When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring bloodguilt on your house if anyone should fall from it. (Deuteronomy 22:8)
“When you build a new house you are to surround its roof with a protective railing.” We observe a custom that whenever we experience a pleasurable event we make a point to express our gratitude to God not only in our hearts but also with appropriate words. Such words usually contain quotations from the Torah songs extolling the virtues and Power of God, and are accompanied by special prayers. The roof of the house of which the Torah speaks, symbolizes that our joy is focused heavenwards. (Kedushat Levi)
Now, when a person builds a house it arouses the judgments, particularly outside the Land [of Israel] where it is full of all the emptiness of the world, as is known, and it constricts their borders. Therefore the Torah said, When you build a new house, you shall make, which is the idiom of correction, a parapet [ma’akeh] from the idiom of irritations [me’ikim]; the things that irritate you will be corrected through your attaching yourself Above to the place of Thought, which is your “roof” as we have said. And then, if you attach your Thought to the Blessed Creator, then when the one who falls will fall (Deut. 22:8) – as our Sages of Blessed Memory interpreted, he was destined to fall – for the judgments were destined to fall since the six days of Creation as is known; all of which is to say that the judgments will fall away from you, and understand this. (Me’or Eynayim)
“When you build a new house, make a parapet.” The instruction sounds simple enough. Isn’t it common sense to ensure that nobody falls off the roof? But the word for parapet—ma’akeh—is uncommon. It elicits deeper interrogation. Why would the Torah instruct a guardrail only on the roofs of new houses? Surely, old ones also require risk management. A banal answer might be that you can’t impose new regulation on long-standing structures. But the psychological answer, emphasized in Hasidic commentaries, is that we are most at risk when we are happiest, highest, and least cognizant of our risk. New homes represent inflection points that require heightened attention to detail and higher consciousness. Euphoria in the novel will lead to a fall from unrealistic expectations. The parapet moderates those expectations, reminding the home-builder that while a home can shelter, it can also expel. The new home becomes a microcosm of the national home: entry into the land is not sufficient; you have to be deliberate about your culture or you’ll be right back in the Diaspora.
Kedushat Levi suggests that the parapet can be, metaphorically and literally, a word of gratitude or blessing or prayer that we recite in moment of exaltation. Me’or Eynayim sees the parapet as an irritation. Consider the chiasmic contrast. In Kedushat Levi’s view, we respond to moments of elevation (roof) with gratitude (parapet); in Meor Eynayim’s view, we respond to moments of irritation (parapet) with contemplation of God (roof). In the latter’s approach, the irritation becomes manageable or transformed when we properly situate it. Viewed with the right consciousness (roof), no difficult thought (parapet) is too difficult.
For Kedushat Levi, the parapet protects us from complacency, for Me’or Eynayim, attaching the parapet to the roof protects us from negative judgment. Those judgments might be the external judgments of envious neighbors, or the internal judgments of self-doubt, or the abstract demonic force of judgment that seeks to portray us, metaphysically, in the worst possible light. On the Meor Eynayim’s read, this negative force falls away when we build the parapet. In the plain reading of the text, it is the absence of the parapet that leads to an inadvertent fall. In the Hasidic master’s eyes, the fall is predestined—the only question is whether we will be responsible for it. We want those negative judgments to fall off our roof, but they won’t fall if we push them. It is the parapet itself that provokes them to draw close, then tumble into the abyss.
The parapet operates as both a baroque decoration, an artifact of intentionality, and a legal and moral necessity. It is a model of a possible relationship to the commandments more generally, which can serve to protect us from downside risk, while also enabling us to live in a more beautiful, adorned, and reflective world.
The parapet is not simply a utilitarian requirement. It is a reminder to transform the utilitarian into the aesthetic, to make the task of protection into something beautiful and delightful. A guardrail on a roof cannot actually stop us from falling over it. But it can remind us of our dependence on God and teach us to remain humble.
The more Enlightened one becomes, the greater the risk of believing oneself to have all the answers. The parapet stills our arrogance. Just because we have achieved great insights, doesn’t mean we can’t fall—and doesn’t mean that our followers can’t fall by following our example. If the parapet is not for we who have ascended the highest heavens, it must be for our guests. Every new house—that is, every new level of spiritual and intellectual understanding—requires a parapet. The key is not to see the parapet as an irritation—as an afterthought or mere compliance requirement—but as part of the joy of building and ascending.
Shabbat Shalom,
Zohar Atkins