Drash on Mishpatim 2025

Rabbi Rafi Kaiserblueth

Emanuel Synagogue

Among the many laws in this week’s parashah, one commandment appears twice, standing out in its urgency: “You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 22:20), and again, “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the soul of the stranger, since you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9).

Why is this mitzvah repeated? The Torah does not often reiterate laws unless there is something deeper to emphasize. The medieval commentator Ramban (Nachmanides) suggests that this repetition highlights the emotional dimension of our obligation. It is not just about legal fairness but about empathy—because we know what it means to be the outsider. We are not commanded to welcome the stranger merely as an abstract principle, but because we, too, have felt the sting of alienation.

The Talmud (Bava Metzia 59b) amplifies this point, noting that the Torah warns against mistreating the stranger no fewer than 36 times, more than almost any other commandment. It is as if the Torah recognizes our natural human tendency to focus inward, to protect our own. After all, we have experienced historical trauma, displacement, and the ongoing challenge of securing our safety as a people. But precisely because of this, we are given a unique and sacred responsibility: to extend the kindness we once yearned for.

This theme resonates powerfully in the various different Jewish communities we find ourselves in. Many of our families arrived here as refugees—fleeing persecution in Europe, the Middle East, or North Africa. We built strong, close-knit communities, protecting our traditions in a new land. But we also know the weight of being the “stranger,” of looking for a place to belong.

Welcoming the stranger is not always easy. It means stretching beyond our comfort zones, making space for those whose backgrounds, customs, or experiences may be different from ours. But the Torah insists that this is not just an act of kindness; it is an act of Jewish memory. We do not merely welcome the stranger because it is moral—we do so because we remember.

The Meshech Chochmah (Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk) offers another insight: The verse reminds us that we should not oppress the stranger because we know the soul of the stranger. Our experience should not make us fearful or insular; it should make us attuned to the struggles of others.

As we read Mishpatim, let us reflect on how we live this mitzvah in our own communities. How do we extend a hand to those seeking belonging? How do we balance the need to protect our people while embracing those who need refuge? The Torah does not offer easy answers, but it does remind us—again and again—that our past should shape our future.