Yitro
Exodus 18:1-20:23
Isaiah 6:1-7:6, 9:5-6
What would it take to get us to save our planet? A couple of years ago, a professor of psychology and marketing at Arizona State University testified before the congressional subcommittee subcommittee on research and science. The subject of the hearing was fostering social responsibility in the context of environmental awareness.
In his testimony, Robert Cialdini referred to several studies he conducted to examine this issue. One study performed the following experiment in an upscale Phoenix-area hotel: He and his colleagues put cards with one of four messages on it in each of the guestrooms encouraging guests to reuse their towels rather than have them laundered after one use.
On one card, it said “Help save the environment.” Another said, “Help save resources for future generations.” A third said, “Join your fellow citizens in helping to save the environment ” and indicated that the majority of hotel guests reuse their towels. The last card said, “Partner with us to save the environment.” Which one do you think was most effective?
Shifting to take a look at this week’s Torah portion, one notices a linguistic irregularity. “They [the Jewish people] journeyed from Refidim and arrived at the wilderness of Sinai … and he camped there opposite the mountain” (Ex. 19:2). Commenting on the shift of pronouns that describe the children of Israel first in the plural as “they” and then in the singular as “he,” Rashi remarks that the Torah is teaching that we stood at Mount Sinai “like one man with one heart.”
This is surely a beautiful image of unity, but allow me to ask you: Is it conceivably true? The generation that left Egypt was among our most contentious; how is it possible that they all agreed to accept the Torah as one?
The Ketav Sofer offers an answer based on an enigmatic passage in the Talmud (Nedarim 20a). The Talmud there tells us that “anyone who is capable of feeling shame will not soon err, and anyone who does not exhibit any shame is clearly not descended from those whose feet stood at Mount Sinai.” This notion is paralleled by the talmudic dictum (Yevamot 79a) that Jews are recognizable in exhibiting shame upon error, showing mercy and doing kindness to others.
What does this mean? What is the connection between feeling bad about our mistakes and receiving the Torah?
The Ketav Sofer explains that if one were to have asked each Jew individually whether he or she was willing to accept the Torah, some would have answered in the negative. A Torah-based life was a major commitment.
However, when the time came, the entire people responded joyously and exuberantly that they were ready to receive the Torah. Those who weren’t interested had not changed their minds; they were simply too embarrassed to say they weren’t on board. It was the force of peer pressure that led them to profess, publicly, their desire to receive the Torah despite their ambivalence.
I consider myself fortunate to live in a region that considers it distasteful to show off one’s religiosity. Boasting about “what a great Jew I am” is compared by the author of the classic work “Orchot Tzaddikim” to pouring fine wine into a barrel that has a hole in it. Here in the Bay Area we consider religion a highly personal choice that is not to be foisted upon others.
Yet in professor Cialdini’s study of the towels in the hotel in Phoenix, it was the third message that indicated that “everyone else was doing it” that was most effective. It increased towel re-usage by an average of 34 percent. People do in fact respond to the positive peer pressure of the good that others do.
Where does that leave us? Perhaps with this: If you have discovered something good, some mitzvah that you like, don’t boast about it. But do share what you have discovered or enjoyed with people that you love. We can all be good examples for each other.
Rabbi Judah Dardik is the spiritual leader at Orthodox Beth Jacob Congregation in Oakland. He can be reached at [email protected].