A couple of years ago, my parents struggled to find a gift for me. Usually, they gave me cash—simple, easy, and always useful. But this time, they were intent on buying me something tangible. So, what did they buy their rabbi son? Another talit, to add to my collection of talitot.
I do have to say, it is the nicest talit I have. Take a look, it’s like it’s brand new. That’s because I rarely wear it. I told them I would wear on special occasions, a family wedding, the high holidays, so I rarely wore it.
You want to know why I don’t wear it often? It’s because it’s heavy, because it has a silver atarah. It's not figuratively heavy, but literally. When I put it on, I feel its weight on my shoulders, and it’s not exactly comfortable.
This got me thinking: why do we wear things that weigh us down? Why carry a burden that feels so heavy?
This brings me to our parashah this week, specifically the repetition of the Aseret HaDibrot, the Ten Commandments. Many rabbis believe these ten laws are the foundation of every other law in our tradition. Like my talit, these commandments were not only inscribed on heavy tablets, but the responsibilities they lay upon us are weighty as well.
Consider the fifth commandment:
כַּבֵּד אֶת־אָבִיךָ וְאֶת־אִמֶּךָ כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוְּךָ יְי אֱ–לֹהֶיךָ לְמַעַן יַאֲרִיכֻן יָמֶיךָ וּלְמַעַן יִיטַב לָךְ עַל הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר־יְי אֱ–לֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לָךְ׃
“Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God has commanded you, that you may long endure, and that you may fare well in the land that the LORD your God is assigning to you.” (Deuteronomy 5:16)
The Weight of Honor
The rabbis interpreted the act of Kavod in the following way: “Honor' means that he must give him food and drink, clothe and cover him and lead him in and out.”
Think back to that word - kaved – heavy. Sometimes, our parents can be heavy. The Talmud is not talking to little children - the Talmud is speaking to adult children - adult children have to give their adult parents food and drink, clothing, covering them - in other words, protecting their dignity - leading them in and out of a room or home.
The fifth commandment is arguably the most difficult mitzvah to perform out of the ten commandments, but also, also the most important.
You might think this is the easiest one. As children, it seems instinctual to honor our parents. When we are young, we look up to them both literally and figuratively.
But things change with age, and Father time is still undefeated. There are times, deep down, where adult children will say to themselves or others, my parents are heavy…they are weighing me down. Especially if they weren’t great parents, and all the more so if they were abusive parents.
Kaved, honoring your parents, is a mitzvah because there might come a time when the hero who you looked up to, the person who cared for you so much, is a shell of the person they once were – there might come a time when that hero doesn’t even remember you. And there might come a time when the parent who let you down time and time again now needs you to pick them up.
This mitzvah is very special because it is one of only two mitzvoth in the Torah where we see a reward of long life, “Honor your father and your mother, that you lengthen your days on the land that the Lord your God is assigning to you.
The reasoning behind the mitzvah is, if your children see you honoring your parents, then one day, God willing, they will do the same for you.
But honoring your parents is much more than insurance; it’s a value, a way of life. It’s what we as Jews do. Dr. Richard Elliott Friedman states the following in his commentary:
“The commandment speaks of duration of days on the land. It means that if the people of Israel is composed of individuals who honor their parents then they will endure in their land. This suggests the enormous importance of the fifth commandment relative to the other nine. Those who honor their parents are likely to be people who will not murder, steal, or violate the other commandments. In thus preserving the terms of the covenant, they would be deserving of the covenant promise of the homeland. At the same time, this is a commandment on the father and mother as well: to be worthy of honor, to convey the value of the mitzvoth themselves in such a way that their children, in honoring the parents, will be moved to keep the commandments.”
Dr. Friedman points something interesting out here: the commandment to honor your father and mother is a commandment to every parent: you must live to make yourself worthy of honor. Nevertheless, whether we live honorable lives or not, our children have the same responsibility of caring for their parents because the mitzvah is greater, and heavier, than one family, it’s a way of life.
As Dr. Richard Elliott Friedman explains, honoring parents helps build a society grounded in values. When a community honors its elders, it’s less likely to experience social breakdowns. In honoring our parents, we honor the very fabric of Jewish civilization.
Honoring parents in today’s world may be harder than ever, particularly as people are living longer. As a rabbi in South Florida, I’ve seen this firsthand. Boca Raton has the highest concentration of Jewish seniors in their 80s and 90s in the entire world. And many of these seniors have children who are seniors themselves. The burden, both emotional and physical, can feel overwhelming.
We’re tempted to say, “This is too heavy.” But this mitzvah is a reminder that the burdens we bear for our parents are central to who we are as Jews and as people. It reminds us that one day, no matter how strong we are, we will be the ones who need to be carried.
And it’s during those heavy times that we need to remember why this mitzvah is so important—it grounds us in our values. It’s not just an act of kindness—it’s the foundation of Jewish life, the thread that keeps us connected to our past, present, and future.
There was a moment in my life when I felt the weight of this mitzvah more than ever. My mother, a fiercely independent woman, always did everything for herself and others. She worked long hours, commuted great distances, and hosted large family gatherings for Pesach, often cooking for around 50 people by herself.
The hardest thing for her to accept was that she could no longer carry the load she once cherished. Her strength faded, and she needed us to help her with even the simplest tasks.
One of the most poignant moments of our relationship came when she allowed me to drive her. She wouldn’t let me drive her anywhere for most of my life—she thought I was a terrible driver. But in her last year, when she needed to go to the hospital for testing to receive a lung transplant, she let me take the wheel. My siblings and I took turns taking her to her appointments and packing her wheelchair and oxygen tank into the car. The shift in our relationship was clear—no longer was she carrying us; we were carrying her.
The Babylonian Talmud (Berachot 8b) teaches us that we must respect an old person who has forgotten what they’ve learned through no fault of their own—whether due to illness or the pressures of life—because even the broken pieces of the tablets were placed in the Ark alongside the whole tablets. This teaches us that the broken parts of our loved ones are just as sacred as the whole.
As I sat in the driver’s seat, looking over at my mother, I realized how much things had changed. She was no longer the same strong, independent woman I had known, but her worth and dignity remained intact, even in her brokenness.
And during the month of Shloshim, I took on the burdens of Jewish mourning. And from after her funeral, until Tisha B’av, I went to minyan every day to say kaddish for her.
The Weight We Carry
I return to my talit, and what it represents. To me, it symbolizes honor in the truest sense of the term. Honor often feels like a burden, a heaviness. But what would life be without that burden? Without something to ground us, something that gives our lives meaning and structure?
The greatest burden we carry is not to carry a burden at all. The burden we carry is the responsibility to live in a way that reflects the values we cherish. The heaviness of life keeps us grounded in who we are in a world that is often foundation-less.
As we honor our parents, even when it feels heavy, we strengthen the fabric of our people. And in doing so, we ensure that we will live a long life in the land that the Lord our God has given us.
Comments