Two months ago, President Barack Obama nominated Judge Sonya Sotomayor to the Supreme Court. In doing so, he fulfilled a campaign promise to select nominees who demonstrate both intellect and empathy.
As Obama has been quoted, “We need somebody who’s got the heart, the empathy, to recognize what it’s been like to be a young teenage mom. The empathy to understand what it’s like to be poor, or African American, or gay, or disabled or old. And that’s the criteria by which I’m going to be selecting my judges.”
The nomination of Sotomayor, who would become the first Latino woman to serve on the U.S. high court, ignited a national debate over whether or not empathy should be used as criteria toward judgment.
Her supporters argue that empathy allows her to understand the pragmatic ramifications of her decisions, while her detractors counter that empathy leads to unfair bias.
As the Senate Judiciary Committee prepares to begin nomination proceedings Monday, July 13, we may look to our own tradition for enlightenment. Does empathy strengthen or weaken one’s sense of judgment?
Let us consider three examples from within the Jewish fold: communal, personal and divine judgment.
Communal: The Israelites are commanded time and again to remember that they were slaves in the land of Egypt. This rejoinder is sprinkled throughout the Torah, often as preface or conclusion to commandment.
The message is clear: The impetus behind Jewish activism is personal experience. The Passover ritual transfers a sense of historical empathy to individuals who might otherwise never consider themselves connected. Such rites prohibit us from encountering the world from a place of detachment. We develop fair judgment through ritualized empathy.
Toward the end of the Exodus saga, the Israelites cross the Sea of Reeds and the water closes around Pharoah’s army. According to talmudic aggadah, the angels wish to celebrate the tormentors’ demise. And yet God admonishes them, saying, “The works of my hands are drowning in the sea, and you would sing in my presence!” God desires our empathy at all times, even for those who show us little in kind.
Personal: Let us consider King Solomon, who is best known for his wise judgment. In his most famous case, two harlots claim the same child as their own. Solomon orders the infant be cut in half and distributed equally. One woman accepts this decision, but the other retracts her claim so that the child may live. Solomon wisely rules in favor of the woman who is willing to give away her child lest it be killed.
To truly understand Solomon’s wisdom, we must look deeper into his own history. His parents, David and Bathsheba, lost their first child in infancy. Solomon later came of age in a chaotic household, his brothers murdered in competition for David’s throne. In short, Solomon is familiar with the pain and suffering caused by a dead infant and a family in turmoil. He judges the women fairly because he recognizes their motives and emotions.
Divine: Ultimate judgment is rendered to God. After all, when a loved one dies, we answer the news with the prayer, “Baruch dayan ha’emet” — praised be the true judge.
Throughout our lives, we seek to move God from din (strict judgment) to rachamim (mercy). Note that rachamim is derived from the root rechem (womb). God encounters us as children, as though we were once in God’s innards. As any parent can tell you, there is much that a child can do to cause anger, but nothing a child can do to diffuse love.
So, too, Judaism mandates that we consider the other through a lens of empathy, as though they came from within us.
The Torah teaches us that God desperately wants to forgive our misdeeds. In fact, the Talmud imagines God praying for personal mercy when judging humankind. If it’s good enough for God, it’s good enough for me — and it certainly should be good enough for those senators confirming Judge Sotomayor.
In the days of Noah, God wiped out the creatures of the Earth, before promising never to do so again. And like God, Solomon experienced the pain and suffering that accompanies tragedy and loss. This allowed him to become our people’s wisest judge of all.
And today, as a nation of liberated slaves, we act as agents of God when we bring empathy to all whom we encounter.
Empathy is surely an asset to those given the power to judge their peers. I can think of no greater attribute to add to our nation’s highest court.
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe is an assistant rabbi at Congregation Emanu-El in San Francisco.