I don’t know anyone who enjoys being commanded. Maybe it’s customary in the military or in sports where sergeants and coaches bark (give) orders, but at home or in the workplace, being commanded can be authoritative and rude. And how about in a sacred relationship with God? The word “mitzvah,” which means “commandment,” refers to the 613 commandments in Torah, let alone in rabbinic teachings in Talmud. Moreover, if there is a mitzvah, then there must be a mitzaveh, a commander. In Judaism, the role of mitzvah is an essential part of our covenantal relationship with God and the ways we fulfill our duty to that covenant. But do you feel commanded by God?

This week’s Torah portion, Tzav, means “Command!” Tzav and mitzvah share the same Hebrew root. In the Torah portion, Moses commands the Israelite people regarding their duties in their community. There’s no mistaking the origin of the mitzvah or the metzaveh, namely God. And there’s no mistaking the response of the Israelites to the commandments and their Commander. After the Golden Calf (Exodus 32), the remaining Israelites observed faithfully all that God commanded them. They aimed to build a sacred community according to God’s commandments and to enjoy the rewards and blessings for doing so.

In our contemporary Jewish world, we don’t respond as quickly to God’s commandments, and we don’t easily equate doing them with being rewarded or blessed. It’s not a terrible problem. We’re a product of enlightened and scientific ages where we consider mitzvot to be good deeds we choose to do for a variety of reasons, including God’s commanding role, but not exclusively. Among many reasons we do mitzvot is our personal inclination to do the right thing. Best-practices begin in Torah, are further explicated in Talmud and other Jewish sources, and finally left to our discretion how we will do them, faithfully.

At best, every mitzvah should begin with a question, “How will I respond to this mitzvah?” The word “how” enables us to find, on many levels, a way to respond. It might begin with investigation or research, or it might begin with understanding one’s own motivation, or it might begin, as it used to, with an immediate response to do it. But if the first question is, “Will I do it?”, then the answer might be “yes,” but it might also be “no.” The answer can’t be “no,” unless reason and consideration lead one there.

For example, the mitzvah in Exodus 20, “Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy,” isn’t a suggestion; it’s a commandment. Ask yourself, “How will I observe it?” and not “Will I observe it?” and you’ll arrive at a point of entry where Sabbath observance begins with understanding that comes through doing. Thankfully, mitzvot are not only about rituals. They are, above all else, about ethics, which relate deeply to our contemporary efforts to live a good life. Likewise, we wouldn’t ask, “Will I live a good life?” rather, we ask, “How will I live a good life?” Jewish identity is a label we give ourselves; but Jewish identification is about participation in one’s faith, heritage, and culture. Yes, we light candles and pray, we observe holidays and fast, but without an ethical life, what’s the point of ritual?

In another commentary on this Torah portion, I explained, “The Book of Leviticus will always challenge us with the meaning of ancient rituals. . .They were an ancient prescription for holiness found in the ways that the community responded to God’s command. That we are commanded, today, is an assumption we’re willing to embrace. What we hear is a matter of autonomy afforded us by Reform Judaism. How we respond to what we hear is also a personal part of being choosing Jews.”¹

In these tumultuous times, let’s not fail to heed mitzvot that respond directly to our effort to answer the question, “How will I live an ethical life in the midst of rising antisemitism, racism, incivility, and war?” The question has never been more difficult to answer and never more important to answer meaningfully.

L’Shalom,