Signs of Respect

by R. Eliezer Simcha Weisz

Signs of Respect: What the Torah Teaches About Kavod HaBriyot, Machloket, and True Unity

In Parashat Shoftim, the Torah commands:              

 “תָּכִין לְךָ הַדֶּרֶךְ” — “You shall prepare the road” (Devarim 19:3).

This mitzvah refers to the Arei Miklat, the cities of refuge, to which someone who killed unintentionally must flee. Chazal explain that part of the mitzvah was to prepare and maintain clear roads, and to post signs at every crossroads marked “Miklat,” so that the rotzeach b’shogeg—the accidental killer—would not have to ask anyone for directions.

As the Gemara teaches:

מקלט היה כתוב על פרשת דרכים כדי שיכיר הרוצח ויפנה לשם. אמר רב כהנא: מאי קרא—‘תכין לך הדרך,’ עשה לך הכנה לדרך
(Makkot 10b)

Rashi elaborates:

מקלט היה כתוב על פרשת דרכים—בכל מקום שהיו שני דרכים מפוצלים, אחד פונה לעיר מקלט, היה עץ תקוע באותו דרך וכתוב בו: מקלט
(Rashi to Devarim 19:3)

The Sifrei (Devarim 182) adds that these roads were kept broad, clear, and well-marked to ensure accessibility.

Everything was done to ensure that the fugitive could reach safety quickly, and just as importantly—with his dignity intact.

Now, here is something striking. Regarding the Olei Regel—those who ascended to Yerushalayim for the Shalosh Regalim—there is no mitzvah to post directional signs to Jerusalem. The Torah simply states:

שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָּל־זְכוּרְךָ אֶת־פְּנֵי ה’ אֱלֹקֶיךָ

 “Three times a year all your males shall appear before Hashem your God” (Devarim 16:16).

Why not post signs for this mitzvah? Wouldn’t that have helped encourage it?

The answer reveals a beautiful insight into the Torah’s sensitivity. In the case of the rotzeach b’shogeg, if he had to ask for directions, he would immediately be identified as someone who had taken a life—even unintentionally. That exposure would be a source of busha (shame). Therefore, the Torah says: Give him a quiet path. Mark the way. Let him avoid unwanted interaction and preserve his kavod ha’adam—his basic human dignity.

But for the oleh regel, the situation is the opposite. One is ascending lifnei Hashem, to the Beit HaMikdash, for a mitzvah done b’rov am, with joy and pride. Here, dignity is expressed through visibility, through being seen: asking directions, joining the flow of pilgrims, inspiring others. As Mishlei teaches:

“בְּרוֹב עָם הַדְרַת־מֶלֶךְ” — “In a multitude of people is the King’s glory” (Mishlei 14:28).

Their journey is a kiddush Hashem—a public sanctification of God’s Name.

This idea is echoed in a story about the Ponovezher Rav, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman zt”l. He once asked the Chazon Ish why, to raise funds for his yeshivah, he had to go from door to door, city to city, country to country—while secular universities seemed to attract huge donations without all that effort.

The Chazon Ish answered him with wisdom: Just as the olei regel had no signposts—because their journey should be seen and admired—so too, supporting Torah should not happen behind closed doors. The tircha, the visible effort, is part of the kiddush Hashem. People must see that Torah matters. The struggle itself teaches others about its value.

At the same time, the Torah also knows when to protect someone’s dignity through discretion.

In Parashat Matot-Masei, the Torah tells us:

וַיִּשְׁלַח אֹתָם מֹשֶׁה… אֹתָם וְאֶת־פִּינְחָס

“Moses sent them… them, and Pinchas” (Bamidbar 31:6).

Curiously, Moshe Rabbeinu does not send the Nesi’im, the tribal princes, even though elsewhere we often see leaders at the forefront of battle.

The Baal HaTurim explains:

והנשיאים לא שלח עמהם כדי שלא יתבייש שבט שמעון שנהרג נשיא משבט

“He did not send the princes with them so that the tribe of Shimon would not be shamed, since its prince had been killed” (Baal HaTurim to Bamidbar 31:6).

The Torah itself provides the background:

וְשֵׁם אִישׁ יִשְׂרָאֵל הַמֻּכֶּה… זִמְרִי בֶּן סָלוּא, נְשִׂיא בֵּית־אָב לַשִּׁמְעֹנִי

“The name of the Israelite man who was struck… was Zimri son of Salu, a prince of a father’s house of the Simeonites” (Bamidbar 25:14).

Had Moshe sent the Nesi’im, the absence of Shimon’s prince would have been glaring, and it would have publicly shamed the entire shevet. So Moshe, in his wisdom and compassion, changed the makeup of the delegation—to protect their honor.

From these three moments—the Arei Miklat, the Olei Regel, and the war with Midian—we see that the Torah is not only a code of law, but a guide for derech eretz, human sensitivity, and kavod ha’briyot. Sometimes dignity requires privacy; sometimes it requires visibility. Wisdom is knowing when each is called for.

This message is deeply relevant today.

Here in Eretz Yisrael, we are now approaching two full years of war. On the outside, we face a host of enemies. But on the inside, we face painful internal tensions. Different camps within Am Yisrael disagree passionately—on military strategy, leadership, religious identity, and the future of the state.

And yet, unity does not mean uniformity. The Torah does not ask us all to think the same. It asks us to live together—with our disagreements—and to treat one another with kavod, even when we are on opposite sides of the debate.

As the Torah reminds us:

“בָּנִים אַתֶּם לַה’ אֱלֹקֵיכֶם” — “You are children to Hashem your God” (Devarim 14:1).
And from the very beginning:
“בְּצֶלֶם אֱלֹקים בָּרָא אֹתוֹ” — “In the image of God He created him” (Bereishit 1:27).

Every Jew is b’tzelem Elokim, created in the image of God. That remains true even in a time of conflict, even when opinions clash.

That’s why the Torah placed signs at every crossroads—for the accidental killer to reach safety without shame.
That’s why Moshe spared a tribe from national embarrassment.
That’s why the Ponovezher Rav went knocking on doors—to show the world that Torah is not only valuable, but worth striving for publicly.

And that’s the message we must carry into our own world:

• To argue without hatred.
• To disagree without disgrace.
• To speak with strength, but listen with humility.
• To honor the tzelem Elokim in one another—even when we walk different paths.

Because in a fractured world, the greatest sign we can post is one that says:

דֶּרֶךְ הַכָּבוֹד הִיא הַדֶּרֶךְ לִירוּשָׁלַיִם, לְשָׁלוֹם, וְלִגְאֻלָּה

The path of dignity is the road that leads to Jerusalem—toward peace and, at last, redemption.