By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — This week’s parsha brings us to a striking passage that might resonate with modern environmentalists. The Torah instructs: “When you besiege a city for many days to capture it, do not destroy its trees by swinging an axe against them; you may eat from them, but you shall not cut them down—for is the tree of the field a man, that it should be besieged by you?”
The verse is ambiguous: is this a rhetorical question or a statement? Ibn Ezra reads it as a declaration, ki ha’adam etz hasadeh, “the human being is the tree of the field.” For him, people and the natural world are bound together; to destroy a tree is to damage our own life source. Targum Yonatan, however, takes it as a question: “Is the tree a human being, that it should feel pain?” In either reading, the Torah is urging restraint, respect, and care for creation.
For over three millennia, our tradition has framed this value through the mitzvah of bal tashchit, the prohibition against needless destruction. The Sefer HaChinuch explains that this principle is not just about saving resources, but about cultivating a character of goodness: avoiding waste, promoting growth, and building rather than tearing down. In this sense, not cutting down a fruit tree becomes symbolic of a broader life-choice. Are we destroyers or builders?
If we are indeed “trees of the field,” as the Torah suggests, the question is: how do we grow? A healthy tree is deeply rooted, nourished, and able to blossom. Likewise, we are called to anchor ourselves in faith, Torah, and Jewish life. Elul is our season of plowing through obstacles, reseeding what has withered, and fertilizing our spiritual soil. Ibn Ezra teaches, “Ki Haadam eitz hasadeh,” the human being is a tree of the field. He believed we are intertwined with the environment. Destroy a tree, and we destroy ourselves. Our faith in Hashem is the nourishment that allows us to stand tall and endure. Without deep roots, no tree can withstand the storms. Without spiritual grounding, no person can thrive.
Shoftim opens with the words: Shoftim v’shotrim titein lecha, “Appoint judges and officers for yourself.” The word lecha, “for yourself,” points to something deeply personal. Beyond society’s courts, each of us must establish an inner system of judgment. Elul calls us to engage in cheshbon hanefesh, soul-accounting: weighing our choices, acknowledging our strengths, and facing our shortcomings with honesty.
Yet the Torah warns us against two pitfalls. On the one hand, it’s easy to judge others harshly while excusing ourselves. On the other, some judge themselves mercilessly, unable to see their own worth. Both distort justice. True fairness means holding ourselves accountable with compassion, while judging others with generosity. Sometimes that requires turning to trusted mentors, friends, or loved ones who help us see what we cannot see alone.
This balance of judgment is echoed later in the parsha: Tzedek, tzedek tirdof, “Justice, justice you shall pursue.” The repetition signals urgency, not only justice for others, but justice within ourselves. As the Baal Shem Tov taught, “Hashem is your shadow.” The way we judge others becomes the measure by which we are judged. Every act of compassion ripples outward. Psychologically, this reflects projection: what we condemn in others often says as much about us as it does about them. When the Torah says, ‘Justice, justice shall you pursue’ (16:20), I’d say that includes pursuing rational justice inside yourself. Stop demanding perfection, stop awfulizing when things don’t go your way, stop speaking ill of yourself and others. Pursue fairness, yes, but do it rationally.
Shoftim reminds us to install wise internal judges, those parts of ourselves that can pause, examine our automatic thoughts, and ask: Is this true? Is it just? Is it helpful? And once judgment is made, we need inner “officers” as well, to gently but firmly enforce healthier ways of responding.
The Torah also warns us, “Do not show favoritism… do not take a bribe” (16:19). Our emotions can be the biggest bribes of all. Feelings of anger, fear, or hurt can easily sway our inner judge, convincing us that because we feel something strongly, it must be the truth. But feelings, while real, are not always reliable witnesses. They need to be heard but not blindly obeyed.
This insight reminds me that every act of compassion we extend, can ripple through to others in a helpful way. Here is a blend of contemporary psychology and practical wisdom for spiritual growth that, in an emotionally healthy way ,ripples inward and outward:
- Cultivate Empathy: “Do not judge your fellow man until you have reached his place.” Better, seek to understand others instead of judging others.
- Avoid Assumptions: “Judge every person as meritorious.” Give others the benefit of the doubt, for this is the foundation of lasting relationships.
- Focus on Strengths: See Hashem’s spark in yourself and in others. By acknowledging and expressing gratitude for the good, we nurture its growth.
In practicing these principles, we not only elevate our relationships, but also our own souls. As we learn to judge favorably, we open ourselves to greater compassion from Hashem and create a world illuminated by understanding and love. Compassion for others fosters compassion from Heaven, and it softens the harsh self-talk that so often keeps us stuck.
As we approach this sacred “Shabbat of Judges,” let us embark on a profound spiritual journey of self-reflection and growth. As we enter this special Shabbat, it’s a good time to release the heavy burden of self-judgment and embrace the lightness of self-acceptance. Our souls, created in the image of Hashem, are beyond measure, beyond rating. They are precious gems in the eyes of Hashem, our true Judge, who sees our infinite worth beyond our earthly actions.
Our tradition offers practical wisdom here: cultivate empathy by stepping into another’s shoes; avoid assumptions and give the benefit of the doubt; focus on strengths—seeing the divine spark in every soul, including your own. This isn’t just ethical—it’s transformative. It reshapes relationships, communities, and the inner life of the spirit.
All this lands at a moment when many feel anxiety about the future. The Torah reminds us again: al tira, “do not be afraid.” Maimonides even frames this as a mitzvah: courage is not optional, it is sacred. As the High Holidays draw near, we are invited to transform fear into resolve, to approach the unknown not with dread but with openness, faith, and resilience.
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun.