Is Jewish Law Binding: The Long View
Parshat Eikev, 5768
In the beginning of my quest to become a rabbi, I was introduced to the term “binding” as a feature of Jewish law, by way of a question: Do I feel bound by the law? Do I feel personally obligated, and if so, is this obligation solely personal, or do I think all Jews have the same obligation? In other words, is the law “binding” on all Jews?
A rabbi asked me this question about six months ago. Not only do I still feel unqualified to answer it, especially on behalf of all Jews; I’m also still grappling with a broader question:
What does “binding” mean?
When I think about this question, I think about the book “How to Read the Jewish Bible” by Mark Zvi Brettler. This book turned me on to the idea that book of Deuteronomy / Devarim is written in a form similar to that of political treaties or business arrangements of its day. It has a preamble (recapping the journey of Israel, Moses, and God) which establishes the authority of the counterparties to enter into such an agreement. It spells out the duties to be performed (loving the Lord, teaching the children, keeping the commandments, etc.), and then it describes the remuneration for fulfilling the duties (crops, children, personal and communal longevity) and the penalties for breach of contract (eviction, starvation, personal and communal short-evity).
So I asked the rabbi, is this what “binding” means? Abiding by a contract/covenant, with expectation of reward or punishment tied to our performance?
“It’s not that simple.”
The universe is not a simple performance/reward system. Push one button, you get a food pellet. Push another, electric shock. Feeding the hungry today means good harvest tomorrow. Gossip over dinner, and read gossip about yourself in the morning paper. Even a contract as comprehensive and explicit as Devarim is not as simple as it sounds, or its ramifications as direct.
Even as last week’s reading (Va’etchanan) told us about intergenerational responsibility and transgenerational justice, Eikev tells us about the complexity of God’s scales.
“Speak not thou in thy heart, after that the LORD thy God hath thrust them out from before thee, saying: ‘For my righteousness the LORD hath brought me in to possess this land’; whereas for the wickedness of these nations the LORD doth drive them out from before thee. Not for thy righteousness, or for the uprightness of thy heart, dost thou go in to possess their land; but for the wickedness of these nations the LORD thy God doth drive them out from before thee, and that He may establish the word which the LORD swore unto thy fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.” (D. 9:4-5)
We do not inherit the land by our own virtue; God made a deal with our ancestors, and we’re collecting on a prior arrangement. The nations do not whither before us because of our strength, but rather, because of their weakness, and because of the strength of those who walked before us, and because the strength of the One who walks with us. When we deserve it. And sometimes when we don’t.
As Va’etchanan said, those who love God are blessed to the thousandth generation. Are we blessed for our love of God, or because we’re somewhere within that thousand generations?
For me this idea begs credulity for the case of the “binding” nature of the law. Whether we are blessed or cursed for the actions of our fathers, our lot appears disconnected from our performance. Does Eikev make a case for a bit of randomness in the process, a Skinner box of unconnected cause and effect that can only reinforce skeptics’ attachement to the problem of the existence of evil?
I think one answer can be found in taking a longer view of time, in returning to the transgenerational nature of justice. This may be a story about God’s bringing a stiff-necked people into a land they don’t deserve. It is also a story of God’s honoring a covenent with our ancestors, regardless of the behavior of their progeny.
The One whose justice is not always transparent is also the One whose mercy is not always transparent. And though neither are transparent, both are evident. When we dwell in homes that we didn’t build, drinking from vineyards we did not plant, let us not only bless God, as Va’etchanan says, but follow the lesson of Eikev and consider:
What reward or punishment will our children inherit because of what we do today? If it happens that we are in the thousandth generation, what have we done, or can we do, to secure blessing for the thousand and first? And if we can’t be bothered with that, who will live in the houses we build, and drink from the vineyards we plant?
Tags: 5768, binding, eikev, Sefer Devarim