By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
EL CAJON, California — This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, meaning, “when you go out,” opens with images of battle. The Torah seems to be describing war with external enemies, yet deeper sages remind us that our greatest battlefield lies within ourselves. The Ramban (Nachmanides) reads this portion as speaking to the lifelong struggle with our yetzer hara, that inner pull toward self-sabotage and unhealthy impulses. The real “war” is in our heart and mind.
Ramban teaches us that our struggle to keep mitzvot is ultimately our method of refining our souls. Moving against our nature, especially lifting ourselves beyond our natural impulses and desires, is a struggle, a fight with our yetzer hara.
The Chovos Halevavos points to this in his commentary saying, “Your greatest enemy in the world is your evil inclination.” Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Leib Alter, known as the S’fat Emet, described this internal struggle common to us all and teaches that while many think it’s essentially impossible to constantly, perfectly, overcome making bad choices, it is possible because, “G-d will deliver it into your hand.” We would be wise to be mindful and open to receive it from Him. What is this “it”? We learn in the Talmud, in tractate Kedushin, that what Hashem delivers to us is an antidote for our misguided confusion, erroneous beliefs and misleading thoughts. What is His antidote? The Torah, our “Tree of Life.”
It’s no accident that Ki Teitzei contains more mitzvot than any other parsha, 74 by the Rambam’s count. These are not just legalistic details; they are a spiritual training regimen. Each mitzvah challenges us to rise above raw instinct, to refine our character, and to live in greater alignment with empathy, integrity, and responsibility.
Take, for example, the mitzvah of returning lost objects (hashavat aveidah). On the surface, it’s a law about property. But the Chofetz Chaim teaches that it extends to the spiritual realm: helping another restore what is lost in their soul, dignity, or sense of belonging. From a psychological perspective, this echoes one of the most healing acts of psychological coaching and therapy, helping someone recover the parts of themselves they thought were gone forever. Restoring trust, restoring hope, restoring connection.
Another striking law is the command to send away the mother bird before taking her young. This is not about cruelty but about cultivating empathy and mindfulness. The Torah asks us to pause, to recognize the feelings of another living creature, and to act with sensitivity. Psychologically, this is “emotional intelligence” at its root, training us to notice, to care, and to honor the interconnectedness of life.
Ki Teitzei also speaks of protecting the vulnerable, the orphan, the widow, the stranger. These instructions remind us that society’s moral health depends on how it treats its most fragile members. In psychological care, we often ask: how do we treat the most vulnerable parts of ourselves, the wounded child within, the hurting spouse, the anxious or depressed dimension of our being? The Torah pushes us toward compassion, both outward and inward.
We also encounter the difficult law of the “wayward son.” While troubling on the surface, the commentaries suggest that its purpose is not punishment but prevention. It opens a conversation about family responsibility, discipline, and the community’s role in shaping a child’s future. Modern psychology resonates here: the patterns we reinforce early often carry lifelong consequences. The Torah, in raising the issue, invites us to reflect on our responsibilities as parents, partners, and members of a larger family system.
And then, near the close of the parsha, we are commanded to remember Amalek, the heinous, all too familiar force that attacks us when we are tired, worn down, and least prepared. On a psychological level, Amalek is the voice of self-doubt, cynicism, and despair that creeps in when we are depleted. This reminder comes to us in Elul, just before the Days of Awe, as if to say, pay attention to the inner Amalek that undermines your confidence and joy. Strengthen yourself against it.
The Torah portion, then, is not merely a collection of ancient laws, but a guidebook for emotional health. It teaches:
- Empathy—by noticing even a bird’s distress.
- Justice—by protecting the vulnerable.
- Responsibility—by returning what is lost.
- Family awareness—by examining the dynamics that shape the next generation.
- Resilience—by remembering Amalek and refusing to give self-doubt the last word.
Ultimately, Ki Teitzei calls us to “go out,” not to hide, not to shrink back, but to engage in the world with kindness, courage, and faith. Each mitzvah is a small act of soul-refinement, a way of waging war against our lower impulses and cultivating the kind of inner life that brings healing to ourselves and to others. We read this week, Lo tuchal l’hitaleim. “Thou mayest not hide thyself.” We cannot improve our world by hiding ourselves away from the world we want to improve. We cannot remain indifferent, especially in today’s world of increased intolerance, divisiveness, and yes, continuing and growing antisemitism.
Indeed, when we hide, it seems Hashem hides from us. We are called upon to do the difficult thing, that which is just, and it is not always easy, of course. But we are not to sit idly by hiding ourselves. Our world is waiting for us to step forward into it and protect those who are in need. We can create a meaningful difference in the world simply by performing one simple act of compassion after another. Be engaged with others. Meaningfully.
*
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.