Main news for 13 March 2025

In this reading from the book of Exodus, if we look more closely, we can see an image of God that we do not usually associate with the Old Testament: the image of One for whom mercy is above justice. At first everything appears to go according to plan: it is clear that not stealing, not offending, not oppressing, and not exploiting others are all just. But at the end something unexpected and not fully just appears: "If you take your neighbor's garment as a pledge, return it before the sun goes down."

Let us think about it: a pledge is not taken for one's own pleasure; a pledge is a guarantee that money or something else lent will be returned. So it is quite logical and just not to return the pledge until you have received back what was lent. But the Lord says: "Think about the person - what will he sleep in?" From the standpoint of pure justice, the question is out of place; after all, if he gave his garment as a pledge, that is his own problem. But God gives an irrefutable argument: "When he cries out to Me, I will hear, for I am merciful."

Mercy is above justice. This is the voice of Jesus. And there is no point in trying to separate the God of the Old Testament from the God of the New Testament. He, the Living and True One, is one.

The legislation of the Book of Exodus quite consistently puts into practice the so-called principle of talion: repayment in kind. And this is understandable, because that was the simplest way to compensate for harm done to one's neighbor. Here God's view of human relationships is revealed: the main thing in them is the relationships themselves. Relationships have value in themselves, and everything else is only their context. Justice is important not in itself, not as an end in itself, but as an adequate context for full relationships.

An injury done to one's neighbor is not a violation of rights, but a destruction of relationships of love. And love is a practical thing: if you love, help. All the more, help if you are guilty of making someone's life worse than it was, if he has suffered some harm from you or because of you. Punishment as such is not an end in itself: after all, God does not deliberately punish anyone. He wants the sinner to turn back and remain alive, not to die because of his sin. For a person, punishment becomes the sin he has committed, or more precisely, its consequences.

It is from these consequences that the law commands a person to deliver his neighbor, insofar as such deliverance is possible and depends on that person. Of course, one can approach the matter formally: pay the fine and live peacefully. And if one has a lot of money, one can stop worrying altogether, since any harm is easy to compensate. Such payments, of course, do not affect relationships in any way, but only under the conditions of an impersonal society like the one that exists in modern megacities, where no one knows anyone else.

The legislation of the Book of Exodus functioned in small settlements where everyone knew one another, and there the matter could not be limited to a formality. The offender and the offended person had to walk the same streets, so in any case the issue was at least some minimal normalization of relations, and not merely payments that obligated no one to anything in the future. Thus the Torah, in its concrete interpretation, directed people toward restoring relationships between those who live side by side when those relationships had been violated or destroyed.