Ki Teitzei
Deuteronomy 21:10 – 25:19

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

Ki Teitzei is overwhelming. It contains more mitzvot than almost any other portion (74, in fact.) Reading through them is like scrolling through an ancient rulebook: lost property, fair wages, limits on punishment, laws of family life, kindness to animals, proper building codes. It seems like a laundry list of dos and don’ts.

But the mystics noticed something. The portion begins: Ki teitzei lamilchama – when you go out to war (Deut. 21:10.) The Baal Shem Tov[1] asked: why begin here? He explained that this “war” is not only about Israel on a battlefield; it’s about the inner battlefield we all carry. Each day, each person “goes out to war” with their yetzer hara – their selfish impulses, their greed, their anger.

Through that lens, every mitzvah in Ki Teitzei becomes more than legal code. It becomes a strategy for inner transformation.

Take the mitzvah of returning lost objects. On the surface: if your neighbor loses their ox, you return it. Spiritually: when you see someone has “lost” their way, their hope, their dignity, your job is to help return it.

Take the mitzvah of paying workers promptly. On the surface: economic justice. Spiritually: don’t withhold light from others. Don’t delay giving someone the respect or kindness they deserve.

Take the mitzvah about shooing away the mother bird before taking her chicks. On the surface: animal compassion. Spiritually: soften your heart. Practice empathy even in the smallest encounters with creation.

Current events make this urgent. We live in a time when wars are raging, not only in Ukraine, Israel, or other faraway conflict zones, but in our headlines, our politics, and even our social media feeds. Every day feels like a battle for truth, dignity, hope, and compassion.

Ki Teitzei is a cosmic reminder that, while there are real wars outside of us, we should never neglect the war within. Building a just society is so much more than military might – this begins the moment we decide to confront – and prevail over – the battles within ourselves first.

Jewish mysticism teaches that say that every mitzvah carries with it a spark, and each time we perform a mitzvah, we ignite a tiny unique flame of divine light. If we ignore the chance to perform a mitzvah, the unique flame stays hidden, robbing the world of what could be the one tiny spark the world needs.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that our task is to find and gather these hidden sparks, to redeem them, until the world itself shines from within.

Far from a goodie bag of random obligations, the laws of Ki Teitzei become a strategic plan for creating a soul, a community, and a society filled with love and holiness. Maybe we should spend less time winning wars and more time winning peace.

As we go forth to face the battles outside where they are political, personal, spiritual, the Torah gives us all the tools we need by inviting us to engage in the magic of small acts of kindness, compassion, integrity, and fairness. When we use these tools, we are not simply preserving and obeying ancient laws, we are winning battles that are far more important than any war: we are winning victories of light over darkness and of blessing over curse.

Shabbat Shalom.

[1] The Baal Shem Tov (literally, “Master of the Good Name”), was born Israel ben Eliezer around 1698 in (what is now) Ukraine. He later became the founder of Hasidic Judaism.

Parshat Shoftim
Deuteronomy 16:18 – 21:9

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – Justice, justice, shall you pursue. (Deut. 16:20).

If the Torah had a tagline, this might be it. It’s short, memorable, and compelling. It almost begs to be printed on bumper stickers and t-shirts: Justice, Justice, Shall You Pursue. But why the repetition? Isn’t one “justice” enough?

The medieval commentator Ibn Ezra says the repetition is for emphasis: pursue justice always, in every case. The Chassidic masters go deeper. The Me’or Einayim[1] teaches that justice isn’t just about fair courts; it’s about seeking balance between the outer world and the inner world. There’s “justice” in our public institutions, but also “justice” in our souls.

The mystics describe the world as a series of emanations; a divine system called the sefirot. Tzedek, (justice) is more than a Jewish value – it is a cosmic force. When justice is upheld on earth, the sefirot align more harmoniously, and divine blessing flows into creation. When justice is corrupted, that flow is blocked, and the world becomes distorted.

This makes our pursuit of justice not just a political necessity, but a spiritual one. Every fair decision in the courthouse, every act of compassion in daily life, and every defense of truth against falsehood, opens the divine channels of blessing.

And think of how contemporary this is. Around the globe we’re debating: Who gets to decide what is fair? What is true? What is fake? What institutions do we trust? Tzedek, tzedek tirdof is an antidote to despair. Just as the Torah affirms: justice isn’t handed down from the top, it’s something we must pursue. It requires effort, vigilance, and persistence.

The Hebrew verb tirdof means “to chase,” which is the same word used when Pharaoh’s army “chased” Israel through the Sea. Justice does not come easily. It requires us to sprint, to sweat, to keep going even when the obstacles are high. The Zohar imagines that every time a person chooses fairness over corruption, or kindness over cruelty, a thread of divine light is woven into the fabric of the universe. Justice isn’t simply about following and enforcing laws; it’s about aligning heaven and earth.

So what are we to do, living in a world where corruption makes headlines and cynicism often feels like the default lens through which we see the world? We take Parshat Shoftim’s words to heart: we do not give up. We do not just pursue justice in our public civil life, but we must also do so in our personal lives. With the High Holy Days coming up, now is the time to reflect: Do we treat employees, students, strangers, and ourselves with fairness? Do we balance our judgments of others with humility? Are we living our values in our daily choices as parents, leaders, and friends?

The witty truth here is that God didn’t just want us to appoint judges. God wanted us to become judges of ourselves, of our communities, of how we measure goodness. The Torah is teaching us that far from an abstract ideal, justice is a daily pursuit. And every step we take toward it brings not only social blessing, but cosmic blessing as well.

This Shabbat, may we hear the challenge of Shoftim and find the courage to act. Will we settle for systems that favor power above reason? Or will we keep breathlessly running, eternally determined to pursue justice for our community and for our world? The choice is ours.

[1] “Light of the Eyes” written by Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl 1730-1797