Yisro: Beyond Inspiration: When Torah Meets Our Everyday Self
Liluei Nishmas Ita bas Chanoch Aharon Bistritzky
This week's parsha begins with Moshe's father-in-law, Yisro, coming to join the Jewish people. He sees his son-in-law Moshe, who is the sole judge of the Jewish people—the only judge. Anytime anyone has a dispute or a halachic question, for the entire nation of two-and-a-half to three million people, the only person to come to is Moshe Rabbeinu.
Yisro makes what seems like an obvious observation. He says, "You're going to burn out! You're the only judge for all these people. What you need to do is establish a hierarchy. You should appoint different judges for groups of ten thousand people, smaller judges over smaller groups, and have the easier questions go to the lower-level judges while the harder questions come to you. That way, this system will be sustainable."
The obvious question is: Why did Moshe himself not realize this? Why did he set up a system where he was the only judge and not think that he would burn out being the single judge for close to 3 million people?
The explanation is that standing in front of Moshe Rabbeinu was a unique experience. Sometimes, you need to handle a court case because two parties are arguing and being petty with each other, and you need to work out their pettiness. But sometimes, you stand in front of someone who just brings out your higher self—brings you up to a much more ideal place, almost brings you up to where they stand just by being in their presence.
For Moshe Rabbeinu, he wasn't judging people by getting into the petty nitty-gritty of their arguments. Being in Moshe's presence automatically inspired their neshama to the highest degree. When a Yid came in front of Moshe Rabbeinu with a halachic question, they suddenly became wired with a high, high Wi-Fi connection to the kedusha —they automatically became close to Godliness. So it wasn't a tiring experience for Moshe, and that seemed like the best and most impactful way of getting the Torah across to the people.
Yet Moshe ultimately agreed with Yitro. Why? Because the ultimate purpose of Torah and spirituality isn't just for our spiritual side—it's not just for our higher half. Torah and Godliness are mainly there to hit home with our lower half. The question is: Who are we when we walk away from Moshe Rabbeinu? Does Torah permeate us to hit even that side of us—not just the overly inspired side, but even the human, basic side of us, our lower half?
In fact, there's a Midrash that says, "I created the yetzer hara (evil inclination), barasi Torah tavlin (I created Torah as the medication) for that evil inclination." In other words, we think the Torah is there to talk to our spiritual side, but Hashem says, "I created the animalistic side of the person, and I gave you Torah to hit home with that animalistic side." The Torah experience is meant to hit home with that side of us.
Sometimes, when we learn Torah, it seems like we need an escape—we need to learn something holy to just breathe some holier oxygen, to get back to the "good old days" when we were in yeshiva and didn't have life's worries. For life's worries, we think we need a self-help book or a therapist, or we listen to a good podcast that empowers us to live life properly. We plug into "general spirituality."
But we need to rewire that thinking. Whatever secret, whatever Torah, whatever insight is there to tell us—it's not just there to hit the spiritual side of us. It wants to permeate and hit home and empower us even in our non-inspired moments: the part of us that deals with our family, our business, our confidence, and our human decisions. That's when you tap into Torah in its ultimate space—not just when it elevates us and gives us wings to make us transcend, but when it empowers us and hits home with who we are as people.
Adapted from “Life Talks on the Parsha”