“I am the L‑rd, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight.”Jeremiah 9:23

Necessary Repetition

If you are a Jewish kid who graduated law school and actually got a job, chances are that your proud parents gave you a picture to hang on the wall of your office (or windowless cubicle) with the famous quote “Justice, Justice Shall You Pursue,” which comes right at the beginning of the Torah portion Shoftim, meaning “Judges.”

As I type the words of this chapter, Microsoft Word, programmed to assume that I have made a typo by repeating the same word, highlights the second “justice” in red for me, alerting me to my “mistake.” If only Moses had a laptop with spell-check and typo correction, he could have fixed a lot of “typos,” because we see this same duplication in other places in the Torah, such as when G‑d calls out Abraham-Abraham or Jacob-Jacob or Moses-Moses. Is it bad editing—or is it deeply meaningful and transformational? And is there a connection between the phrase “justice-justice” and the duplicative names?

When G‑d says, “Abraham-Abraham” or “Moses-Moses,” it is tender and intimate. Think of cuddling a baby or speaking the name of your beloved; we often say their names twice because, well, once is just not enough to convey the depth of the emotions we can feel. Repeating a first name in that manner is a verbal caress.

“As Above, So Below”

There is another concept at work in this double name-calling that is more applicable here, and that is the idea of “as above, so below.” There is a heavenly version of ourselves, and there is an earthly version of ourselves. The heavenly version represents our potential—the person we could be. The earthly version, on the other hand, is who we are and how we are showing up in the world as the sum of our choices. Think of two portraits: one is hanging on heaven’s walls and the other one is you, walking around.

When G‑d calls out “Abraham-Abraham,” we are to understand that in the case of Abraham (and Jacob and Moses), these two versions are aligned. There is not a “heavenly Abraham” in contrast to an “earthly Abraham.” The Abraham above was the same as below—congruent and unified between his ideals and his actions.

That’s not true for most of us, however. On the other hand, that’s why we’re here—to close the gap and come as close to that heavenly portrait as possible. Living up to our potential, being congruent and authentic, and behaving externally in a way that mirrors our highest internal values is admittedly a big challenge. As a rabbi was fond of saying to me: “We are all works in progress.”

But that idea doesn’t work well with ideals. A society where earthly justice is really out of sync with heavenly justice is not a “society in progress”; rather, it is an unjust society. What we can tolerate in ourselves and on an individual level is intolerable when perpetrated on a grand societal scale. For justice to be “just,” it has to be authentic, congruent and actualized. Like the proverbial pregnant woman, you can’t have just a little bit of it.

Righteous Justice

But who must act justly? We must. And who enacts justice? We must. It’s in our own hands. So can imperfect beings ever create an earthly justice that aligns with heaven? We imagine heavenly justice as strict and severe, and we tremble at the idea of facing the heavenly court, because that is one tough bench to get over.

Maybe there is another alignment going on. In Hebrew, the word tzedek, which means “justice,” also means “righteousness.” Perhaps the dual use of the word “justice” means that we cannot pursue “justice” without also being “righteous.” That would be perverted justice. Think of the Nuremberg Laws that legitimized the Nazi regime. They were “codes of law,” but utterly lacking righteousness and in no way aligned with heaven. And we cannot think we are “righteous” unless we are also “just.” Yann Martel, the author of Life of Pi, wrote:

These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy . . . walk by children dressed in rags living in the street, and they think, “Business as usual.” But if they perceive a slight against G‑d, it is a different story. Their faces go red, their chests heave mightily, they sputter angry words. The degree of their indignation is astonishing. Their resolve is frightening.

This hypocrisy is perverted righteousness. The Hebrew word tzedakah, which means “charity,” comes from the same word tzedek, which means “justice” and “righteousness.” Thus, unless righteousness is rooted in kindness, in compassion, and in being a giver and caring for the poor and needy, etc., it is not “just.” Being “right with G‑d” but not with your fellow man is not aligned with heaven.

In Shoftim, “justice” is not a single word because it is not a single concept. The double word is its own congruency. That’s the alignment to strive for: justice that is righteous, and righteousness that is just—that is, rooted in kindness, caring and giving. Says Robert Frost: “Nothing can make injustice just but mercy.”

And when we pursue that kind of justice here on earth, we are not only closing the gap between our earthly and heavenly selves, but maybe we are, in fact, mirroring the heavenly court. If only we could create such a society and live in such a world, truly, wouldn’t it be like heaven on earth? Now how transformational is that?

Internalize & Actualize:

  1. Can you think of a time you were just, but not righteous? Meaning that you may have done the “right” thing, but at the “wrong” cost? What was the outcome? In hindsight, how would you have handled it differently?
  2. What about a time you may have been righteous, but not just? You may have had the right intentions, but still did the “wrong” thing. How could you have handled that differently?
  3. How would you describe the “you” that is earthly, that is below? Now, how would you describe the “you” that is heavenly, above? What are some very practical ways that you can bridge the gap between the two of them?