Truth, Lies, and Justice
What Is Truth?
Every year, before Rosh Hashanah, we spend time looking within. Have I been kind? Have I been generous? Have I become the person I hoped to become?
Tonight I’d like to ask an even more fundamental question. Have I been truthful? Not just, “Have I avoided telling lies?” But, have I lived truthfully?
Our tradition doesn’t say, “Do not lie.” Instead, it says, “Midvar sheker tirchak.” “Stay far away from falsehood.” (Exodus 23:7)
The language is significant. Not “avoid.” Not “don’t.” Stay far away.
The rabbis observed that this is stronger than almost any other prohibition in the Torah. Why? Because we are so able to convince ourselves that we aren’t REALLY lying. Maybe we’re just “exaggerating.” Or, it’s MOSTLY true.
Take a look at the ark in our beautiful new sanctuary. What word is front and center? Emet. Aleph. Mem .Tav. The Hebrew word for truth.
I was surprised that our ark design committee chose this word, this ONE word, out of all the possibilities in the Hebrew language, to make as the focal point of our prayer and meditation. Emet.
The first letter of the Hebrew alphabet. The middle letter. The last letter. Truth stretches from beginning to end. It encompasses the whole.
My teacher Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi once joked,
“If a judge asked me to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I could promise to tell the truth. I could promise to tell nothing but the truth. But the whole truth? Who knows what the whole truth is?”
Ain’t that the truth! The seal of my alma mater, Brandeis University has the word “Emet,” written in Hebrew letters, surrounded by the words- “Truth, even unto its innermost parts.” A remarkable aspiration.
With the truth being somewhat elusive, the Talmud teaches us, “Teach your tongue to say, ‘I don’t know.'” (BT Berachot 4a) Rabbi Harold Kushner used to say that perhaps the four holiest words in the English language are: “I may be wrong.”
Imagine what would happen if our political leaders, if media commentators, if we, in our relationships with each other, with our partners, with our children, could learn to say these words.
The greatest enemy of truth isn’t ignorance. It’s certainty. One of the greatest challenges in contemporary life is the belief that we already possess all the answers.
Judaism reminds us to cultivate humility. We can be confident without becoming dogmatic. Strong, without becoming closed to alternatives.
The Talmud tells a fascinating story. Rabbi Yochanan studied Torah with his brilliant colleague Resh Lakish. Whenever Rabbi Yochanan made an argument, Resh Lakish challenged it from twenty-four different angles. Twenty-four objections. Twenty-four responses. The result wasn’t confusion. The result was deeper truth.
After Resh Lakish died, another scholar replaced him. But instead of questioning Rabbi Yochanan, he simply agreed. Rabbi Yochanan became miserable. He cried out, “I don’t need someone who tells me I’m right.” (BT Baba Metzia 24a)
Truth grows stronger through honest disagreement. Not through blind acquiescence. Not through mindless cheerleading.
Our tradition even imagines that when we stand before God’s heavenly court, the questions won’t begin with theology. The Talmud says the very first question we will be asked is, “Were you honest in your business dealings?”
Not— Did you know every prayer? Did you believe every teaching? But, rather- Were you honest? Could people trust your word?
Because trust is the glue that holds society together. Without trust, contracts collapse. Friendships collapse. Families collapse. Communities collapse.
The sages said, “The seal of God is truth.” (BT Shabbat 55a) In the book of Exodus (34:6), when God reveals the divine essence to Moses, God says, “rav chesed v’emet- full of kindness and truth.”
According to the legend of the Golem of Prague, Rabbi Judah Loew—the Maharal—created a powerful creature from clay to protect the Jewish community. The Golem was brought to life by placing the Hebrew word— emet, “truth” upon him.
But when the Golem became dangerous and could no longer be controlled, the Maharal erased the first letter, the alef, leaving— met, “dead.” Truth became death simply by removing one letter.
It is a haunting Jewish image of the power of truth. Emet gives life; diminish truth, and something vital dies. When truth disappears, even a little at a time, the consequences can be far greater than we imagine.
Sometimes the hardest person to tell the truth to is ourselves. The Hasidic master Rabbi Elimelech imagined standing before the heavenly court. “Did you pray enough?” “No.” “Did you study enough?” “No.” Were you as charitable as you should have been?” “No.” And because every answer was honest, heaven declared him righteous. Not because he was perfect. Because he was truthful.
Rosh Hashanah begins that process. Before we can change our lives, we must first tell ourselves the truth about our lives. Not with judgment. Not with shame. But with honesty.
The New Year asks each of us to look into the mirror and say: This is who I have been. This is who I want to become.
May we have the courage to speak truthfully to others. The humility to say, “I don’t know.” The wisdom to admit, “I may be wrong.” And the honesty to face ourselves. Because that kind of truth doesn’t describe life. It transforms it.
When, Why, and How to Lie
One of the greatest surprises in our tradition is this: As we have seen, the Torah values truth deeply, but not absolutely. Truth, it turns out, is a high value, but not an absolute value.
That may sound shocking. We are commanded, “Stay far away from falsehood.” And yet the Talmud also teaches: “It is permitted to alter the truth for the sake of peace.” (BT Yevamot 65b) Really?
Yes.
The proof comes from the Torah. When Sarah overheard that she would have a child in old age, she laughed. She said, “Am I to have pleasure when my husband is old?” But when God repeated her words to Abraham, God edited the sentence. Instead, God tells Abraham that Sarah thought SHE was too old. (Genesis 18:12) Why? The rabbis concluded: God changed the wording in order to preserve peace between husband and wife and to protect Abraham’s feelings.
Wow! Truth matters. But kindness matters too. The challenge is knowing which value comes first.
Sometimes we use the expression, “I’m just being brutally honest.” Notice the adjective. Brutally. Sometimes honesty is less about helping another person than about giving ourselves permission to say hurtful things.
Judaism rejects that. In fact, the Chofetz Chayim expanded on the Talmudic teaching, writing, “It is permitted to tell a complete lie for the sake of peace.” (Hilchot Rechilut 1:8)
The Talmud says we praise every bride as beautiful. We compliment someone’s purchase even if it isn’t exactly our taste. We don’t promise children things we never intend to deliver. We don’t reveal embarrassing information unless it prevents genuine harm. We don’t pass along gossip merely because it’s true.
Our challenging task is to hold onto both truth AND kindness.
The Chofetz Chaim further taught that harmful information may be shared only under strict conditions. It must be true. Necessary Without exaggeration. And motivated entirely by concern. Those standards would eliminate much of social media overnight.
Judaism even recognizes situations where deception becomes a mitzvah. To save a life. To stop an injustice. To protect privacy. To preserve peace.
We can find examples in the Tanach, in the Hebrew Bible. Shifra and Puah deceive Pharaoh to save Hebrew babies. David and Jonathan deceive Saul to save David’s life. In these situations, truth gives way to a higher value- preserving life
What Judaism prohibits is: Lying for convenience. Lying for profit. Lying to make ourselves look better. People lie because they want something and they think they will have a better chance of getting what they want. Or they want to cover something up or take credit for something they didn’t actually do. People lie because they fear the consequences of their actions and don’t want to disappoint themselves or others. People lie when they feel ashamed.
What about lying to someone about their medical situation? Here’s a case that calls for delicacy and nuance. Each of us has different feelings about how much we want to know if we have a serious diagnosis. It is best to communicate our preferences with loved ones now, should we ever find ourselves in that situation.
Dr. David Nyberg summarized it well when he said, “Be untruthful to others as you would have others be untruthful to you.” The punishment of a liar, says the Talmud, is not merely guilt. It is that when they finally tell the truth, no one believes them.
Trust takes years to build, yet it can be destroyed in a heartbeat. This High Holy Day season invites us to ask: Are my words healing? Are they necessary? Are they true?
Sometimes the most truthful thing we can say is exactly what the Talmud recommends: “I don’t know.” Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is remain silent. Sometimes love requires difficult honesty. Wisdom lies in knowing the difference. “Be untruthful to others as you would have others be untruthful to you.”
Truth and Justice
On Rosh Hashanah we repeatedly imagine ourselves standing before God as Judge. That image reminds us of something essential. Justice cannot exist without truth.
It may be okay to tell a little white lie for the sake of peace. It is NEVER okay to lie in a judicial situation.
Pirkei Avot teaches that “The world stands on three things: Truth. Justice. And peace.” (Pirke Avot 1:18)
Notice the order. Truth produces justice. Justice creates peace. Remove the first, and the other two collapse. Every courthouse depends upon one fragile assumption- that witnesses will tell the truth. That evidence has not been fabricated. That judges seek facts and will render judgment without favoritism.
Without truth there is no justice. When the 10 commandments prohibits bearing false witness, it is not prohibiting lying in social settings, though we ought to be cautious in that regard. (Exodus 20:16)
It is prohibiting lying in court, while under oath. Falsehood inside a courtroom doesn’t merely hurt one person. It destroys public trust itself. When perjury becomes common, justice becomes impossible. When citizens lose confidence in courts, society itself begins to unravel.
But this doesn’t apply only to judges. Each of us serves as a witness every day. We witness conversations. Conflicts. Rumors. Reputations.
The sages speak of keter shem tov, the crown of a good name. Once lost, it is painfully difficult to recover. I’ll never forget Raymond Donovan’s poignant line after a court acquitted him of wrongdoing, “Which office do I go to get my reputation back?”
The Talmud says: “The punishment of a liar is that when he speaks the truth, no one believes him.” (BT Sandhedrin 89b)
Imagine losing all credibility. Our tradition therefore insists that truth is not merely a legal obligation. It is a holy one. We who are made in the image of God should express these divine attributes in our daily life. Truth. When we tell the truth, we express this holiness.
When we refuse to distort facts for personal advantage. When we refuse to spread rumors. When we admit our mistakes. When we testify honestly even at personal cost. We strengthen not only our own character; we strengthen the bonds of social connection.
As we enter a new year, may we become people whose words can be trusted. Whose promises are kept. Whose honesty builds confidence rather than suspicion.
When truth flourishes, justice becomes possible. And where there is justice, there can finally be peace. May that be God’s blessing for us, for our community, and for our world.