Coming Down (portion Mishpatim)

Several years ago, an old controversy was rekindled when climbers found the body of George Mallory buried beneath the ice on the north face of Mt. Everest. A broken altimeter in his shirt pocket suggested that Mallory may have reached the summit before dying on the descent. If so, he would have been the first man to stand atop the world’s highest peak, beating Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay to this feat by twenty-nine years.

But when news of this discovery reached Hillary, then 79 years old, he remained remarkably unperturbed. With the cool understatement of a British peer, Sir Edmund told a television reporter, “Coming down is also important.”

So, too, for each of us. We all experience peak moments when the adrenaline rush seems to carry us along. These can occur in either triumphant or tragic times, but they are almost always intensely spiritual experiences that, as they are happening, feel profoundly life-changing. Upon surviving a heart attack or having a baby, we swear our lives will never be the same and vow that from that point on, we will do things differently, get our priorities straight, give our focused attention to what really matters most. Sometimes we stay the course—but more often, after a bit of time passes, we lapse back into our old ways. We make our resolutions sincerely—yet we struggle when the peak moments recede into memory. We make it to the mountaintop, but we falter coming down.

This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, is all about coming down. It addresses the stuff that happens when the revelation ends and the adrenaline rush wears off. Last week, in Yitro, we experienced the high and holy moment when we heard God’s voice from atop Mt. Sinai. Now, with Mishpatim, we get the practical, mundane guidelines on how to behave the other 99% of the time: laws on marriage, employment, lost property, and finance. We go, in short, from the awesome to the banal—as indeed, we always must. Weddings and births are big occasions, but the real work lies in sustaining marriages and raising children, and it is done through thousands of little ordinary choices and small feats of endurance. Both God and the devil are, truly, found in the details.

This is at the core of our tradition’s approach to life. We dare not squander the time waiting for the next peak moment. Mountaintops are rare—but the descent lasts a lifetime. May we find meaning and holiness in the ordinary acts that, taken together, add up to the sum of our lives. Like Sir Edmund Hillary, let’s remember: “Coming down is also important.”

Sheryl Crow Teaches the Tenth Commandment (Portion Yitro)

What is the most commonly violated teaching in the entire Torah? I think one could make a very good case for the last of the Ten Commandments, as found in this week’s portion, Yitro: “You shall not covet” (I write this in the immediate aftermath of three hours’ worth of Super Bowl ads, for which corporations spend millions of dollars precisely in order to induce us to covet—and purchase—their products).

Why is this so injunction so difficult? With very few exceptions, the Torah offers guidelines for our behavior. Thus the commandments which precede this one address, among other things: keeping Shabbat, respecting one’s parents, and avoiding idolatry, theft, murder, false witness, and adultery. Then, suddenly, we get that rare exception in which our tradition seems to legislate against thoughts and feelings. How is this even possible? Do we really control the storms of emotion and desire that flood our hearts and minds? Shouldn’t it be our actions—rather than our thoughts—that finally matter? What harm are covetous feelings if we do not act upon them?

One answer to this puzzle begins with the recognition that in our Jewish tradition, we do not actually use the Christian term “Ten Commandments”; we refer to them as Aseret Ha-Dibrot, the Ten Utterances. With this in mind, the tenth utterance may not be a commandment at all. Instead of translating “Lo Tachmod” as the imperative “You shall not covet,” we might instead read it as a statement: “You will not covet.” In other words, as my colleague, Rabbi Mark Glickman puts it, if you sincerely observe the first nine teachings--honor your parents, celebrate Shabbat, show fidelity to your spouse, take only what is yours, and all of the others—then you won’t be so tempted to want what you do not have. In the words of Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz (born in Prague around 1565): “ If your heart be filled to overflowing with the love of God, it is impossible that it would covet anything from among all the beautiful things of this world, for then there is no place in the heart that would desire or covet anything at all. It is like a full cup, unable to receive any more.”

There is much wisdom here. How do we deal with our culture’s incessant calls to covetousness, to craving all manner of consumer goods and services? By learning to truly value what we already have, savoring the blessings in our lives rather than obsessing about what we lack. As Pirkei Avot teaches: “Who is happy? One who rejoices in his or her portion?”

Or, to quote a more contemporary source, in the words of Sheryl Crow: “It’s not having what you want; it’s wanting what you’ve got.”