Parshat Shoftim: The Courage to Ask

When Wisdom Begins with Uncertainty

Introduction

We often associate wisdom with answers. We turn to wise people because we expect them to see clearly where others are uncertain and to offer direction when the path ahead is difficult to understand. Over time, we can begin to measure our own wisdom in much the same way. We feel more secure when we understand what is happening, when we can explain why something occurred, and when we know what should happen next. Certainty gives us a sense of order.

But certainty and wisdom are not always the same thing. There are moments when the greatest obstacle to understanding is not that we lack information, but that we have already decided what the information means. We see something, form an explanation, and begin responding to that explanation as though it were the whole truth. Once that happens, we are no longer trying to understand; we are confirming what we believe we already know.

Real understanding requires enough humility to leave room for the possibility that our first conclusion is incomplete. Experience can sharpen our judgment without making it infallible, and confidence can coexist with misunderstanding. Sometimes wisdom requires the willingness to look again.

Wisdom does not always begin with an answer. Sometimes it begins with the humility to admit that we have not yet understood the question.

I. Justice Must Be Pursued

Moshe opens Parshat Shoftim by establishing the foundations of justice: judges must be appointed, judgment may not be distorted, and favoritism and bribery are forbidden. Within those instructions comes one of the Torah’s most familiar commands: “צֶדֶק צֶדֶק תִּרְדֹּף” — “Justice, justice shall you pursue” (Devarim 16:20). Justice is not simply something to uphold or administer. The Torah describes it as something that must be pursued.

The Ramban explains that the repeated word “צֶדֶק” emphasizes the seriousness with which justice must be sought. This follows the Torah’s warning immediately beforehand: “לֹא תַטֶּה מִשְׁפָּט, לֹא תַכִּיר פָּנִים, וְלֹא תִקַּח שֹׁחַד” — “Do not pervert judgment, do not show favoritism, and do not take a bribe” (16:19). The Torah surrounds the pursuit of justice with warnings about the forces capable of distorting it. A judge may intend to reach the truth and still be influenced by considerations that prevent him from seeing it clearly. Justice therefore requires more than sincerity; it requires discipline.

To pursue something means that there remains a distance between where we stand and what we are seeking. The Torah does not describe justice as something the judge automatically possesses by virtue of his position. He must move toward it, examining what is before him rather than assuming that what first appears clear is necessarily complete.

The repetition of “צֶדֶק צֶדֶק” reinforces the standard against which that judgment must be measured. Conviction is not enough, nor is the appearance of what seems right. The process matters because a verdict carries consequences for the person standing before the court.

Judicial authority does not mean that the judge already possesses the truth he has been charged to find. “צֶדֶק צֶדֶק תִּרְדֹּף” begins the parsha with the recognition that truth must be pursued precisely because it cannot simply be assumed.

II. When Understanding Reaches Its Limit

After commanding the pursuit of justice, the Torah acknowledges that even careful pursuit will not always produce an answer: “כִּי יִפָּלֵא מִמְּךָ דָבָר לַמִּשְׁפָּט” — “If a matter of judgment is too difficult for you” (Devarim 17:8). The Torah does not present such a case as a failure of the judicial system. It builds into that system the possibility that a question may exceed the understanding of the judge before whom it has been brought.

Rashi explains “כִּי יִפָּלֵא” as something that has become separated or hidden from the judge’s understanding. He has reached the limit of what he can presently resolve. Shoftim has invested judges with enormous responsibility, but their authority is never treated as unlimited.

The Torah instructs him: “וְקַמְתָּ וְעָלִיתָ אֶל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ בּוֹ” — “You shall arise and ascend to the place that Hashem your God will choose” (17:8). The unresolved question is brought to the Kohanim, the Leviim, and the judge who will be present at that time. The local judge is not asked to force a conclusion where he has been unable to reach one. The question is brought before a greater source of Torah authority.

There is significance in the language “וְקַמְתָּ וְעָלִיתָ.” The Torah could have described the referral of the case in purely legal terms. The judge, however, must arise and ascend. What he cannot resolve within the limits of his own understanding becomes the reason to seek beyond himself.

The limits of the judge’s understanding do not diminish his authority; they help define what that authority requires. When “כִּי יִפָּלֵא מִמְּךָ דָבָר” occurs, the pursuit of truth continues through the willingness to bring the unanswered question beyond oneself.

III. The King Who Remains a Student

From the judges, Shoftim turns to the king, whose position presents a different challenge. The Torah requires him to write a Sefer Torah and keep it with him: “וְהָיְתָה עִמּוֹ וְקָרָא בוֹ כָּל יְמֵי חַיָּיו” — “It shall be with him, and he shall read from it all the days of his life” (Devarim 17:19). The person entrusted with leading the nation is required to remain continually in the presence of Torah.

The Sefer Torah is not merely a symbol of his office. The king must return to it throughout his life. The person who stands above the nation continues to place himself beneath the authority of Torah. His position may distinguish him from others, but it does not make his own understanding sufficient.

The Torah states the purpose explicitly: “לְמַעַן יִלְמַד לְיִרְאָה אֶת ה׳ אֱלֹקָיו” — “So that he may learn to fear Hashem his God” (17:19). The word “יִלְמַד” is significant. The Torah describes the king not as someone whose learning has been completed, but as someone who must continue to learn throughout his reign. His responsibilities have increased, but he remains a student.

The requirement that he read it “כָּל יְמֵי חַיָּיו” — “all the days of his life” — means returning again and again to words he has already studied. The Torah has not changed, but the king continues to encounter it from within the changing responsibilities of his reign. What was familiar must still be studied; what has already been learned must remain capable of teaching him.

The Torah connects this continued learning to the inner danger of kingship: “לְבִלְתִּי רוּם לְבָבוֹ מֵאֶחָיו” — “So that his heart not become elevated above his brothers” (17:20). The king’s humility and his capacity to learn are bound together. The Sefer Torah remains with him not only to instruct him, but to preserve the posture from which Torah can continue to teach him.

The most powerful person in Israel is thus required to remain a lifelong student. The king may lead and rule, but his position never places him beyond the need to learn. “לְמַעַן יִלְמַד” remains with him for as long as he wears the crown.

IV. The Questions We Are Not Meant to Answer

Shoftim has placed great weight on the search for understanding. Justice must be pursued, difficult questions must be brought before greater Torah authority, and even the king must remain a student. Then Moshe introduces a different boundary. After warning Israel against divination, sorcery, omens, and other practices used by the surrounding nations, he commands: “תָּמִים תִּהְיֶה עִם ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ” — “You shall be wholehearted with Hashem your God” (Devarim 18:13).

Rashi explains: “התהלך עמו בתמימות ותצפה לו, ולא תחקור אחר העתידות” — walk with Him wholeheartedly and look to Him; do not investigate the future. Elsewhere in Shoftim, the Torah insists that we search more deeply. Here, it places a limit upon the search itself. Not everything that is hidden is ours to uncover.

The surrounding pesukim clarify that boundary. The nations Israel is entering turn to those who claim access to what lies beyond ordinary human knowledge: “כִּי הַגּוֹיִם הָאֵלֶּה... אֶל מְעֹנְנִים וְאֶל קֹסְמִים יִשְׁמָעוּ” — “For these nations… listen to diviners and sorcerers” (18:14). Israel is commanded to relate differently to what has not been revealed. The same Torah that demands investigation in matters of justice places a boundary around the attempt to uncover the future.

Rashi’s words “ולא תחקור אחר העתידות” sharpen that distinction. The future belongs to a different realm. What Hashem has not revealed is not ours to possess simply because we desire to know it.

The command, however, is not merely “do not investigate.” It is “תָּמִים תִּהְיֶה עִם ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ.” Rashi joins the instruction not to investigate the future with “ותצפה לו” — look to Hashem. What remains unknown is not simply left as an empty space. The Torah places what has not been revealed within the relationship expressed by “עִם ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ” — with Hashem your God.

The search for understanding has a boundary. There are matters the Torah commands us to pursue and others that Hashem has not placed within human sight. “תָּמִים תִּהְיֶה” asks us to recognize the difference.

V. Moving Forward Without Certainty

As Israel prepares for war, the Torah describes the words the kohen is to address to the soldiers: “שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל, אַתֶּם קְרֵבִים הַיּוֹם לַמִּלְחָמָה עַל אֹיְבֵיכֶם” — “Hear, Israel, you are approaching battle today against your enemies” (Devarim 20:3). He continues, “אַל יֵרַךְ לְבַבְכֶם, אַל תִּירְאוּ וְאַל תַּחְפְּזוּ וְאַל תַּעַרְצוּ מִפְּנֵיהֶם” — “Do not let your hearts grow faint; do not fear, do not panic, and do not be terrified before them.”

The soldiers stand before a battle whose course they cannot see. The kohen does not tell them how it will unfold. He directs their attention toward what they can know: “כִּי ה׳ אֱלֹקֵיכֶם הַהֹלֵךְ עִמָּכֶם לְהִלָּחֵם לָכֶם עִם אֹיְבֵיכֶם לְהוֹשִׁיעַ אֶתְכֶם” — “For Hashem your God is the One who goes with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you” (20:4). At the threshold of battle, they are given the knowledge that Hashem goes with them.

The assurance of the pasuk rests in the words “הַהֹלֵךְ עִמָּכֶם” — the One who goes with you. The future remains beyond their sight, but the kohen's words locate them within a relationship that accompanies them as they enter it. What remains hidden does not have to become visible before they can advance.

That language echoes the command “תָּמִים תִּהְיֶה עִם ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ.” There, Israel is commanded to remain wholehearted with Hashem rather than seek knowledge of what has not been revealed. Here, as they move toward a future they cannot see, the same language of Divine presence returns: “ה׳ אֱלֹקֵיכֶם הַהֹלֵךְ עִמָּכֶם.” What was expressed earlier as remaining with Hashem now becomes the assurance that Hashem goes with them.

The soldiers know what they are called upon to do without knowing how the battle will unfold. Their ability to advance does not rest upon foreknowledge of what awaits them. They move forward with the words “ה׳ אֱלֹקֵיכֶם הַהֹלֵךְ עִמָּכֶם” — Hashem your God goes with you.

VI. Responsibility Without Answers

Parshat Shoftim ends with one of the Torah’s most unusual cases: “כִּי יִמָּצֵא חָלָל בָּאֲדָמָה... לֹא נוֹדַע מִי הִכָּהוּ” — “If a slain person is found in the land… and it is not known who struck him” (Devarim 21:1). After a parsha devoted to judges, testimony, leadership, and justice, the Torah presents a case in which the central fact remains unknown. A life has been taken, but there are no witnesses and no identified perpetrator who can be brought before the court.

The absence of an answer does not end the community’s involvement. “וְיָצְאוּ זְקֵנֶיךָ וְשֹׁפְטֶיךָ וּמָדְדוּ אֶל הֶעָרִים אֲשֶׁר סְבִיבֹת הֶחָלָל” — “Your elders and your judges shall go out and measure to the cities surrounding the slain person” (21:2). The elders and judges must leave their place, determine which city is nearest, and begin the process of the eglah arufah. The murderer cannot be identified, but those closest to what has occurred are still called upon to respond.

The elders of that city then declare: “יָדֵינוּ לֹא שָׁפְכוּ אֶת הַדָּם הַזֶּה וְעֵינֵינוּ לֹא רָאוּ” — “Our hands did not spill this blood, and our eyes did not see” (21:7). Chazal ask why such a declaration is necessary. Would anyone suspect the elders themselves of murder? Rashi, citing the Mishnah in Sotah, explains that they are declaring that this person did not come into their care and leave without food, and that they did not see him and allow him to depart without accompaniment.

The explanation changes the nature of the inquiry. The identity of the murderer remains unknown, but the attention of the elders turns toward what occurred within their own community. Their declaration explicitly denies that they spilled his blood, while at the same time requiring them to consider whether the person who passed through their midst had been received, sustained, and accompanied as he should have been.

The elders then pray: “כַּפֵּר לְעַמְּךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר פָּדִיתָ ה׳” — “Atone for Your people Israel whom You redeemed, Hashem” (21:8). Even without knowing who committed the crime, they must stand before what has happened, make their declaration, and seek atonement for Israel. The unanswered question remains, but it does not leave them without responsibility.

That is what makes eglah arufah such a striking conclusion to Shoftim. The parsha ends with “לֹא נוֹדַע מִי הִכָּהוּ” — something remains unknown. No missing answer is supplied. The question that remains available is a different one: what responsibility still belongs to those who stand before what they cannot fully explain?

Parenting Reflection

When a child begins to struggle, parents naturally search for an explanation. We look backward and try to find the moment when something changed. Was there something we missed? Was it the school, the friends, something happening internally, something at home? Could we have seen it earlier? Could we have prevented it? Beneath many of those questions is another one that can be even harder to carry: Was there something I should have done differently?

These are not questions we should dismiss. Understanding matters. Sometimes looking more carefully allows us to see what our child has been carrying for a long time. Sometimes a therapist, teacher, rav, mentor, or another parent helps us recognize something we could not see on our own. What we understood as defiance may have been distress; what looked like indifference may have been something our child could not yet express.

But the search for understanding can quietly become a search for certainty. We begin to hope that if we can reconstruct the story completely, we will finally know what went wrong, what we should have done differently, and what will happen next. Some of those answers may come with time. Others may not.

Our child is still standing before us now. They still need to be seen accurately, listened to carefully, guided when guidance is needed, and loved through a chapter neither they nor we may fully understand. Parenting cannot wait until every question about yesterday has been answered or every uncertainty about tomorrow has been resolved.

We can keep learning without making complete understanding a condition for being present. We can reconsider what we thought we knew without allowing regret to become the only way we look backward. And we can allow the questions we cannot yet answer to make room for the one that still belongs to us:

Given where my child is today, what is mine to do?

Closing

Parshat Shoftim asks much of human judgment. Judges must rule, leaders must lead, and a nation must move forward. Humility does not release us from those responsibilities. It shapes the way we carry them, reminding us that responsibility does not require complete understanding.

There is wisdom in knowing the difference between a question that asks more of us and one whose answer is not ours to possess. One keeps us searching; the other asks us to continue without seeing everything we would like to see. Wisdom requires room for both.

This is why the parsha can begin with the pursuit of justice and end with something still unknown. Wisdom is not measured by how completely uncertainty has been eliminated, but by whether we remain honest enough to seek what can be known, humble enough to acknowledge what cannot, and faithful enough to continue walking with Hashem through the space between them.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!!!

Yaakov Lazar