The mitzvah of lulav and etrog is based on Leviticus 23:40. We read םויב םכל םתחקלו ןושארה. "On the first day you shall take the product of the hadar trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before Adonai, your God, seven days." Responding to the phrase םכל םתחקלו , a midrash claims םכל teaches us םכלשמ -- the lulav we use must belong to us. This idea is codified in Mishnah Sukkah 3:1 לוספ לוזגה בלול -- a stolen lulav is invalid; if we use a stolen lulav, our act is not a mitzvah.
The Babylonian Talmud questions the Mishnah’s lack of discrimination. Granted, the Talmud argues, we cannot use a stolen lulav on the first day of the festival -- the Torah uses the term םכל in reference to the first day of Sukkot -- but why shouldn’t a stolen lulav be an effective vehicle for performing the mitzvah on subsequent days of the festival, when the use of the arba’ah minim is only a rabbinic decree? The Talmud responds by asserting that such an act would be הריבעב האבה הוצמ, a commandment performed through the commission of a sin. Such an act, we learn, is ineffective. We cannot "get credit" for a mitzvah that is achieved only as we commit a sin.
The halakhic implications of הריבעב האבה הוצמ are really quite limited, since most mitzvot cannot be performed through the direct commission of a sin. I would argue, however, that this legal category has meta-legal applications as well. When we perform mitzvot at the expense of others -- buying and consuming food that is certified kosher but which has been obtained through the suffering of animals or the exploitation of workers -- the performance of a mitzvah has been made possible through the commission of a sin. When we choose to celebrate religious occasions through lavish parties, creating an atmosphere in which others may overextend their financial resources to "keep up" with their community’s standards for Bnai Mitzvah or weddings, we are contributing to a climate of הריבעב האבה הוצמ, a community in which our seudot mitzvah, our celebrations of mitzvot are almost sinful. Moreover, there is another, even more insidious way in which we come close to the prohibition of הריבעב האבה הוצמ. When we proclaim our religiosity while denigrating the choices and behaviors of others, when we congratulate ourselves on our level of observance by comparing it favorably to that of our acquaintances, we become הריבע ירבועב תווצמ ירמוש, individuals whose commission of mitzvot is highlighted by the omissions of others. We proclaim ourselves "good" Jews by asserting that our fellow Jews are inadequate.
All of us know how easy -- and how tempting -- it is to slip into this pattern. After all, if we assert that it is good to observe mitzvot, doesn’t it follow that non-observance is bad? If the ideal Conservative Jew is one who observes Shabbat and kashrut and davens regularly, doesn’t it follow that a person who neglects to do these things is a "bad" Conservative Jew, or even a bad Jew? If it is better to refrain from eating treif than to eat treif, why shouldn’t I consider myself a better Jew than my parents?
None of us is likely to find himself or herself here -- or in some other synagogue -- tomorrow using a stolen lulav. Our children will probably not steal tzedakah money from each other’s lockers next Friday. It is easy for us to reassure ourselves that none of the mitzvot we perform fall into the narrow, halakhic definition of הריבעב האבה הוצמ. It is not so easy for us to ensure that we are not performing mitzvot in a way that denigrates or exploits others. But that is our task, for such a performance, however well-intentioned, is empty -- the sin that we commit renders our performance of the mitzvah meaningless.
In the past, Jewish communities sought to avoid some of these problems by regulation. Some communities enacted sumptuary laws, restricting the amount of money people could spend on celebrations. The Talmud, (Moed Qatan 27a-b) reports that funerals and shiva meals afforded the rich the opportunity to display their wealth, while the poor were embarrassed because they had to bury their dead and serve food to mourners in simple utensils. Seeing the humiliation of the poor, the rabbis decreed that everyone should be buried in a simple shroud and that meals in the house of mourning should be served on plain utensils. Neither our communities nor our rabbis have the power to make such decrees -- and I’m sure that such regulations would not be appreciated by caterers, party planners or funeral homes -- it is up to each of us to exercise judgment and focus on what truly matters -- it is not as important to impress people as it is to avoid causing them pain and embarrassment.
You might ask, "What about hiddur mitzvah, the exhortation of our tradition to perform mitzvot in aesthetically pleasing ways?" Yes, hiddur mitzvah is a matter of aesthetics -- a lovely tallit or a perfectly shaped etrog enhance our appreciation of asiyat mitzvot, the performance of commandments. But we should also strive for an inner aesthetic, the beauty that comes from being a decent, caring person, an eidele yid.
When we sit in the sukkah, we recall a line from the Maariv service in which we ask God to spread over us םולש תכוס, the sukkah of peace. This year, let us pray that we may be enveloped in תומילש תכוס, a sense of wholeness and contentment that allows us to appreciate what we have and who we are without exploiting or denigrating others. May we seek to present ourselves to the world not through a display of material wealth but through a display of righteous and just behavior. May we assess ourselves, our religious commitments and our actions, without resorting to condemning of the choices of others. May we find the strength and the compassion to תוכז ףכל ןד, to judge others generously. Then our actions, our mitzvot, will be effective, drawing us closer to each other, to God and to a time of םולש.