Timeless Torah

The Ten Commandments, as they appear on the Tablets, are divided into two categories. The first five are regarded as “Mitzvos Bain Odom L’makom - Laws between Man and G-d,” while the second five are, “Mitzvos Bain Odom L’chavairo - Laws Between Man and his Fellow Man.”

Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch makes an amazing observation. Mitzvos relating to G-d begin with commandments that are intellectual concepts, more theory than practice. But although they begin with ‘cerebral’ ideals such as “I am the L-rd your G-d,”they progress to orders that involve concrete actions, such as, “Honor your Parents.” The reason for this chronology is that if Mitzvos between Man and G-d do not ultimately climax in specific actions, then we have been remiss in the whole purpose of these guidelines.

            On the other hand, the sequence of Mitzvos between  man and his neighbor flow in the opposite direction. The first ‘law’ in this category (“Do not murder”) requires that a person be good in deed. However, these Mitzvos cannot be mere actions; they must lead us from the world of practice into a structure of values. We cannot be content with the fact that we do not harm our fellow man. Ultimately, we must reach the point where we feel so close to another that we can not even be jealous or covet that which belongs to him. In this category, it is not sufficient that these laws remain in the realm of (abstinence from) action, they must develop to the world of thought and emotion. 
                                                    As is well known, the Big Ten (first recorded in Exodus), are restated in the last Book of the Torah. Interestingly enough, there are slight emendations and several additions in the second version. One such change is in the commandment, <em>“Honor your father and your mother, in order that your days be lengthened on the land that I am giving to you.”  In Deuteronomy, Scripture provides a rationale and parameter that this Divine instruction be complied with, “as the L-rd your G-d commanded you.” </em>

The Jerusalem Talmud remarks that honoring one’s parents should be an ‘easy’ commandment, comparing it to the payment of a debt. Imagine someone giving you a check for $250,000, the amount (they say) it costs to currently raise a child. Obviously, you would feel obligated.

The Torah however tells us that is not the proper approach to honoring parents. They should be respected, “as G-d commanded you.” When did that command come into effect? When we were in the Desert. Raising children then must have been a dream. There was no need to go shopping or to spend money on one’s children. Manna fell daily. Clothes did not wear out. Most likely, everyone had straight teeth as well. Children did not cost their parents a dime. Honoring parents then is not a matter of etiquette or societal obligation, it’s a mitzvah.

The Talmud (Kiddushin, 31a) in response to, “How far does honoring one’s parents extend?” relates the famous story of the gentile, Dama of Ashkelon, who turned down an offer to sell a precious stone he owned because the key to the chest was under his father’s pillow. As not to disturb his father’s sleep at the time, he passed up a tremendous profit.
The Avnei Shoham argues (quite convincingly) that it cannot be that we are being taught the halacha (Jewish law) of honor due to parents from a non-Jewish diamond dealer. Rather, we are being given an education into the character of human nature. When children are born, parents must exercise patience. There comes a time in life however, when parents grow older and infirm, and might be perceived as a burden. At that point, it is the child who needs to learn patience.
One can ask, is there not a limit to patience? How much tolerance is a human being capable of? Is there not a point where it becomes too much of a ‘load’ to care for one’s parents? To answer that question, the Talmud says, “Come and see the case of…” The merchant from Ashkelon is not teaching us a mitzvah, he is instructing us in human nature. Imagine an eager buyer at your door, certified check in hand. Your thinking, “When will Dad wake up? Maybe I’ll make a little noise and he’ll awaken on his own?” How much patience did Dama have? How much patience do you have? This is the lesson. If a human being is capable of such patience, then that becomes the definition of the extent of our mitzvah.
This is the deeper significance of the Talmudic expression, “The keys were under his father’s pillow and he didn’t bother him (lo tzi-aro).” The interpretation is not that Dama didn’t bother him, his father. Rather, “lo tzi-aro,” it didn’t bother him. Even though Dama had to forego profit by not waking his dad, it did not faze him in the least. If the non-Jew was capable of such depth of emotion, then we the descendants of Abraham certainly should aspire to this.
This ‘law’ is one of the Top Ten. As such, it goes full circle. It journeys from acceptance of a certain value, to pragmatic everyday rules on how we act on the outside, and back to the ideal of who we are on the inside.

Sinai teaches us that intelligence, education, and reason does not guarantee morality. If it did, then ten lawyers would be more ethical than ten garbage sweepers. The absurdity of this position is obvious.