Ask almost anyone what the difference between Mishpatim and Chukim is, and they will readily tell you: a Mishpat has an easily explained rationale and a Chok does not. A Chok might have some rationale to it, and it might be accessible to those willing to work at it, but it’s never going to be the bottom-line rationale.
So that’s our normal way to explain it -- a Mishpat has a reason, a child will tell you, and a Chok does not. And that’s true, but it doesn’t quite capture it. Because the way we associate Mishpatim with a reason is a consequence of something else. You have to go a little deeper.
A Mishpat is not just a name for a “law.” It’s the name of a process of law. The word means “judgment,” or “decision.” Lishpot is to judge; a Shofet is a judge. A Mishpat is a place of judgment, a situation where two people come forward with different, competing claims. Then it is the job of the judge to decide. The judge can’t decide on the basis of outside issues. The judge has to decide on the basis of a reason that is germane to the case. That is why we say that a Mishpat has a reason; it is about this and not about that.
A Chok is not like that. A Chok just is. There is no competition when it comes to Sha’atnez. Either it’s wool and linen together or it’s not. There’s no competing claim. That’s why Shaatnez is decided by a checker with a microscope and not by a judge.
The Parasha is full of Mishpatim, but it also has Chukim. A similar thing in reverse can be said for the 10 commandments -- there are Chukim but also Mishpatim. The difference between the two sections is not in that -- it is in the way that they are enunciated. The list of the 10 commandments are announced. The Mishpatim are introduced, one after another, as scenarios in which conflict arises over damages or over fault. People come to court -- such an appearance is even described in the Parasha -- because they need a judge to decide.
The Torah as a whole has a Chok aspect, a pronouncement side. G-d is speaking -- there’s not a lot of space to quibble. But the Mishpatim open up a new aspect altogether, an aspect of reasons. It says that the Torah also exists in the realm of reason. It is important to discern in what is happening between last week and this week that there is a larger drama taking place between the 10 commandments and the Mishpatim.
A good way to show this is to examine the first Mishpat: Eved Ivri. It’s a strange thing to present as the first Mishpat. What’s the competing claim here? It seems like there’s no second side. This is because this was chosen to demonstrate the greater drama that is playing out here. In Eved Ivri, a free man from the time of the Exodus is sending himself back into slavery. At the outset, he stole and can’t pay back, so he gets sold into slavery to cover his debt. That much is not a Mishpat. Until then, he’s just another person after going to law or business school. He’s just enslaving himself to pay his debts.
What goes in front of a judge is when the person decides to stay a slave beyond the original six years. At that point, there is conflict between the slave and what Hashem has said in the first commandment. Hashem announced Himself as the One who took the Jews out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. This slave is challenging the basis of the Torah itself, at least as presented in the 10 commandments. There is really no greater challenge to the 10 commandments than this. We left slavery and now this guy rejects his freedom.
This is why we say something here that we say nowhere else. With no other Mitzva do we say, “You did not listen and therefore we pierce your ear.” We don’t say, the ear that heard Zachor Et Yom HaShabbat (remember the Sabbath day) and then went out and desecrated Shabbat will get pierced. The piercing happens here only, and that’s because the slave who wants to stay challenges the basis of everything. The first statement said, “I took you out of the house of slaves” and now he wants to go back.
We learn a lot about the status of reason by how the Torah deals with it. It grants him his extra time. Even though he is completely delusional -- it is not, after all, his wife, and they are not his kids. (When he does go free, neither the woman nor the children stay with him.) Nevertheless, the Torah punishes him but does not actually prevent him from extending his time. Not forever, but for a time. The Torah says he can work “L’Olam,” which sounds like “forever,” but the Gemora says that that is only until the Jubilee year.
The key to this is that It’s a judgment, after all. It’s put into the hands of people, and the Eved is allowed to make the judgment even in error, at least to a point.
That allowance or permission is because the Torah admits of a realm of Mishpat, of judgment calls. That has to mean that someone can judge wrongly. That has to be admitted, has to be allowed. Obviously, not forever but for a time.
This is why the Torah does not just pronounce laws as it did last week. That would be a world without human judgment, a world without the human mind, without reason, without the possibility of error. Ultimately, without choice. There is a realm of reasons. You can’t get carried away with it, but you can certainly engage with it.
The section of Mishpatim is introduced with a phrase: V’Elu Hamishpatim -- “these are the laws.” It’s a nice introductory statement. But there’s something odd here. There is a Vav at the beginning of the Parasha, for “and.” That is poor grammar, or at least we were all taught that from a young age. But it tells us that this section means the appending of the realm of reasons to the apodictic 10 statements. That realm of reason gives a wide berth to the play of the human judgment, and to the exercise of free will.
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