This week's parsha, Parshas Mishpatim, is full of dinei mamonos, monetary laws, and halachos of bein adam l’chaveiro, laws between man and his fellow. These dinim, known as mishpatim, are the type of halachos that even the gentiles recognize as necessary; they are laws that make sense and keep a society running. But a closer look at the parsha shows that mishpatim are so much more than just a system of regulations. Each mishpat is a mitzvah from the Torah, a holy commandment that raises us to a new level of kedusha.
Right at the start of the parsha, Rashi brings out a fundamental point. The pasuk starts with “V’eleh,” and Rashi explains that whenever the Torah uses “eleh,” it means it’s a new concept, separate from what came before. But when the Torah adds a “vav” like in “V’eleh,” it connects the two concepts together - teaching us that just as the Aseres Hadibros were given at Har Sinai, so too were these mishpatim given at Har Sinai.
But why did these laws, which seem so logical, have to be given at Har Sinai? After all, they are all rational and any normal society would make similar laws. What is so special about our mishpatim that they had to be given over at Har Sinai?
Rav Zeidel Epstein zt”l explains that Torah’s mishpatim are on a whole different plane than the secular court systems. The goal of a government’s laws is simple—to keep order and prevent chaos. But our Torah’s dinei mamonos are about elevating a Yid, making him more refined, more pure.
Take for example, dinei retzicha, the laws of murder. In Beis Din, a murderer is only deserving of capital punishment if there were two kosher witnesses who saw the entire act, knew about each other’s presence, and warned the murderer beforehand about the punishment. The witnesses are questioned, interrogated, and grilled, and the smallest contradiction in their words can nullify the entire case. The Gemara (Makkos 7a) says a Beis Din that sentences a person to death more than once in seven years is called a destructive court. One Tana says it’s referring to once in seventy years! Another Tana went even further and said that had he been on the Sanhedrin, no one would have ever been executed.
A person might wonder, if it’s so difficult to sentenced to death by beis din, doesn’t that embolden criminals? We see that when people know there’s no real punishment, crime runs wild. How could the Torah set up a system like this?
The answer is the fundamental difference between Torah and secular law. Governments make laws just to maintain order. But the Torah is here to sanctify us. The strict dinim of Beis Din teach Klal Yisroel the greatness of human life, embedding in us a deep yiras Shamayim that makes sinning unthinkable. The goal isn’t just to prevent crime; it’s to create a society where crime doesn’t exist in the first place.
Of course, the Sanhedrin and the Jewish king had the power to go beyond Beis Din and act when necessary to protect the tzibbur. But the ideal way is to prevent crime in the first place, al pi Torah.
Rav Ezriel Tauber zt”l shared a beautiful story that brings out what it means to live al pi dinei Torah, even in the business world:
In Monsey, a Choshen Mishpat Kollel ran a series of shiurim on honesty in business, focusing on halachos of ona’ah and geneivas da’as. One of the topics discussed was the issur of misleading a customer, whether the buyer is a Yid or a goy. After the shiur, a wealthy real estate investor approached the maggid shiur with a serious sha’alah. He had bought a large office building after doing a thorough inspection. But later, he discovered a major issue, an unusual and dangerous crack deep in the foundation. Now he wanted to sell. He found a buyer and set up the deal, making a tidy million-dollar profit. The paperwork was signed. But after hearing the shiur, he was shocked, he realized that al pi Torah, he was obligated to disclose the flaw to the buyer. “If I tell them”, said the businessman, “of course they’ll pull out. And I’ll never sell it. I’ll be left a pauper!” The Rav told him, “There’s nothing to do. You have to tell him.” The man was a shomer Torah u’mitzvos, but a million dollars is a big deal. “Maybe I can give $100,000 to the kollel, would that be a tikkun?” “No.” “What if I give $500,000? Half the profits l’shem Shamayim?” “No. Geneiva is geneiva.”“What if I give away the whole million to tzedakah?” “Doesn’t change a thing. It’s geneiva.”
Rav Tauber stepped in and said, “Either you believe Chazal or you don’t. The Gemara says parnassah is decreed on Rosh Hashanah, you can’t make a penny more or less than what was decreed. If you don’t believe that, then why do you spend hundreds of dollars on an esrog? The Torah doesn’t say ‘esrog’; it says ‘pri eitz hadar.’ You trust Chazal that ‘pri eitz hadar’ means esrog not a banana. If you believe Chazal about esrogim, believe them about parnassah too.”
The businessman accepted the psak. At the closing, with all the lawyers and advisors in the room, he handed over a disclosure memo outlining the foundation issue. The buyer was stunned. “What’s this?” “Exactly what it says.” The buyer’s lawyer, a goy, smirked and whispered, “Don’t fall for this. He’s probably trying to back out because he got a better offer. He’s bluffing.” The buyer turned to the seller and said, “I’m taking it as is.”
The deal went through. The businessman made his million-dollar profit—without any deception. A month later, when the foundation issue flared up, the buyer realized how honest the seller had been. “You Jews are something else,” he admitted. “I can’t believe you actually warned me.”
This is Torah. The mishpatim aren’t just about keeping order, they’re about being an Am Kadosh. By following the Torah’s dinei mamonos, we don’t just live ehrlich ourselves, we become a light unto the nations, showing the world the true beauty of Torah Yiddishkeit.
