Shoftim: Judging ourselves and our self-worth in the New Year

This week we celebrate Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of Elul, the month that leads up to Rosh Hashanah. In four weeks we will stand before G-d in judgment, and we will ask for a good year.

One of the central prayers of the day makes abundantly clear the fact that on this day, at the beginning of the New Year, our fate is determined:

“Who will live and who will die? Who in their time, and who in an untimely (young?) manner? Who (will die this year) by fire and who by water? … Like the shepherd whose flock pass beneath His staff, (G-d) passes His sheep (us) beneath his rod (club?)…”

Is this really the relationship we are meant to have with Hashem (G-d)? Who wants a relationship with a G-d that insists on “bringing us to court” and standing over us in judgment? Does G-d want us to fear Him?

In Shoftim (literally, “judges”), as Moshe continues his farewell soliloquy to the Jewish people prior to their entering the land of Israel, the Torah tells us that one of the principle responsibilities of the Jewish people in creating a just society, is to appoint judges in all the cities and communities that they build in the land of Israel.

“Place for yourselves judges and officers in all your gates that Hashem (G-d) gives you, for your tribes, and they shall judge the people with righteous judgment.” (Deuteronomy 16:18)

What, really, is a judge, and how are we to relate to the concept of being judged?

The Sefer Ha’minhagim (book of customs) suggests that the idea of hearing the shofar blown every day during Elul is “to instill yirah (fear) and re’adah (trembling) in us, at the approaching of the Yamim Nora’im (days of awe).

The Talmud tells us that the origins of the Jewish people’s relationship with the shofar, is the story of the binding of Isaac.

The conclusion of this story is one of the most dramatic moments in Jewish history, and could not have been scripted better in Hollywood: at the last possible moment, with his knife raised high over his beloved son Yitzchak’s head, Abraham hears the voice of an angel telling him, “Do not send forth your hand against the lad, and do nothing to him…” (22:12)

And at this point the text tells us that “Avraham lifted his eyes and saw, and behold, there was a ram caught in the underbrush by its antlers…” (22:13)

Avraham takes this as a sign, and offers up the ram in place of his son. Four thousand years later, we blow the ram’s horn on Rosh Hashanah to remind G-d of the merit of our forefather Abraham.

Rashi points out that Hashem does not actually tell Avraham to slaughter Yitzchak, but rather to offer him up; an ambiguous term, and the Ishbitzer suggests that G-d gives Avraham three days because Hashem wants him to struggle with this question. Once Hashem communicated to Avraham the initial command, there is no further communication from G-d to further clarify what Avraham is meant to do! Perhaps this is because life is not about G-d telling us what to do; it is more about us struggling with what G-d wants us to do, and who He wants us to be.

The Meshech Chochmah (see again our Tastings of Torah Vayera 02), suggests that Avraham failed the test, and passed it at the same time, because Hashem really wanted to teach him (and through him the world) that the true goal in this world is not to die for G-d, but to live for G-d.

Which may be why G-d does not put the ram in Abraham’s hands or command him to sacrifice it in place of Yitzchak. If G-d had deposited the ram directly onto the altar, then it wouldn’t have been Avraham making this critical decision — it would have been G-d.

This is the essence of the shofar; it represents our willingness to be partners with G-d in making the often-difficult decisions in making a better world.

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As my colleague Rabbi David Aaron points out, Judaism suggests that when we are judged, it means that what we do matters, and that we are accountable. But, even more, it means that what we do actually makes a difference.

If someone can judge me, it means that they care, because if they didn’t care, why would they bother passing judgment? Indeed, the people we judge the most, are the people we love the most. And this is the essence of Rosh Hashanah: on this day Hashem tells us, each of us, that we really matter, and that He really cares.

This is why discipline and judgment, in the proper proportions, are so critical in relationships; it is sad to see children who never get judged, because often the message they take away is that no-one really cares.

And a critical part of this process is not just how we are judged, or even how we judge others, but how we judge ourselves.

Taking stock of where I am, and judging myself in terms of how I can improve, means that I matter to myself (and have self-worth), such that I not only want to be better, but I am actually worth the effort and investment in becoming better.

And that is the essence of this week’s portion, we need to “appoint” judges at all our “gates,” and take a good hard look at where we are at, and how much we are worth improving.

May we all find the strength, as the sounds of the shofar echo daily from synagogue windows, to dream of all the ways we can become better, and to recognize that we are worth that effort.

And when we begin to see the value and the worth not only in improving ourselves, but in how much everything and everyone around us is and are equally worthy of investment, then we will have come a long way towards bringing about the blowing of that ultimate shofar, heralding a new era of peace and brotherhood, love and harmony.

Who knows? Maybe this year will finally be that year?

Best wishes for a sweet, happy and healthy new year,

Ketivah Ve’Chatimah Tovah, and Shabbat Shalom from Efrat and Yerushalayim,

Binny Freedman

Rav Binny Freedman, Rosh Yeshivat Orayta in Jerusalem’s Old City is a Company Commander in the IDF reserves, and lives in Efrat with his wife Doreet and their four children.