Why Not Say Why?

Rabbi Joel Fleekop

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Every Friday morning, the children in the Shir Hadash preschool celebrate Shabbat. The classes come together in the chapel where they light candles, sing songs, parade with the Torah and eat Challah.

About once a month I attend this all school celebration and tell a story. It is a lot of fun to share Shabbat with this group-- after all who loves a story more than preschoolers. But it is also fun to just sit amongst the children while the service is led by Robin, the director of our Early Childhood Center, and the Cantor.

In between singing the songs and participating in the service, the kids have amazing interactions. They tell unfathomable stories and share the unique insights of a toddler. As Bill Cosby famously asserted, “Kids Say the Darndest Things.”

Most of the children’s comments are said quietly to a neighbor, but when it comes time for honors – like carrying the Torah or holding the Challah there are inevitably some strident declarations of “mine” and “my turn.” And of course there is the never ending flow of questions that begin with the word “why” – some of which are germane to the service “why is the Torah cover blue?” but most just about whatever is on the child’s mind “Why do dogs have four legs?”

Preschool, with its many lessons on sharing and taking turns, will help the students move beyond the “it’s mine” stage of life. But in truth, we don’t really ever move beyond the “why” stage.

As we get older we ask fewer questions – in part because we can find the answers ourselves -- once upon a time in places like libraries and today on the internet. And in part because, being more self-aware, we censor ourselves; afraid that the why questions we want to ask are the wrong questions. But we never really stop wondering why. In fact, many anthropologists believe human beings turned to religion to make meaning of their world – in other words, to find answers to their questions of why.

Through its many teachings, Judaism provides answers – sometimes multiple answers, to many of life’s biggest “why” questions. But when it comes to the mitzvoth, the commandments that make up the day to day observance of our faith, the tradition is amazingly silent. The Torah, according to the rabbis, contains 613 commandments. But, to the frustration of the toddler inside each of us – it very rarely explains the reason behind a specific mitzvah.

In this week’s Torah portion, we find an exception to the rule – and perhaps the reason for the rule.

As Maddie explained earlier, Parshat Shoftim establishes guidelines for the Israelites to follow if they chose to establish a king to rule over them. While the Torah sees the selection of a king as part of the Israelites’ desire to be like other nations, the Israelites’ king will be different from neighboring monarchs in an important way – he will have limits to his power. Deuteronomy 17:16-17 asserts, he – the king -- shall not keep many horses or send people back to Egypt to add to his horses, since the Eternal has warned you, “You must not go back that way again.” And he shall not have many wives, lest his heart be led astray; nor shall he amass silver and gold to excess.”

When the monarchy was established, first with King Saul and later King David, these rules were observed. According to tradition David limited himself to only six wives – which apparently did not qualify as too many. Following David’s passing, his son Solomon assumed the throne. Solomon was known for his great wisdom and judgment. A careful reader, Solomon noticed the Torah’s reasons for the commandments, and this, according to the rabbis is where the trouble began.

The Talmud, Masechet Sanhedrein, explains that Solomon read Parshat Shoftim’s assertion “he shall not take many wives lest his heart be led astray” and thought to himself, I will take many wives but my heart will not be led astray. Yet, we read in the book of First Kings, “When Solomon was old, his wives turned his heart astray.” The same thing happens with the injunction against having too many horses – Solomon looks at the reason the Torah gives for the commandment and figures he can have horses without violating the reason it was forbidden – but of course things don’t work out.

And so the Talmud teaches, “Why were the reasons of the Torah’s laws not revealed? Because in two cases reasons were revealed, and they caused the greatest man in the world to stumble.”

This logic – this reason for not giving reasons – is supported by countless other rabbinic examples, from the Mishnah, to the Vilna Gaon, to the sages of today. But as modern people engaging with the text, the lack of reasons can be frustrating.

Maybe we don’t need the text to provide an explanation for “thou shalt not murder” – that one seems self-evident, but it might be nice to know the logic behind Shatnez – the prohibition against wearing wool and linen together.

But then again, perhaps as modern, free thinking people, it is a good thing that explanations are not provided. Not because we would fall victim to the same mistake as King Solomon, but because if a reason was given, it would exclude all the others.

Do we observe Shabbat because God ceased from work on the 7th day of creation, or because resting is a celebration of our freedom, or because it is a link to generations of Jews past and future?

What about Kashrut? Dozens of arguments have been made to justify the Jewish dietary laws, ranging from health benefits, to concern over the treatment of animals, to serving as a way to elevate the base act of eating into something holy. Which one is right? Or is it all of them that make the tradition meaningful?

Like each of us at an earlier age, the children in the preschool make a habit of asking why questions. And since they are just little, they rely on their parents, teachers, and other grown-ups to provide them with the answers they need to make meaning out of their world.

As adults, we continue to ask questions that begin with the word why. But as adults, it is our task to answer them for ourselves. For by finding the answers that satisfy our own, unique curiosity, we not only make meaning out of our world, but also and perhaps most importantly, make our world meaningful.