘each person is a letter in the Torah.  If you reject that person, then your Torah is pasul – invalid; it is not a kosher Torah.’

This is the time – before Purim – to work toward forgiving and asking forgiveness.  As we know, Yom Kippur – the day we all fear, and we all scramble to forgive and gain forgiveness – is merely a reflection of Purim.  If we ask forgiveness around Yom Kippur, all the more so we should ask around Purim.

This year, let us enter into Purim as one nation with one heart, committed to patience with each other, seeking good points, in humility.   Amen.

We learn from this quite clearly that receiving the Torah does not eliminate one’s human tendencies. Nor, we might say, is it meant to. What the receiving of the Torah does, though, is give a vantage point from which we can look at those facets of our lives in hopes of infusing them with that same sense of “I am Hashem your G-d.” Yitro is the context, and we might say ‘goal’, of Mishpatim.

Far more difficult than remembering Parshat Yitro when we read Mishpatim is remembering the crystal-clear moment of Har Sinai as we walk in the world today. The generation that actually received the Torah couldn’t last 40 days without needing to replace G-d with a cow made of gold. We, 3500 years later, are expected to remember? This is even included in the six remembrances that are to be contemplated after morning service: “Only be quite careful, and guard your self, lest you forget that which your eyes saw, and lest they leave your consciousness all the days of your life. And you shall make known to your children, and your children’s children, about the day when you stood before Hashem your G-d at Horev.” If they couldn’t remember, how can we?

The laws that we have, though, are designed to help us remember. It is understood that our stand at Sinai ends: “You have stood at this moment far too long. Turn, and travel…” (Devarim 1:6,7). It is expected of us that we will be people that work the earth, that own animals, that dig pits and get in fights, that make mistakes and lose control. And it is expected that, in the midst of such a life, we will remember G-d of Sinai. How? It is the very matrix of laws described in Mishpatim, whose net covers nearly every aspect of our lives, which can serve as a constant reminder – when it is not seen as oppressive.

This sense of oppression that we might feel in response to this cold matrix of laws belies the fact that the word in Hebrew for laws, דינים, has another connotation: harsh judgment or decree. The feeling that one’s success in a certain matter is being denied by Divine will is similar to the feeling that one’s relationship to G-d is marked not by love but by laws. It is our need for freedom to navigate our own destinies crashing into the wall of law.

Law and judgment are cold in the hands of a relationship that does not clearly project love. When the intent is clear – ‘because of my love for you, I am telling you how I want this done’ – then laws, judgments, boundaries and guidelines are welcome. But when the ‘legislated’ ‘judged’ or ‘guided’ partner does not feel that love, then laws and judgments are cold walls of a house with no hearth. Those moments of legislation can be seen as motivated by lack of love and desire for distance.

We do not want to experience G-d only as lawgiver – particularly after the chosenness implied by Sinai. We want to know that the love of ‘I have borne you upon eagles’ wings, and brought you to Me’ persists and is eternal. We are therefore challenged to find the love in the law, and to hear in each mitzvah an invitation to relationship with

G-d. But, in order to do that, we must rise above the dualistic sense that G-d as lover is better than G-d as law-giver. The closer we can get to seeing that they are expressions of the same love, the closer we will come to seeing the G-d-service in not leaving a pit uncovered and guarding our dangerous ox. We are challenged to break our perception that Sinai was a ‘higher’ spiritual experience than Mishpatim. .

When we can overcome our ideas of separation between ‘spiritual experience’ and ‘adherence to law’, we will find deep relationship to G-d through law. For underlying the cold distance of the law is a deep trust in our ability to erect and maintain a perfect society. All of these laws featured in Mishpatim are the outline of a society that has the loftiest of ideals in place: respect for humans, respect for animals, respect for property, respect for family. It calls us to a level of responsibility not only for ourselves, but for our possessions. It understands that we are human, and confers upon us the task of making humanity divine.

G-d, in a sense, sees in us the potential to fulfill the vision of a perfected world, and therefore trusts us with the plan of how to get there. When we fall below away from the task, G-d calls us back to the task. That calling back can feel shameful. It can hurt. It sometimes feels like punishment. But punishment serves as a reminder that we are capable of fulfilling the law, for the giving of the law itself was rooted in the faith that we could fulfill it.

One might propose that a ‘perfect society’ has no place for slavery, no place for fistfights and philanderers. I would propose that a perfect society is one that knows how to adequately deal with all the situations that would come up as a result of the full human experience. The society envisioned in Mishpatim is not one that ignores people’s urge to steal, or to hurt others, or to hurt themselves. Rather, it is a vision that accounts for these urges and properly meets them face-to-face. Mishpatim is part of a process. It is an essential link between us and the Sinai experience. It gains its very power and relevance by legislating the darker sides of human experience in a relevant way. If it instead drew a picture of society that had no fights, no slavery, no rampant animals, it would be a premature vision that would bring a sense of guilt in tow.

Alternatively, what we get is that slavery is legal but legislated: the laws are such that, with a Jewish slave, if the master sleeps on a comfortable bed, the salve must be given the same treatment. In fact, the laws are so intense and frustrating that the Talmud writes, “Anyone that acquires a slave acquires a master.” There is a sense that, with these laws in place, slavery will be allowed to exist, and will be allowed to become so undesirable that no one will do it. The ramifications of venting anger violently will be so extreme, that ‘all will learn, and fear’. By understanding that these are real possibilities in the human experience, and then making the results unbearable, Mishpatim shows a deep concern with pointing the human experience as we know it toward the heights of Sinai. Mishpatim is the Sinai experience sending its tentacles out into the unrefined human realm, hooking us in and reminding us of who we could and must be.

Once we have found that the law is an expression of love, then we can experience the grid of halacha as a system of capillaries connecting us to the heart.

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