There is perhaps no rule more golden, more paraphrased, or more often repeated than “Treat others as you yourself would like to be treated.” From the first time we’re taught as children how to interact with peers through the rest of adult life, this rule seems to be our default instruction. But why do we need reminding time and time again? Because our instincts include an element of self-preservation. It’s natural to want to be the best or the strongest. Kids want to be faster, older, taller. Adults want to feel intellectually superior. These are broad generalizations of course, but the point is that the “golden rule” isn’t necessarily human nature, which could be the reason we have to refer to it so often. Versions of the golden rule also echo throughout our Torah, perhaps because human nature can often lead us astray, or perhaps because it is just that critical to a functioning society, or maybe a little bit of both. 

This week we read from Parshat Behar, the penultimate section of text in the book of Vayikra. The text details the laws about “returning” the land in Israel during the shmita (jubilee year) and how slaves and land are returned to their prior status. We also read about what happens to Jewish-owned land in the diaspora in the jubilee year and how we are to help those who are in need within our own communities. The text ends with another warning against idolatry.

As the Torah continues to detail the ways in which we’re supposed to respect and value the land we live on, it also offers insight into the notion that respect for people and their dignity is also an imperative. In chapter 25, verse 43 God implores landowners to not deal ruthlessly with their workers. The word used here that is usually translated as “ruthlessly” is b’farek and only appears in this section of Torah and also when describing the ways that Pharaoh treated the Israelites in Egypt. The direct meaning of the Hebrew word as explained by the Mishneh Torah connotes a prohibition against embarrassing or humiliating the slave in an attempt to emphasize the master’s power over them. 

There is something inherently ruthless about exerting power through humiliation. It doesn’t just break the golden rule, it completely erases it. It’s sad and frustrating and even dangerous when this type of attack is perpetrated, whether by a country against its people or by an individual against another individual on social media. I look forward to the day when the golden rule is human nature and treating others as you want to be treated is the default, not the lesson that needs to be taught over and over again.

It seems to be happening more and more often. I open my mouth to say something to my children, and out comes something sounding exactly like one of my parents from when I was younger. Most often it is something to the effect of “My house, my rules,” and is usually in response to a child trying to test my limits or question a parenting decision. It’s hard for children to understand the truth, which is that as parents we make the rules not for the sake of having rules (although structure itself is always important), but for safety, security, and peace in our home. Rules are meant to bring a sense of order to the chaos and manage expectations for everyone and everything.

Teachers use this logic when setting classroom rules, and the same goes for laws at every level of governance. We live in a society in which rules, though they sometimes get broken, are imperative to setting order and guidelines for behavior. As we read Parshat Behar this week, the same holds true in the Torah. Behar discusses the preventative measures God has put in place for our land and our society to stay fertile and viable. It then continues with rules and obligations for inhabiting the land of Israel.

Ultimately, this week’s parshah focuses on God’s “house” and the expectations for living in that land. We are required to take care of the land, to share with one another, and to be truthful and compassionate. This land is not ours to own, rather it’s on loan to us from God. Chapter 25, verse 23 reminds us, “You are but strangers resident with me.”

The land of Israel belongs to God, the earth as a whole is a creation of God, and we are instructed to take care of this precious gift on loan to us. With God frequently playing the role of symbolic parent, you could think of this as “God’s house, God’s rules.” The rules don’t always make sense, and some of them may need adapting over time, but they were put into place for a reason. It’s our job to use this framework to maintain shalom bayit (peace in the home) in this giant home of ours.

When we talk about “planting the seeds of change” or “reaping what you sow,” we’re not merely speaking in metaphors. Certainly there are examples of nature and agricultural symbolism throughout our sacred texts, but this week we learn that the laws of the land (the literal land) are directly related to how we establish a just and equitable society.

This week we read from parshat Behar, the penultimate section of text in the book of Vayikra. The text details the laws of the returning of the land in Israel during the shmitta (jubilee year) and how slaves and land are returned to their prior status. We also read about what happens to Jewish-owned land in the diaspora in the jubilee year and how we are to help those who are in need within our own communities. The text ends with another warning against idolatry.

The Torah also uses a significant amount of space dealing with agricultural laws, which is odd given that the name of the Torah portion is Behar, which means “on the mountain.” We’re talking about a mountain in a desert far from a farming community, and yet here we receive all sorts of laws that don’t apply (yet). As you might expect, the commentators found this odd and looked for an answer.

One medieval commentator shares that perhaps we received these laws at Sinai because at that point no one owned any land yet, so no one could object that a particular law deprived people of what they had worked to acquire. In other words, it is much easier to impose laws at the outset before other norms or traditions become standard operating procedure. The system described is the precursor to the way in which modern Judaism champions social justice.

Or perhaps teaching laws of agriculture among laws of equality and justice is, like much of our religion, symbolic of both the deeply rooted tradition and the potential for growth. The power of social change is the power to change the world. As Jews we may be relatively small in number, but we are mighty as a people.