At its most basic level, Parashat Shoftim is a reading about judgment. It teaches us how Israelite society is supposed to be organized, but after we plow through the minutiae of judges, kings, prophets, and witnesses, we get to an important realization—the Torah cares deeply about the influences we allow into our lives. Who leads us? Who speaks for us? Who inspires us?
Our world is very different from ancient Israel, but the same questions apply. Today, for better or worse (and it’s usually worse), influence rests not with prophets but with singers, actors, athletes, influencers, YouTubers, and hot-takers. These are the voices in our ears, on our screens, and at our lunch tables, and usually they are not the best people. And therein lies the dilemma: What happens when the art moves us, but the artist doesn’t?
Shoftim offers two lenses. First, the timeless reminder that “Justice, justice shall you pursue” (Deut. 16:20). Though originally directed at judges, it applies to anyone wielding influence. Just as Israel was told to select leaders who would not abuse power or exploit their positions, the modern content consumer might want to consider who they are giving power to when they buy a ticket, stream a song, buy a T-shirt, or binge a show. The Torah seems to suggest that influence matters; consuming culture is not a neutral act.
Second, Shoftim warns against false prophets—often persuasive, definitely inspiring, but ultimately destructive. Ignoring them is not always easy, either, for the challenge is that false prophets are usually quite compelling. Their words can move us even as they point in the wrong direction—buyer beware.
All of this is easier said than done, so here’s my prima facie example: I like Morgan Wallen’s music. He takes country storytelling, a brash attitude, catchy hooks, and a unique voice and makes music that works. But I also know his track record. Take your pick—a racist slur caught on video, public drunkenness, the chair-throwing thing, leaving the set of SNL a little early— this is not behavior that generally feels in line with my values. So, I grapple with the contradiction of how I can enjoy the art without endorsing the actions. Am I being a moral hypocrite by listening to the songs and wearing the merch from the concert? I’ve made it make sense to me, just the same as I’ve made sense of rooting for athletes who have done questionable things in their personal lives. It’s always a trade-off—no celebrity exists immaculately.
But look at me—I then draw the line somewhere else. I won’t watch the next season of “Wednesday” on Netflix because Jenna Ortega’s outspoken hostility toward Israel is too much for me to stomach. I loved Season 1, but I can’t support someone who delegitimizes Israel. Here, separating the artist from the art feels impossible.
What about Liverpool’s star soccer player? Every weekend I cheer for Mohamed Salah at Liverpool. Salah is brilliant, the best player on my favorite team, and perhaps in all of Europe, but he has taken clear anti-Israel stances, time and time again. Still, when he scores, I erupt with joy, compartmentalizing his politics long enough to celebrate. I tell myself I’m rooting for Liverpool, not Salah, but that’s hardly honest.
So, what’s the difference? Why excuse Wallen but not Ortega? Why cheer Salah but not stream “Wednesday”? My judgments are inconsistent, and I know it.
There’s a story from Israel that may help me out. Richard Wagner, the 19th-century German composer, was a musical genius…but also a virulent antisemite. His personal writings against Jews were ugly and vicious, and his music was both beloved by Hitler and included at Nazi rallies. To this day, the Israel Philharmonic refuses to perform Wagner, not because the music lacks beauty, but because the man’s evil is too great. For Holocaust survivors sitting in the concert hall, or their descendants, the sound of Wagner’s overtures would not feel like art. It would feel like violence.
That example complicates things. If Israelis, in the name of memory and dignity, say “no” to Wagner even at the expense of extraordinary music, that confirms there are times when the person and the work cannot be separated. See: “Wednesday.” And Billie Eilish, maybe? Or Renee Rapp? Pink Floyd? Gulp, Dave Matthews? I could keep going. Should I?
Shoftim also reminds us that this decision-making is not just personal, it’s communal. Judges were not appointed for themselves, but “in all your gates” (16:18), for the sake of the community; our cultural choices have impacts beyond ourselves. By supporting or rejecting an artist, we participate in deciding what voices have power in the broader world. Our choices inevitably end up shaping narratives, whether we like it or not.
So, where does that leave me? Still inconsistent. Still listening to Wallen, cheering for Salah, refusing to watch “Wednesday,” and trying to keep track of the moral decisions, pro-Israel credentials, and virtue signaling from all the stars out there. It’s exhausting, and, if I’m being 100% honest, is it really worth it? Maybe. Maybe not. I guess that’s what it means to live in the tension of Shoftim—to keep discerning, to keep struggling, and to keep asking who deserves to have influence or airtime.
At the end of the day, the Torah is not going to help me arrive at perfect consistency; it’s about practicing vigilance. My contradictions will inevitably persist, and I’m happy to keep naming them and living within them. It’s certainly not going to get any easier.
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