Last Saturday morning, we read here in shul the Ten Utterances, the Ten Affirmations, which people usually refer to as the Ten Commandments, even though not all of them are commandments… For those who were here, we even talked about ideas of what the so-called eleventh commandment should be and we got some great ideas — from “don’t judge a book by its cover” to “you shall never forget”. This week’s parashah introduces 53 additional mitzvot—rules the Israelites are instructed to follow.
Have you ever thought about the rules — both religious and secular — that you live by? Some of them might seem obvious and universal, like the sixth of the Ten Utterances, “לא תרצח”, “you shall not commit murder”, but, as we have sadly seen this week, not everyone abides by this rule.
Other rules might be more idiosyncratic. Much to the despair of my children and Melanie, I never cross the street outside the pedestrian crossing or when the robot is not green. A famous singer in Brazil never mentions the word “evil”. Some people will still eat food that fell on the floor if they pick it up before five seconds, even though scientists say that even one second would have been too late, and you need to throw that food away.
Some of these rules express our deepest values; others stem from superstitions or hopes; and some have simply become habits, with no clear reason why.
The mitzvot in this week’s parashah primarily addresses interpersonal relationships and personal responsibilities. As I was reading them, one instruction caught my attention. It deals with the impact and responsibilities of fire: “when a fire is started and spreads to thorns, so that stacked, standing, or growing grain is consumed, the one who started the fire must make restitution.” Perhaps the recent fires in Los Angeles and Brazil made this instruction stand out to me. But it became even more compelling when I found a Talmudic passage that expands on it:
Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani says in the name of Rabbi Yonatan: Calamity befalls the world only when wicked people are in the world, but the calamity begins with the righteous first, as it is stated in the verse: “If a fire breaks out, and catches in thorns, so that a stack of grain, or standing grain, or the field, is consumed” (Ex 22:5). When does the fire emerge? At a time when the thorns, i.e., the wicked, are found with it. But calamity begins from the righteous first, as it is stated in the continuation of the verse: “And a stack of grain is consumed.” It is not stated: If a fire breaks out, and catches in thorns, and consumes the stack of grain; rather, it states: “A stack of grain is consumed,” meaning that the stack, i.e., the righteous, has already been consumed before the thorns. [1]
The righteous, therefore, have a responsibility to prevent the fire or extinguish it once it has started. This reminded me of a wonderful midrash about Avraham Avinu. It comments on the biblical verse in which God instructs Avraham to leave his house and go to the land that God would show him:
Adonai said to Avram, "Go you forth from your land…" … Rabbi Yitzchak said: this may be compared to a man who was traveling from place to place when he saw a castle on fire. He said, "Is it possible that this castle lacks a person to look after it?" The owner of the building looked out and said, “I am the owner of the castle.”
Similarly, Avraham asked: “is it possible that his world doesn’t have a leader?”. The Holy Blessed One looked out and said to him, “I am the Master of the Universe.” [2]
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks offers his interpretation of this midrash:
Abraham was struck by the contradiction between the order of the universe – the palace – and the disorder of humanity – the flames. How, in a world created by a good God, could there be so much evil? If someone takes the trouble to build a palace, do they leave it to the flames? If someone takes the trouble to create a universe, does He leave it to be disfigured by His own creations? On this reading, what moved Abraham was not philosophical harmony but moral discord. For Abraham, faith began in cognitive dissonance. There is only one way of resolving this dissonance: by protesting evil and fighting it. [3]
That is the poignant meaning of the Midrash when it says that the owner of the palace looked out and said, “I am the owner of the palace.” It is as if God were saying to Abraham: I need you to help Me to put out the flames.
We live in a world on fire. Sometimes, like Avraham, we despair at its disorder and ask ourselves, the Universe, and God: 'Isn’t there anyone taking care of this precious palace?
The Talmud passage warns that calamity can spread when the righteous fall into chaos, allowing destructive forces to take hold. This past few days, we were reminded in the most painful way of what happens when the flames of hatred are allowed to spread unchecked.
The midrash, particularly Rabbi Sacks’ interpretation, urges us to become God’s partners in fighting the fire—spreading light where there was only darkness, resisting despair, and building a world rooted in love.
Rabbi Menachem Creditor expanded on the words of Psalm 89:3, “עֹ֭ולָם חֶ֣סֶד יִבָּנֶ֑ה”, “A world of love will be built,” and composed a song inspired by it, with the twist that it gives us agency in the building of this world:
Shabbat Shalom!
[1] Talmud Bavli Bava Kamma 60a
[2] Bereshit Rabbah 39:1
[3] https://rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation/lech-lecha/a-palace-in-flames/
[4] https://youtu.be/EUna9KngE6k
