Season of Return

Parashat Shoftim Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

Ben Volman, UMJC Canadian Regional Director

As the month of Elul arrives, life begins to change. Summer may still be in the air, but lately, where I live, we’ve had some fresh, cool breezes giving a foretaste of autumn. All those “first day of school” memories remind us that vacations are over. Along the tree-lined streets there’s a hint of color in the high branches. At services during Elul, the rousing blast of the Shofar beckons us to remember that we are the people who received their call at Sinai, and whatever our situation, we are summoned to return back to God, back to faith. We are on the verge of a spiritual season for renewal. At a time when the modern State of Israel is at war, when we are daily praying for hostages, and the world is in upheaval, we must be focused, attentive, and ready for what will come. Who knows what task the Lord will call us to in the coming days?

This week’s parasha, which is largely Moshe’s instructions to Israel’s future leaders, is uniquely aimed at inspiring us to raise our spiritual vision higher. The first word, shoftim, refers to those who will be appointed as judges, and the sidra opens with Moshe’s charge to appoint local magistrates and administrative officials in every place where God’s people are settled. The integrity of the administration of justice and the rule of law in Israel are to be as sacred as any spiritual principle in Torah: “Justice, justice [Tzedek, tzedek] you must pursue, so that you may live and possess the land that Adonai your God is giving you” (Deut 16:20). The repetition of Tzedek highlights the solemnity of Moshe’s directive to judges, community leaders, Levites, and Cohanim who will be responsible for the moral consistency of the law, both for the Jew and the foreigner in their midst. The commentary in the Hertz Chumash calls this the “keynote of the humane legislation of the Torah,” and notes that it prefigures the great plea of Amos: “Let justice roll like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing torrent” (Amos 5:24).

Those who aim to give leadership must show evidence of a character that inspires trust. Moshe demands that this must be seen in judges who will not be bribed, and even more so when Israel may seek to be ruled by kings “whom Adonai your God will choose” (Deut 17:15). The instructions here are prophetically replete with portents and warnings for the future, including cautions that a king must not have too many horses or wives or be diverted by amassing wealth. Kings must either receive or write out their own copy of the Torah for study and meditation. This is no place for superficial spirituality. Qualities of authentic faith and humility are to be etched into the king’s character, so that “his heart will not be exalted above his brothers and he will not turn from the commandment to the right or to the left—so that he may prolong his days . . . in the midst of Israel” (Deut 17:20).  

The late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks described the call to humility for Israel’s kings as “one of the genuine revolutions Judaism brought about in in the history of spirituality.” In an era when pharaohs and regents engraved their effigies and deeds in massive tableaus on temple walls, this ideal may have been radical. But how many kings of Israel and Judah exemplified this model? The passage probably brings to mind more disappointments than spiritual triumphs. Yet, who are we to criticize? Each of us has our own personal copy of the Torah. We’ve all heard countless instructions and cautions about poor habits and behaviors that we’ve ignored, shrugged off, and yes, resisted, with all the regrets that came later.  

That’s why we have Elul. That’s why we’re given this time to reflect, to recharge our spiritual energies, and to reset our course back to a path of faithfulness. Consider the story of Isaiah, praying in Solomon’s Temple after the death of King Uzziah. The nation had attained new heights under this brilliant, powerful leader who was later seized with pride and tragically spent his final years in leprous isolation (see 2 Chron 26). Isaiah had no illusions about his sins, and when God gloriously appeared before him in the Temple, he cried out, “I am ruined” (Isa 6:4). Yet in that moment, when the Lord issued the call that would change his life, he was able to say, “Hineni”—“Here I am.”  

In this week’s Haftarah, the fourth of the Haftarot of Consolation, the prophet tells us that despite Israel’s long years of suffering, God will not fail to vindicate his people and be fully present in their time of need:  

“My people will know My Name.
Therefore in that day,
    I am the One who will be saying, ‘Hineni!’”

And then we read those familiar words of the Messianic promise:

How beautiful on the mountains are
the feet of him who brings good news. (Isa 52:6–7)

Yeshua, surrounded by disciples who anticipated that he might soon be recognized as Israel’s true king, was steeped in the Torah when he described the character of his kingship, and also the character of those who would follow in his steps:

“You know that the rulers of the nations lord it over them, and their great ones play the tyrant over them. It shall not be this way among you. But whoever wants to be great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you shall be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” (Matt 20:25–28)

How high will you be called? Some of you will know a story by the Yiddish writer L.L. Peretz (translated by Ruth Wisse).

The revered rabbi of a little town would famously go missing early on Friday mornings approaching the Ten Days of Awe during the hours of selichot, the penitential prayers. His disciples would say that he must be in heaven, and his congregants would agree. He must be interceding for them. But then a Litvak yeshiva bocher arrives in town. While he scoffs at their reverence, he secretly decides to solve the mystery. Hiding under the rabbi’s bed, the Litvak is awake early on Friday morning when the rabbi rises. The yeshiva bocher watches as the rabbi gets dressed as a common peasant, puts an axe in his belt along with some rope. Discreetly, he follows the rabbi to a nearby forest. Out of the rabbi’s belt comes the axe, and he chops down a tree, cuts it into firewood, and uses the rope to make a bundle. Arriving at the dark, cold home of a sick Jewish woman, he speaks to her with a peasant’s accent, compelling her to accept the wood without payment. While she complains that can’t even get up to light a fire, he recites the penitential prayers, fills her stove, and sets it alight. The Litvak, who becomes the rabbi’s disciple, no longer scoffs when the others speak of him ascending to heaven. He only adds, “If not still higher.”

All Scriptures are taken from the Tree of Life Version.