Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

I can't be certain, but I imagine that in the history of dads threatening to turn the car around, someone, somewhere, actually did it. Somewhere in the world, there are siblings are still pointing fingers at each other saying “you started it!” “It's your fault we didn't get to go...”

I am not so brave. Once we've already planned and paid for the vacation, our kids have us cornered. Sure, we could go home. But what on earth would we do then?! Kids know this simple truth. They know that the trip is at least as important to their parents as to themselves. They know our threats are empty, which is why they don't work.

But what else is there? Kids are kids. The prodding, poking and bickering of sibling relationships are all normal. And, of course, so is parental frustration. Sometimes I wonder if “I'll turn the car around” is factory conditioned into every Honda Odyssey.

Trying the same threats expecting different results is insanity. So this vacation, Aliza and I tried something else. We let our kids figure it out themselves.

“This one said that...” “That one hit me...” “He took my toy...” “She's not sharing!”

Rather than responding by trying to solve the problem, we simply paused, and told our children that we couldn't go on until they had fixed it. “But Mommy! But Abba! It's not fair! It's their fault!”

These cries were met with a calm “We understand that you guys are having a hard time with each other right now. But we're a family. We're not here to take sides. We're just gonna wait until you guys have come to a solution.”

It didn't work every time. But we saw some pretty cool things happen. We watched as our kids negotiated taking turns sharing toys and choosing which shows to watch. We listened as they told us which songs they had agreed on in the car, and who was allowed to sing and drum along and for how long.

I think they greatest advantage is that no one ever felt that we were “taking sides.” There were no postmortems on “who started it.” Only one thing matters now: How do we move on from here.

This perspective has powerful applications that reach far further than siblings bickering in a minivan.

There is a deep and all-consuming Yetzer Hara to spend precious time and resources over analyzing the past, when the far more important question is “How do we move on from here.” This is not to say that understanding the past has no value. It most certainly does; but only in pursuit of a way forward.

This is as true in the world of interpersonal relationships as it is in the world of personal growth. And it is this perspective that the Torah introduces us to this Shabbos.

Last week we learned about the highest heights: Revelation at Sinai. Hashem speaking to man. Ultimate national prophesy. Yet from such a height, we quickly pivoted to our Parsha:

כִּי תִקְנֶה עֶבֶד עִבְרִי – If you should purchase a Jewish slave...

From here the Torah explains the laws of slavery for a Jewish Slave. Yet, most strikingly, the Torah neglects to describe how such a descent took place. It's a disconcerting non-sequitur. We should reasonably expect some narrative that connects the lofty heights of Sinai to the chains of slavery. Yet the Torah gives us us no indication, prompting Rashi's explanation:

מיד בית דין שמכרוהו בגניבתו כמה שנאמר ואם אין לו ונמכר בגניבתו (שמות כ”ב:ב') או אינו אלא במוכר עצמו מפני דוחקו ...Who you bought from Beis Din which sold him for a theft which he had committed, as it is said, (Exodus 22:2) “if he (the thief) has nothing, then he shall be sold for his theft”. Or perhaps he who sells himself as a servant on account of his desperation...

The back-story is that of a thief who cannot pay back a debt, or perhaps someone who, for lack of friends or relatives finds himself at the point that he must sell himself into slavery to survive. It’s a final, and tragically desperate option.

All of this begs the question: Why the Torah neglects to begin with how the circumstances came to be and proceeds simply with what to do now.

The Rebbe of Izbihtz (מי השילוח ריש פ׳ משפטים ח״ב) explains that this is exactly the lesson that the Torah is teaching us.

The question can never be: “How did I get here?” But instead “What can I do now?” The preoccupation of previous failures, blunders and mistakes is far too paralyzing. The great lesson of Matan Torah is that we are far less interested in the circumstances, or lack thereof, that resulted in a situation. They exist as a peirush, an explanation, to the most important question: “What Do We Do Now? How do We Fix This?”

Our Parsha continues to describe the correct thing to do in cases of slavery, damages, borrowing and lending, personal injury, and indeed, the gamut of daily life.

“If you should buy a slave... If a man should sell his daughter as a slave... If a man should conspire to kill another man... If two people should be fighting... If they should harm a pregnant woman... If one man injures another.”

In each case, the Torah presents the circumstance, not the background.

There is a beautiful pragmatism to this approach. With it, we can navigate the fraught landscape of human experiences, edging us closer towards a life with less hangups and far more freedom.

But perhaps the great Chiddush, the real truth to Parshas Mishpatim is that *there is a correct answer*. There is a Mishpat, a Halacha. Despite the murkiness of any situation, the challenges presented and the courage demanded, there is an optimal solution to the problem at hand. There is a way forward.

If we believe and understand that our lives are consequential, that our actions are meaningful, that Hashem wants us to be where we are right now, then there is always a right thing to do; difficult as it may be.

Rashi notes that this Chiddush, is connoted by the first letter of our parsha: > ואלה המשפטים – כל מקום שנאמר אלה פסל את הראשונים, ואלה מוסף על הראשונים מה הראשוני' מסיני אף אילו מסיני, > Wherever אלה (these), is used it invalidates the preceding section. When ואלה (and these) is used it adds something to the former subject. Therefore: “And these are the mishpatim”. Just as the former commandments (the עשרת הדברות) were given at Sinai so these, too, were given at Sinai!

Simply stated, the influence of Hashem on our lives is not limited to the Ten Commandments. It’s not limited to big principles, or overarching themes. Yiddishkeit always has an answer to the question “What should I do now?”

By truly asking the question we find within our value system, The Talmud, Shulchan Aruch, Sifrei Mussar and Chasidus, provide us with a derech, a pathway to the challenges of life. Chochmas Hashem gifts us insight into questions as mundane as what to do for a summer vacation, or as complex as considering a change of career. There is a derech to answer issues as personal as “Am I gonna stick to my diet this week?” or as consequential as contemplating “Are we ready to made Aliyah?”

Certainly, in the realm of interpersonal relationships, marriage and raising children there is a Derech HaTorah, a value system that is waiting to be probed. There is a best way in each situation, if we are willing to find it. Ultimately, every question can be reduced to one: “What can I do right now to ensure that my life comes a little closer to what Hashem wants from the world.” In the words of the Navi: איה מקום כבודו – Where, in this place, can I find God?

This Shabbos, the Torah is telling us that we don't need to turn the car around. Perhaps forwards is the only direction to go. Hashem should help us to continue putting our foot on the gas, learning how to fix it, one mile at a time.