Parshas Mishpatim 5784
One of the bright spots in the darkness of the COVID-19 pandemic was the food distribution program. Once a week, we’d drive to the distribution site and our van would be loaded with food boxes provided by the government to supplant the food that school-aged children were (at least theoretically) no longer receiving through their schools’ meal programs. On my way home one evening, I noticed that the light on my dashboard indicated that my trunk was open. I said a small tefilah and asked Hashem for the latch to hold nonetheless. The last thing I needed was eight gallons of milk spilling all over Cooper Landing Road.
That particularly year, I was teaching the first perek of Bava Kama, which discusses and explicates many of the laws found in Parshas Mishpatim, including those related to damages. I shared the vignette with my students and asked, “What would you say about this case? What if I had spilled my groceries and created a hazard for other other drivers or pedestrians to contend with?” They responded, “Oh! It’s a Bor birshus harabbim—a pit opened in a public place!”
Though a bit more complicated halachically speaking, it was just the reaction I was hoping for. As this week’s parsha teaches, one who digs a pit in the middle of a public road becomes responsible for the damage done to others’ property as a result. And the principle is applied more broadly than just pits, holes, or trenches. If my food packages had tumbled out of my van and had caused damage to someone else’s car, perhaps I would have been responsible to pay for those damages.
The impact we have on the world matters. Whether our intention is to cause damage or not, we become responsible for what we drop in the public thoroughfare and its adverse effect on others.
In the Laws of Idol Worship, the Rambam discusses the interactions we as Jews have with members of non-Jewish society at large. A question arises: If I can make a buck by selling an idol to an idolator, am I permitted to do so? The Rambam declares this prohibited, but far more intriguing than the ruling itself is the comparison to another law:
כְּשֵׁם שֶׁאֵין מוֹכְרִין לְעוֹבֵד כּוֹכָבִים דְּבָרִים שֶׁמַּחֲזִיקִין בָּהֶן יְדֵיהֶן לַעֲבוֹדַת כּוֹכָבִים כָּךְ אֵין מוֹכְרִין לָהֶם דָּבָר שֶׁיֵּשׁ בּוֹ נֵזֶק לָרַבִּים כְּגוֹן דֻּבִּים וַאֲרָיוֹת וּכְלֵי זַיִן וּכְבָלִים וְשַׁלְשְׁלָאוֹת.
רמב׳׳ם הל׳ עבודת כוכבים ט:ח
Just as we do not sell items to idolators that will encourage their performance of idolatry, so do we not sell them something that can cause harm to others, such as bears or lions or weapons or ropes or chains.
Rambam, Laws of Idolatry, 9:8
That both laws should be prohibited makes perfect sense. The prohibition against idolatry is one of the seven Noahide laws, prohibited for non-Jews as much Jews. We want neither to encourage a violation of this basic moral demand, nor be responsible—even indirectly—for the creation of a public hazard.
But are they at all comparable? Is the prohibition against facilitating idolatry in any way similar to the responsibility we have for keeping innocent people safe from the weapons that we may wish to provide others with?
If your milk or groceries spill out into the road, your knee jerk reaction is likely to clean it up. Why? Because someone can trip and fall. I can’t allow my actions to cause physical harm to an innocent person. Evidently, the Rambam sees no difference between physical harm and spiritual harm in this regard. Indeed, the two prohibitions are identical. “כשם—Just as,” one must withhold introducing objects into society that can cause physical harm to others, so too when it comes to that which causes spiritual harm. Encouraging idolatry is not only problematic for the individual I may sell idols to; it becomes a societal issue because of the culture I help to foster.
The idol is set up in the living room of but one individual. But that individual is emboldened in his practices, invites others to participate, and a wave of sinful behavior surges outward from the original transaction I engaged in. We cannot differentiate between the physical and spiritual wellbeing of those who my actions will ultimately impact.
Imagine walking through a crowd at kiddush and trying to balance a cup of soda and bowl of cholent while snaking your way towards a chair at the end of the room. En route, your body twists, your arm turns, and everything ends up on the floor. What do you do? You clean it up. Because no matter how hungry or thirsty you may be, no matter how antsy you are to just finish up and get back home, you’d never allow your actions to cause harm to others. If someone can slip or trip on your mess, you’ll clean it up.
We need to consider spiritual hazards in the same light. We make a grave error when we consider our talking in shul as being a personal decision, being reflective of nothing more than our own commitment to davening or our personal relationship with a Bais Haknesses. We need to think about who else we’re impacting, who may slip and fall on the mess we’re making, who will be enticed to step away from meaningful tefilah to engage in the conversation now taking place, or simply be interrupted and distracted from being able to pray properly.
Lashon Hara is not a personal consideration of how “frum” we may or may not be. Nor is dishonesty or anger or a flippant attitude towards serious matters. When displayed in the company of others, these become groceries that lie in the street, hazards for others to become accustomed to, influenced by, and trip over. Our minds may classify certain behaviors as personal decisions, but they can help to fuel a harmful culture that we become responsible for.
And let’s remember as well that the opposite is likewise true. When we’re assessing the value of any given mitzvah—those that are performed publicly in particular—it’s critical that we consider not only the mitzvah in of itself, but its impact on others and the culture it helps create. Coming to shul to daven or to learn, especially doing so punctually, is not only an expression of my personal relationship with Hashem. It helps encourage others to do the same and influences others for the better. When we speak properly, calmly, patiently, respectfully, we are not only becoming more refined, but creating a culture of refinement as well.
Gandhi once brilliantly stated, “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” How we act and speak is far more than a reflection of our own personalities or personal commitment to virtuous principles. It is a kernel of influence deposited in the public sphere that slowly radiates outward, affecting those around us. Our behavior changes the world one way or the other. When we enter the room, will others be inspired and uplifted, or will they trip and fall?