Rabbi Yair D. Robinson

Ki Tetzei 2024

Plaut p. 1324

This past week we started Religious School again. Boy it was good to have the kids back, to see all of those kids, their parents and grandparents all over the building, singing together in the sanctuary, reconnecting after an all-too-short summer. The last song we sang in morning t’fillah before we sent the kids out is familiar to anyone who grew up in NFTY in the 1970s through the 1990s, or had a kid who did. It’s the words of Pirkei Avot, that collection of pithy words of wisdom from the rabbis of the Talmud, put to music. Mitzvah goreret mitzvah. Performing one mitzvah leads to another mitzvah. lihiot tzadik zeh tov. To do justice in the world is good.

Of course, sometimes as Reform Jews we look at the mitzvot and, rather than rejoice in them (to music no less!) we find ourselves shaking our heads. Sometimes our mitzvot make sense, and sometimes they don’t. Here we see one of those moments in our text: we have a series of mitzvot that make sense-or at least could be justified. Don’t sow two seeds together, don’t plow an ox and donkey together on the same plow. Maybe mixing two kinds of seeds will result in a failed crop, and neither the donkey nor the ox are going to do especially well-being yoked to one another–one or both of them is sure to get hurt. But then we get to the mitzvah of shatnez–the prohibition against wearing linen and wool together. Well, what does that have to do with anything? Surely it’s a mitzvah that many Jews take seriously–there’s even a shatnez lab in New York where you can send swatches of cloth from your clothes to test out if they’re violating the mitzvah. But even having said that, it feels pretty esoteric. How does that help us become tzaddikim, become righteous people? It’s especially confusing when you poke around in the Torah and discover that this mixture of linen and wool is exactly how the priestly garb is made.

Okay, so now we’re really confused. This can’t be the kind of mitzvah the members of Kol Beseder were thinking of when they wrote that song. They were most likely thinking of the mitzvah of feeding the hungry, or advocating for justice, or if a ritual act, maybe reciting hamotzi or lighting Shabbat candles. But wearing a garment made of wool and linen? What’s that about? Is it some ancient more that we just can’t relate to anymore, perhaps about making priestly garb still different from what everyone else wears? Maybe. Or maybe it’s about showing our fealty to God without question? But given how many times various folks in the Torah and later rabbinic writings challenge God, that seems off, but it’s possible–that shatnez is an observation of serious piety.

Allow me to suggest another thought. Part of our tradition as Reform Jews is the idea that everything should make sense. From our understanding of Jewish practice to our theology and encounters with the liturgy, we assume–no, we insist–that everything be reasonable and logical. And we have this idea that we and the people we encounter are somehow reasonable and logical.

But the reality of the world is that so often, it doesn’t make sense. It isn’t reasonable and logical. So often this world and the way people interact with it–the way we interact with the world and one another–defies logic. Sometimes in ways that we shake our heads at, as we lament ways that people overreact to this or underreact to that. Sometimes, the unreasonableness of the world brings us to our knees, as the events of October 7th and all that has followed have, as well as a sudden illness or loss, or an accident. And sometimes, we lift up those unreasonable moments in celebration and inspiration–when a person puts themselves out there to rescue or help another when they are under no obligation to do so, for example. How often we have been helped by a stranger who owed us nothing, didn’t know us from another soul, but went out of their way to do us some act of kindness, no matter how brief or small, that saved us in a profound way?

No, our world doesn’t always make sense, and sometimes defies all logic. But our actions, our choices, have a profound impact on the world, regardless of whether they meet some criteria. Fundamentally, the mitzvot, all of them, are reminders for us that our actions have meaning, and to reflect on the impact our actions and words have on one another and on this world. We’re not supposed to operate on autopilot but pause and reflect and lean into the intention. Or as a t-shirt I saw on the internet read, “Intend your puns, you coward!” We should intend our actions. A mitzvah like shatnez reminds us that even something as simple as putting on our clothes is a moment to reflect, to think about what impact we have on the world around us, and that while the world doesn’t always make sense, it doesn’t have to in order for us to find holiness in each moment.

As we approach Rosh Hashanah, every day and every action brings us the opportunity to fulfill the words, mitzvah goreret mitzvah: performing one mitzvah will lead us to perform another. May we take the time in our words, our actions, our encounters, even as we get dressed in the morning, and reflect upon who we are and what we’re about and especially how our choices affect others, and act with intention and therefore holiness. Therefore may we act in righteousness. Amen.