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    PARSHA IN PRACTICE: SKILLS FOR BETTER LIVING YISRO – I SEE WHAT YOU MEAN

    Would anyone
    describe Kabbalas
    HaTorah as “groovy”?
    Long before the 1960s,
    the Torah used the phrase “seeing sounds”
    (ro’im es ha’kolos) to describe the Jewish
    people’s experience at Har Sinai (Shemos
    20:15). Far out.
    The first Gerrer Rebbe, the Chiddushei
    HaRim (d. 1866), explained that this
    miraculous perception was not a flourish of
    poetry, but a practical necessity. Many of the
    Commandments contain the Hebrew word
    “Lo,” a homophone whose meaning depends
    entirely on how it is spelled. When written
    with lamed-alef, it means “no.” When written
    with lamed-vav, it means “for Him.”
    When Hashem declared “Lo Signov,” the
    prohibition against stealing, it was essential
    that the Jewish people knew which Lo they
    were hearing. Hashem intended lamed-alef:
    no stealing. But a rationalizing listener might
    have heard lamed-vav: for Him you may
    steal. For the sake of Heaven, for Torah, for a
    mitzvah – deceptive means might just be okay.
    To eliminate any ambiguity, the people had to

    see the sound. They had to read the spelling
    with their own eyes. Not only hear the words,
    but perceive them accurately: Thou shalt not
    steal – not even for a worthy cause.
    At first glance, this seems unnecessary. Who
    would seriously imagine that theft could
    become permissible simply by labeling it
    religious?
    But here the Torah reveals a remarkably
    sophisticated understanding of the human
    mind. We do not usually violate our values
    by denying them. We violate them by
    reinterpreting them.
    Psychologists call this process motivated
    reasoning: when desire quietly reshapes
    perception. We rarely say, “I am doing
    something wrong.” Instead, we say, “This is
    different.” “This doesn’t really count.” “This is
    justified.” The behavior stays the same; only
    the spelling changes.
    The Torah is teaching that the greatest
    danger is not mishearing the command, but
    misreading ourselves.
    Sometimes it can be enticing to cut corners in
    financial matters. Given the real pressures of
    Jewish life – large families, tuition, simchos,

    Pesach – it may feel easy to take advantage
    of deep-pocketed, faceless entities: online
    retailers, insurance companies, government
    systems. There is no visible victim, no angry
    face, no confrontation. And soon the story
    begins to write itself: It’s really just balancing
    the system. Everyone does it. And in the end,
    it’s for Torah. It’s for Him.
    From a psychological perspective, this is a
    textbook moral maneuver. We preserve our
    self-image by changing the meaning of our
    actions. We keep seeing ourselves as honest
    people – we simply redefine honesty.
    That is why the Torah did not rely on
    hearing alone. Sound is subjective. Hearing
    is vulnerable to distortion. What the
    Jewish people needed at Sinai was clarity
    of perception, to see the command in its
    written form, immune to reinterpretation.
    To recognize that when desire whispers “for
    Him,” the letters still spell “N-O.”
    Rav Chaim of Volozhin (d. 1821) once quipped
    that the Aseres HaDibros were engraved
    on both sides of the luchos (Shemos 32:15),
    so that “whichever way you look at it,” the
    command reads: Thou shalt not steal. There is

    no angle that morally justifies illicit gains.
    And this may be the quiet challenge of Har
    Sinai. Not merely to hear what Hashem says,
    but to learn how to see ourselves honestly. To
    notice when we are not mishearing the Torah,
    but misspelling it. And to have the courage,
    even when it is inconvenient, to read the
    letters exactly as they are.