Justice and Righteousness: Finding the Balance - Sermon for Rosh Hashanah Morning 5776/2015

Justice and Righteousness: Finding the Balance

Sermon for Rosh Hashanah Morning 5776/2015

Rabbi Arnold S. Gluck

Temple Beth-El, Hillsborough, NJ

On the last day of his life, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai summoned his disciples to his bedside for an urgent meeting. All his life, he tells them, he has struggled over a certain teaching, and now as his life is fading, he must reveal it to them so he can leave this world in peace.

Quoting a verse in Psalms he says: “Tzedek u’mishpat m’chon kis-echa, chesed v’emet y’kadmu fanecha; Justice and righteousness, tzedek u'mishpat, are the foundation of Your throne. Love and truth, chesed v’ement, go before Your presence.”

The world needs tzedek. There must be justice, says Rabbi Shimon. Without justice there will be no peace, only conflict. But if tzedek exists in isolation- if it is not tempered by righteousness, by forbearance and understanding, by mishpat, it becomes a raging fire that will destroy the world. We need tzedek u’mishpat, justice and righteousness, for the foundation of the world to be firm and secure. We need to balance our qualities to save the world from the flames of absolute and unyielding justice. Who will do this? Who will save us? Who will bring the balance? That, says Rabbi Shimon, is the role of the tzadikim, the righteous who bring love to balance truth, and righteousness to temper judgment.

Some six hundred years after this story appeared in the mystical Zohar, Rabbi Shimon’s teaching is more urgent than ever. The flames of justice, fiery, angry, harsh and violent threaten to consume us. In our politics, in race relations, in our discourse, and in our personal lives we are increasingly unyielding, intolerant, angry and indignant. Our public debates are filled with rancor and arrogance, leaving little room for understanding or compromise. We are, it seems, more concerned with being right than with being righteous. As Rabbi Shimon would say, we are out of balance.

Consider the debate about Iran. This is a crucial conversation about a very serious matter. As a Jewish community we should understand that we need to stand together to seek the best possible outcome. We should also accept that reasonable people may disagree about the right course of action. But instead of seeking common ground and working from there, we have allowed this issue to divide us in ways that may cause lasting harm.

On both sides of the issue there are people of good will who are serious, thoughtful, and experienced in matters of security and diplomacy. All agree that Iran is a sponsor of terror and a force for evil in the world. Both sides agree that Iran must not be allowed to get the bomb. Why on earth then has the discourse become so nasty and malicious, to the point where some have accused Senator Chuck Schumer of being a warmonger and a traitor to his country for opposing the deal, while others have called Congressman Jerry Nadler a collaborator and a Nazi for supporting the accord?  Chuck Schumer, a traitor?! Chuck Schumer is a great American, a true patriot. And Jerry Nadler, a Nazi?! Jerry Nadler is a devoted Jew with an impeccable record of support for Israel. How dare anyone malign these two good men and so polarize our Jewish community. And these are just two examples among many. The American ambassador to Israel, Dan Shapiro, himself a deeply committed Jew and Zionist, has received death threats for representing the Obama administration. And both he and the President have been accused of planning the next Holocaust. Really?!

Both sides of the debate have the purist of intent, and shame on us if we fail to see that. The answer to the vexing and portentous question of Iran was not handed down from Sinai, and I for one would like to see all involved take a more constructive approach to their arguments. The debate will end, but the rift we’ve opened by the way we have dealt with our differences may cause irreparable damage to our relationships. And for what? Will insulting and demeaning each other advance the cause of truth? What is certain is that we debase and diminish ourselves when we act this way.

Consider also the growing racial divide in our country. We should all be greatly distressed about the emergence of a permanent underclass in our society that is mostly Black and Hispanic. And we should all be greatly concerned about the disproportionate number of African American casualties to gun violence and police violence. Justice demands that we all agree that black lives matter. But things have gone terribly wrong when that demand turns into a call for violence against police officers, or into looting and burning the shops of innocent citizens as we saw in Ferguson, Missouri. When justice is not tempered by righteousness and truth is not balanced by peace, injustice only grows and the fires of hate rage out of control.

This is how our rabbis understand the verse in Deuteronomy, “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” Justice must be pursued with justice. The means will determine the end. Fairness and equity will be achieved only if the way we pursue them is just and right and decent. As the psalm says: “The foundation of God’s throne,” of this world in which we live, “is Justice and righteousness.

The Talmud presents a classic case that helps us understand the price of absolute justice. It is the matter of the meirish ha-gazul, a stolen beam that is used to build a large house or a palace. I’ve distributed the text to you so we could take a few minutes to discuss it. 

The scenario seems simple. But as we’ll see, it’s really not so simple at all. A person steals a beam that he or she then uses to build a large house or a palace. When the thief is caught, what is the right and just thing to do regarding that beam? What does justice demand? Do you agree with Beit Shammai that the palace should be demolished so the beam can be restored to its rightful owner? Or do you agree with Rabbi Hillel that the rightful owner should receive only the monetary value of the beam, and not the beam itself?  And more importantly, what are the implications of this teaching for our world?

Discuss

How is justice to be done? Beit Shammai says demolish entire building and restore the beam to its rightful owner. Beit Hillel thinks otherwise. Beit Hillel says the owner should receive the monetary value of the beam, and nothing else, so as not to impede the path of repentance.

Why does Shammai say destroy the building? Because the plaintiff says, “I want my beam back. You stole it from me, it’s mine, and I want it back! Shammai agrees. Justice, says Beit Shammai, demands that the plaintiff get back what rightfully belongs to him.

So why does Hillel take a different view? Why does he say the owner should receive only the value of the beam? Doesn’t Hillel believe in justice? Of course he does! But it is precisely because he is committed to justice that Hillel seeks compromise. Hillel wants a world in which injustice can actually be addressed, one in which the thief will agree to take responsibility; one in which the thief will repent. For the sake of teshuva, for the thief to repent of his sin and make restitution, there must

be compromise. An eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind, and only leads to more hostility. We have only to look to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict to see how the demand for strict justice actually perpetuates injustice and blocks the path to peace.

As my teacher Melila Hellner Eshed notes, “the whole world is built on a stolen beam.” Think about it. Most of what we have once belonged to someone else. The Romans took our land from us and exiled us. America was taken from its native peoples. And so on, and so on. The Palestinians don’t want to settle for the West Bank. They want Haifa and Jaffa. And who can blame them! They want their beam, their orange grove. They want their land! But it’s a non-starter. No one will agree. No one will concede. A demand that can only be fulfilled by destroying the whole building, or in this case, dismantling the State of Israel? It doesn’t stand a chance. 

When each one insists that he or she is right, there will be no peace, only conflict.

But when tzedek and mishpat, justice and righteousness are balanced. When there is moderation and compromise, then there is hope for peace and reconciliation.

The late great Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai captured this idea in a poem entitled, “The place where we are right.”

            From the place where we are right

Flowers will never grow in springtime.

The place where we are right

Is hard and trampled

Like a courtyard.

But doubts and loves

Loosen up the earth

Like a mole, like a plow.

And a whisper will be heard in the place

Where the ruined

Temple once stood.

Amichai alludes to a tradition that the Temple was destroyed because justice was applied there too strictly, without compromise. And he is right. Nothing beautiful grows on ground that is hardened, just as nothing good emerges from hearts that are hardened and are closed. 

Today’s Torah reading is a story of hardened hearts. Sarah is barren and she’s utterly bereft. She desperately wants a child, and feels duty bound to give Abraham an heir. Reluctantly, she gives him her handmaid, and she’s consumed with jealousy when Hagar has a son. Even his name, Ishmael, which means ‘God has heard,’ mocks Sarah, whose prayers have gone unanswered.

Sadly, the birth of Isaac does nothing to open Sarah’s heart. She cannot abide the presence of the older son, whose very existence means that her son will always be second. How wrong and how unjust that her handmaid should be the mother of the firstborn. She feels cheated, diminished and she is furious. She lashes out, demanding that Abraham banish Hagar and her child— who is his child!  Reluctantly, he agrees.

Sarah’s actions are so wrong, her judgment so cruel, were God to treat her measure for measure – by the standard of pure justice, as she treated Ishmael and Hagar, Sarah would surely be condemned. But God knows the pain Sarah feels, not just the hurt she causes, and so God balances tzedek and mishpat, justice and mercy, and shows her compassion. Instead of exacting justice, God acts righteously to save the lives of Ishmael and Hagar. Here, God is the model of the tzadik, the righteous one of whom Rabbi Shimon spoke, the one who brings love to balance truth, and righteousness to temper judgment.

In this story God is the picture of the tzadik. At other times God does not appear to be so righteous. After the sin of the Golden Calf, for instance, God is ready to annihilate the entire people and start over with Moses. There it is Moses who plays the role of the tzadik and saves the people from God’s demand for justice.

Finding the right balance between tzedek and mishpat, between justice and righteousness, is so very difficult that our sages imagine even God needs help to get it right.

The Talmud relates how one Yom Kippur Rabbi Yishmael, the High Priest, entered the inner chamber of the Temple to seek forgiveness for the sins of Israel, and had a vision of God sitting on a high and lofty throne of compassion. God said to him, “Ishmael my son, bless me.” So Rabbi Ishmael said to God: “May it be Your will that Your mercy may suppress Your anger, that Your compassion may prevail over You your harsher attributes, so that You may treat Your children with kindness, and grant them forbearance and forgiveness.”

This is an amazing text. It is Yom Kippur, the day when God is to render judgment upon us. The High Priest enters the Holy of Holies to seek God’s favor, and what does he find there? He finds God struggling! God is sitting on the throne of mercy, but clearly is having difficulty mustering compassion. So much so, that God asks Rabbi Ishmael for a blessing. Ishmael, who knows the people have sinned, understands God’s dilemma. It is the same challenge parents have with their children, and husbands and wives have with their spouses. Love must not be blind. We must set boundaries and we must enforce them. But if we are too rigid. If we are unyielding and unforgiving, our children will grow up to be cruel, and our marriages won’t last.

In a related passage the Talmud asks whether God prays, and after concluding that God does pray, the rabbis ask what God prays. What do you think God prays? What do the rabbis say God prays? It is the very blessing of Rabbi Ishmael, turned into a prayer, in the first person. God prays: “May it be My will that My mercy may suppress My anger, that My compassion may prevail over My harsher attributes, so that I may treat My children with kindness, and grant them forbearance and forgiveness.”

This is the prayer of one who strives to be a tzaddik, a righteous person. It recognizes the challenge of balancing tzedek u’mishpat, justice and righteousness, but it inspires us to rise to meet that challenge. It comes with no guarantees, but it offers hope, hope for balance. So I suggest that we embrace this prayer and make it our own. We all need it. Every single one of us. Especially those of us who don’t think we need it! And here’s how I think we might use it: as part of a meditation I invite you to try with me now.

I invite you to let your eyes close. Think now of a hurt that you’ve experienced; a time or a way that you feel that you were wronged; maybe a bitter disappointment you’ve felt with your children, your spouse, a parent, or a friend. Allow yourself to reconnect with how you felt when you experienced that hurt.

Think now of a time or a way that you’ve caused hurt, or wronged, or disappointed someone else; your child, your spouse, your parent, a friend. Remember how you felt when you realized the hurt that you had caused, and how you wished to be forgiven.

Now I invite you to recite this prayer with me: “May it be my will; that my mercy may suppress my anger; that my compassion may prevail over my harsher attributes; so that I may treat all people with kindness; and grant them forbearance.”

V’chein yehi ratzon! May this be a year of blessing and forgiveness, of righteousness and justice. And let us say: Amen!