To the founders of our movement, they are a treasure and are an obligation, which we must continue to observe and to shape, changing them when necessary to fit the contemporary world in which we live but always, always remaining an obligation.

They are the mitzvot, the commandments, the basis of our religion.

And, millennia after Sinai, they are so important and so basic that as our B'nai and B'not mitzvah stand on the bima after their aliyah, I bless them with the hope that in addition to being shalaym with God, walking in God's ways and studying Torah, that God will direct our adolscents' hearts lishmor mitzvot, to observe, more correctly, to guard God's commandments.

And, it is such a critical issue that we have decided to dedicate many educational programs at Beth Israel this year to Making Mitzvot Matter. And, they have to matter because whether one or another of the above definitions of the mitzvot (inspired by Rabbi Neil Gillman in his book Sacred Fragments) resonates or not, our observance of the mitzvot are the defining actions of what makes us Jews and what makes us Conservative Jews and we want you to observe more mitzvot and observe them with more meaning.

In principle, our movement embraces the mitzvot as obligations for each and every individual to accept and act on. But many are either actively or passively apathetic about the mitzvot. Others embrace them and lament others' apathy. Others still, and an increasing number I fear, are tormented by a restlessness and frustration as they seek to continue to observe the mitzvot despite philosophical or theological rethinking, despite time pressures and despite the reality of life in the "real world". I address my remarks this morning to all of you, wherever group you find yourself in.

All of us, no matter where we stand vis-�-vis the mitzvot need to think about them more. We are a Congregation which has found time to teach many things and do many things and be many things and hasn't always found the time or the desire to encourage observance of mitzvot. We don't discourage it, God forbid, and occasionally focus on one mitzvah or another but sometimes hidden in everything else good that we do is the idea of obligation to the mitzvot. We, I, have to do better. So, in order to open up the subject again I want to express this morning two critical ideas about being shomrei mitzvot. I have chosen my words very carefully and I am trying to chart a very careful and deliberate course between two concepts which I view as equally dangerous: the rejection of the obligation to mitzvot on the one hand and the treating of the mitzvot as an object of our worship, frankly, as an idol on the other. Each of these present a threat to our role as Jews: shmirat hamitzvot, the preservation of the mitzvot for the future.

Let me share with you now three stories. One from the Torah, with a bit of interpretation, one a Hasidic text I learned from a colleague and the third is a personal experience. I will tell you them now and will refer to each of them later in my sermon.

Here is the story you know, with some additional material based on a close reading of the text from the book of Deuteronomy. Moses comes down from Mt. Sinai with the tablets of the commandments resting on his hands. They are light and seem weightless to him. Then he sees the people worshipping the golden calf and he tenses up, grabbing the tablets. They become unbearably heavy. Moses suddenly is burdened by their weight. He has never experienced this before, never envisioned that the commandments could possibly be such a burden. He slams them to the ground.

The next story comes from a Hassidic Rabbi who was teaching his students about the tradition that one should not conduct sicha bitayla, everyday conversation, before the morning prayers.

To illustrate the point, the Rabbi told the story of a hasid who used to make a living by selling warm winter coats. One year when the winter had been very mild he didn't sell even one. He didn't have any money and his household was crying for food. One morning, before the prayers, a local businessman came to him and offered to buy his entire stock of coats. But, the hasid told him, "I don't engage in conducting business before the morning prayers because it is sicha bitayla." And the businessman walked away.

The Rabbi concluded his story by saying: "Everyone always asks me: "Ma hayah sof hamaa'aseh?" So, nu, Rabbi, what's the end of the story? (My interpretation: A sudden cold snap? A treasure found in the street on the way home from shul?) No, says the Rabbi, that is the end of the story. There is nothing else to tell. It is about how far the faithfulness of a Jew should extend.

And, here is the third story, the personal one.

The summer before last, we spent a little more than a week out west visiting Grand Teton and Yellowstone. To a shomer Shabbat family, the words: "a little more than a week" means that the uppermost thought in your mind when planning the trip is; "How would we observe Shabbat?" Well, we worked out a great solution. We would spend Shabbat at our hotel in Grand Teton, taking walks, swimming in the pool, watching the animals and eating hummus and yogurt out of the room's refrigerator.

It was a glorious Shabbat. It went exactly as I envisioned it...for 22 and a half hours.

Suddenly, an hour before sundown, I was seized with a horrible ailment, one I am familiar with but which struck with great seriousness and suddenness- I had shpilkes. Terrible shpilkes. Ants in the Pants. I usually have shpilkes as many of you well know. I'm a well known fidgeter. But, this was different. This was Shabbat induced shpilkes and there was a reason. I wanted desperately for the family to do the one last thing that we had not been able to do in Grand Teton, climb a rock stairway to look at the sunset. We had run out of time to do it on Thursday and this was our last chance. But, it would have required driving and we do not drive on Shabbat except in emergency situations. I found myself, for the first time in years, resenting Shabbat. It was a burden to me. I wanted to see this beautiful sight knowing I wouldn't be back for a long time, if ever and I couldn't see it.

And that began what has been for me a 14 month, on and off, mostly on, debate within myself about what is the most important aspect of being a Jew, observing the mitzvot, observing the commandments and I'll summarize my thinking with two points.

My first thought is addressed to those who have not committed themselves to a pattern of observance based on obligation to the commandments. It can no longer just be assumed, it must be stated clearly. I believe that each and every Jew must commit themselves to observing the mitzvot and I say that without any hesitation. It is crucial that you do because, as my teacher, Rabbi David Hartman pointed out this summer, we all can understand the need for obligation to mitzvot because all adult relationships are based upon obligation and our relationship with God or, if you will, with Judaism is no different. Judaism must be based on a sense of obligation, not a whim of "when I feel like it". No one is asking you to observe each and every one of the mitzvot right now. Our movement has spoken about a ladder of observance. Wherever you find yourself on that ladder, view it as a ladder of obligation, not merely of observance. Grab onto whatever rung you feel is right and think of climbing up one more rung this year.

Remember that some things you are already doing: giving tzedaka, visiting the sick, comforting the bereaved, coming to shul, are mitzvot. Think of them as such and you will raise the impact and the meaning of the things you already do. And then turn your attention to other mitzvot which you are not doing. The philosopher, Franz Rosenzweig spoke of the fact that he was "not observing that mitzvah...yet". That is a wonderful attitude. Concentrate on what you do, whether it be ritual or communal or ethical and look at it the response to an externally based obligation: from God, from community, from tradition, from your ancestors and do a little more.

We'll help you. We'll teach you how to do that which you don't already do but are interested in learning more about or help you find the importance in mitzvot you haven't considered. But, to put it bluntly, if you are really concerned about the future of the Jewish people, realize that it is observance of the mitzvot, ritual, communal, ethical, daily life, all of the mitzvot from a perspective of obligation which will insure the survival not only of a people who call themselves Jewish but who act Jewish as well.

Now, here is the second point I want to make this morning.

I address this comment to those of you who have found a level of observance which you are satisfied with and which you consider an obligation according to what the Halacha, the law demands.

Kol Hakavod. You deserve a hearty yasher koach for remaining firm in this world of many choices. Your children stand a better chance at fulfilling this one of the four wishes we have for them. They have learned from an early age that mitzvot are obligations and that it is a choice a Jew should make.

But, now comes the question: Honestly, just between us, have you ever felt, at any given moment, that one mitzvah which you have obligated yourself to observe, is a burden? Have you ever felt that a particular mitzvah restricted your freedom unnecessarily and harmfully? Have you ever gotten shpilkes being shomer mitzvot?

If not, again, kol hakavod, you don't have to listen to the rest.

But, I am going to make a confession this morning. Occasionally one mitzvah or another, at a key moment, becomes a burden to me.

You might say: "So, big deal, Rabbi, they're a burden. We all know that. Of course, they're a burden. They were meant to be a burden. And, the tradition knows that. They are referred to as ol mitzvot, the yoke, y-o-k-e of the commandments."

"And", you might continue, "people have observed them despite the burden that they can sometimes be. And our burden of observing in this free country is minimal compared to the sacrifices people have made in the past to observe them."

I know. I know. But, I have begun to become very uncomfortable with this attitude and with stories like the one about the man who hadn't sold any coats told to glorify the observance not even of the mitzvot but of rather trivial behavioral guidelines like not talking before tefillot. This attitude and these stories are dangerous. That man in the story was wrong. He was so wrong. And we all know it. His family was starving and he was wrong. And even if they weren't starving, even if his kid was just a little hungry and couldn't concentrate in school because of it, he was wrong and if we can't bring ourselves to say he was wrong than there is something wrong with us and something wrong with the whole enterprise. This is not Judaism. This can't be Judaism.

He was wrong because the halacha has built into it systems which allow us to break the laws, let alone ignore behavioral guidelines to save a life or for some other drastic reason. Why are those systems built in? Rabbis will tell you it is because saving a life is, in and of itself, a mitzvah. But there is an overriding principle at stake here and that is that observing the mitzvot is not the only obligation we have to God. In Deuteronomy 26:17, we read that God expects that we "observe the mitzvot and that we listen to God's voice" and here and I want to acknowledge my brother's suggestion of thinking of it this way, that this is because sometimes we can hear a different voice of God- a voice other than the voice that commands to observe the law strictly, that is the voice which tells us to save a life and leave the rest of the mitzvot aside.

But does God only speak when there is a life at stake? What of the other voices of God: the one which tells us to love our family, to visit a sick person even though it is Shabbat, to work for the future of our people, to climb some rocks, see a beautiful sunset and celebrate the glory of the Divine creation?

What happens when the law gets in the way of doing the thing that we know is important, that at that moment we are hearing as the voice of God? What happens when the mitzvot get in the way of being the person we want to be at that moment? Could the halacha be wrong? Do we dare admit it? I think we have to.

Our movement believes that halacha is occasionally wrong and needs to be changed. In the past and in the present we have at times moved much too slowly but halachic change and halachic progress is viewed in our movement as positive. But, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the laws which are so right all the time but every once in a while are wrong, every once in a while become a burden.

Most of the time when that happens, we have to work through it. We work through it because we know that lishmor mitzvot means to keep them, to observe them, not to give up on them. So, who cares, the lobster smells good, so big deal the boss tells you that you have to go to a meeting but it is Yom Kippur. So big deal, the World Series game you just got tickets for is on Shabbat (by the way that happened to me in 1975, a week after I declared myself as officially shomer Shabbat. I sold the tickets to a friend on the condition that he would return them if the game was postponed. It was and I got to see Carlton Fisk hit a home run in the 12th inning of the greatest World Series game every played.) In those circumstances we know what our obligation is.

But, what happens when something, for a good cause, overcomes us? What happens, say on Shabbat, when we want to do something which will make the world a better place such as visiting a sick person or which we believe will help us and our children better appreciate the beauty of the world like see a glorious sunset from on top of a mountain but is against the pattern of observance we have obligated ourselves to?

I offer those of you committed to the mitzvot and to my teachers and colleagues in the Conservative movement a thought. Some of my colleagues might find it scandalous but I think many of us not only believe it but already act on it. We just don't talk about it. But, I think it is a critical statement to be made, and not just done quietly so no one else will notice. So I'll say it: sometimes we become shomrei mitzvot, guardians of the commandments, by not observing them.

The mitzvot need to be cherished, embraced and honored. But, if they become the object of our worship, if they become all that matters, if we set them up as an idol which can't be touched after we have decided what our pattern of observance is, then we have lost something in the long run and, in a society so free in every other way and in a Jewish world with so many voices to respond to, we might have failed in our quest lishmor mitzvot, to perpetuate the commandments.

We have to realize that the goal is shmirat hamitzvot, guarding the commandments for the future, making sure they stay alive for generations to come and continue to shape our lives as Jews and that requires that we allow ourselves to say: "at this moment, something more important needs to be done in my life and in my world in order that tomorrow, or 5 minutes from now, I can go back to observing them feeling comfortable and natural as they should feel and more dedicated to observing them in the future. Otherwise, I will be carrying around a resentment to the mitzvot, an anger which will eat away at the determination to observe."

To be sure, it's a slippery slope. But, let's be frank, if we have already decided that God doesn't reward us or punish us for every observance or transgression, and if we want to see mitzvot observed by more Jews rather than less and if we want observance of the mitzvot to not become the private province of an elite who want to live separately from the rest of the world and have all their decisions made for them, it might be necessary, once in a great while for us to exert what might seem like a bit of adolescent independence and say: to our heavenly parent: "God, there is no big ethical principle at stake here, the honor of our people is not the issue, people aren't going to judge every Jew based on my action at this moment, therefore, I'm not going to beat myself up for transgressing this commandment in fact I am going to be proud of what I do because there is more to life and more to Judaism than following rules and my observance of the rules will be enhanced in the future if I can do them with a full heart".

And God may understand because, after all, God created the phenomenon of adolescence, of struggling with fulfilling our obligations.

So, continue to observe the mitzvot. Recognize your obligation. Climb the ladder even higher. But, once you have accepted the obligation of mitzvot, and that is absolutely critical to my words this morning, only after you have accepted the obligation of mitzvot and acted on them in your life, believe that you have the freedom, whether you act on it or not, to listen to God's other voices on occasion, voices which God has given us, not to ensnare us, not to tempt or test us but which reflect a multi-faceted God who created thinking individuals with freedom of choice regarding our complex heritage in a complicated world.

You don't have to act on this freedom if you don't want to, just know it is there for you if you want to take advantage of it and the burden of the mitzvot will be lifted.

So, Rabbi, nu, mah hayah sof ham'aseh?

What is the end of the story? What did you do in Grand Teton?

Well, you know we're shomer Shabbat in our home and since then, we have observed every Shabbat completely according to our chosen standard, planned last summer's trip up north and next year's family trip in a way which allows us to observe Shabbat according to our standards, still keep a kosher home, still fast on Yom Kippur and still have kept the idols out of the house.

We are still shomrei mitzvot.

But, we have something else. We have the memory of saying a bracha praising God on a beautiful sunset on top of a rock stairway and I will treasure that memory forever and I don't regret it for a moment. In fact, I consider it to be the most important thing I have done to perpetuate the mitzvot in my family in a long, long time.

So, let's turn back to Moses. He really had three choices with the tablets. We know he chose the wrong one.

But he could have, and perhaps should have held on tight to them, straining under their weight by proclaiming their continued effectiveness and legitimacy and his obligation to carry them. God would have helped him. He would have survived. That's what all of us do when we observe mitzvot when they become inconvenient. That's what we must do almost all of the time.

But, maybe this was a special moment. Maybe Moses could have listened to a different voice at that one moment, telling him it wasn't all or nothing. Then, he could have, just that once, taken the tablets off of his hands, put them down gently, stretched his muscles, repositioned himself, taken a deep breath and picked them up again, ready to tackle the weight and burden with a sense of purpose, mission and commitment knowing that they would very soon feel natural again: weightless and light like they did on the day he committed himself to them.

I believe that God would have smiled at Moses' choice.

I believe that God smiles when we make that choice too because it shows we are thinking, complicated, sometimes rebellious individuals who learned one day when we were growing up that you have to travel a bit to experience things you can't at home in order to eventually appreciate home more deeply.

And I believe that our B'nai and B'not mitzvah need to hear that third option that Moses didn't think of if we really expect them to be shomrei mitzvot in the real word, guarding the commandments insuring mitzvot remain and grow stronger as the fundamental part of Judaism for untold numbers of generations to come.

May God help us all preserve the mitzvot for the future by observing them and, occasionally, by listening to a different voice so that we can return to the mitzvot with a full heart. May the words of our mouths, the meditations of our hearts and the actions of our hands be acceptable to O Lord of many voices, our rock and our redeemer.

Robert Dobrusin, Rabbi
Copyright © 2005, Robert Dobrusin.
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This message was originally posted on October 27, 2005.

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