Right and Good
Pauline had only stopped at the supermarket to pick up a few things on her way home.
As she walked towards her car, she noticed a woman making her way slowly towards a nearby bus stop. Several shopping bags hung heavily from her arms. Then one of the plastic handles gave way. The bag split open and groceries spilled across the pavement.
Without thinking, Pauline hurried over.
“Let me help you,” she said.
Together they gathered the scattered items. Seeing the woman’s difficulty, Pauline offered to drive her home.
The woman hesitated. Pauline was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt. To her, she looked like any other young woman.
“Are you Jewish?” the woman asked.
Pauline looked surprised.
“Yes,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
The woman smiled but did not answer.
“Yes,” she said. “I’d appreciate the lift.”
When they arrived, Pauline carried several bags into the house. Before leaving, she wrote down her phone number.
“If you ever need a lift to the shops, just give me a call.”
A few days later, the woman’s son telephoned to thank her for helping his mother. What began as a simple thank-you led to a coffee. One meeting led to another. Before long, Pauline found herself looking forward to seeing Gary again.
As the friendship deepened, Pauline’s mother became increasingly curious.
“So,” she asked one evening, “this Gary. Is he Jewish?”
Pauline nodded.
“Yes.”
That seemed to satisfy her mother. Finding a nice Jewish man was all she had ever really hoped for.
Months later, Pauline announced that she wanted to invite Gary for Friday night dinner.
Her parents readily agreed.
Then Pauline began adding a few details.
“There’ll be takeaway food.”
“Takeaway?” her father asked. “For a Friday night dinner?”
“And we’ll be using disposable plates and cutlery.”
Her mother frowned.
“Disposable plates? What happened to the good china we got for our wedding?”
“And before you ask, Mum, Gary keeps kosher.”
“Gary is religious.”
Now both parents were looking at her.
“What exactly aren’t you telling us?” her mother asked.
Pauline chose her words carefully.
She paused.
“He’s recently been ordained as a rabbi.”
The silence stretched a little longer.
Finally, her mother threw up her hands.
“A rabbi?”
Pauline nodded.
Her mother leaned back in her chair.
“A rabbi…”
“When I asked if he was Jewish, this isn’t what I meant.”
“Mum…”
“No, listen. First it’s separate dishes. Then it’s kosher kitchens. Then somebody tells me not to switch on a light. After that, who knows? I’ll probably need permission to open the fridge.”
Pauline’s father stared into his tea, doing his best not to smile.
Her mother continued.
“All I wanted was a nice Jewish boy. You couldn’t find an accountant? A dentist? Even a lawyer would have been easier.”
Pauline shook her head.
“Mum, relax.”
“And who’s organising all this?”
“I am.”
“And who’s going to make sure everything is done properly?”
Pauline smiled.
“Don’t worry.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
Pauline reached across the table.
“Honestly, Mum. Everything has already been taken care of.”
And it all began with a torn shopping bag, a few scattered groceries, and a decision to help someone she had never met before.
Moshe teaches that such moments lie at the very heart of the Torah.
In Parashat Va’etchanan, we read:
וְעָשִׂיתָ הַיָּשָׁר וְהַטּוֹב בְּעֵינֵי ה’
You shall do what is right and good in the eyes of Hashem.
(Devarim 6:18)
At first glance, the verse appears unnecessary. The Torah has already commanded us to observe the mitzvot. If we fulfil them faithfully, have we not already done what is right and good?
Rashi explains that the verse teaches us to go beyond the strict letter of the law.
The Ramban broadens the principle even further. There are moments in life where no specific law tells us what to do. In those moments, the Torah asks us to cultivate the wisdom to recognise what Hashem’s will requires.
Consider a person who builds a beautiful sukkah. It is completely kosher. Every halachic requirement has been fulfilled. Yet in doing so, he blocks his neighbour’s sunlight, causes inconvenience, and creates resentment.
The sukkah may be kosher.
The deeper question is whether the mitzvah reflects the Torah’s purpose.
The Maharal teaches that every spiritual reality requires a vessel through which it can be expressed. A vessel without content remains empty. A mitzvah may provide the structure, but kindness, sensitivity and consideration are what fill it with life.
The Torah is concerned not only with whether our actions are correct, but whether they are good.
Sometimes the holiest moments in life are not found in extraordinary acts of faith, but in ordinary acts of kindness.
For in the end, the question is not:
“What am I allowed to do?”
but:
“What is right—and what is good?”
שבת שלום
שמואל
