This last Shabbat we read Mishpatim. The shift is abrupt. We move from the narrative drama of Exodus — with stories that can and do fill West End/Broadway stages — into pages of laws: damages, restitution, responsibility, punishment, repair. The thunder of Sinai gives way to clauses and conditions. It can feel, at first glance, less cinematic.

But it is far more radical. The Torah’s intention at this point is unmistakable. Wrongdoing does not permanently alter the moral landscape. It requires consequence. It requires restitution. It requires clarity. But it does not demand perpetual exile. Transgression can be addressed. Society can be restored from breach.

Mishpatim is not a catalogue of punishments. It is a blueprint for restoration.

The Architecture of Repair

The laws in Mishpatim assume that people will fail. They assume negligence, harm, damage, theft, loss. What they do not assume is that failure renders a person untouchable forever. The emphasis is on restitution. On making whole. On returning what was broken to a state of functional equilibrium. That distinction matters.

Judaism does not deny harm. It does not romanticise wrongdoing. But it also does not design systems around permanent moral branding. It assumes the possibility — and the necessity — of repair. As someone working in criminology, I spend my professional life studying justice systems across the globe. And I am continually struck by how rare that Torah instinct is in modern practice.

Estonia and the Quiet Revolution

One country that has absorbed this restorative logic with unusual seriousness is Estonia.

In the 1990s, Estonia built a prison estate designed to house what was then a growing criminal population. The expectation was expansion. The infrastructure was prepared for it.

But Estonia invested heavily in restorative practice across the lifecycle of its justice system. That has included:

Early diversion and mediation between victim and offender, where appropriate

Community-based sentencing options prioritising accountability without unnecessary incarceration

Reintegration planning beginning at the point of entry into custody, not the point of release

A justice culture that measures success by reduction in reoffending rather than length of sentence

The result is striking. The prison estate that was built for growth now stands more than half empty. Estonia has capacity to rent space to other jurisdictions. Agreements are already underway with Sweden, and discussions continue with others.

The stumbling block is not language or geography. It is not distance.

The obstacle is culture.

Countries considering sending prisoners to Estonia often operate within punitive systems that struggle to absorb restorative logic. A justice model that reduces prison populations through rehabilitation sits uneasily alongside systems that equate severity with seriousness.

And this tension reveals something uncomfortable.

It is easier to build cells than to build restoration.

The Problem of Permanence

The challenge is not confined to physical prisons. This week I have launched my work on Digital Rehabilitation at a UK Conference – Girls and Women in The Criminal Justice System hosted by The Health and Justice Forensic Research Lab at Durham University. The principle is simple, though its implications are far-reaching: if justice systems believe in restoration in physical space, they must also believe in restoration in digital space.

A criminal sentence may be served. A term of imprisonment may end. But the digital record persists indefinitely. Algorithms index past transgressions long after formal punishment has concluded. Search engines do not practice teshuvah. They do not recognise repair.

The effect is a form of permanent civil penalty.

In physical space, a prison door opens. In digital space, it often does not.

Mishpatim refuses this logic. The Torah’s legal architecture assumes that restitution restores the moral order. It does not design a parallel system of endless stigma. Once consequence has been borne and repair attempted, society is expected to move forward.

Modern justice systems frequently lack that courage.

Punishment and Moral Spectacle

We live in an era that is deeply uncomfortable with ambiguity. Public discourse rewards exposure, amplification, permanence. Transgression becomes identity. Narrative replaces nuance. The spectacle of wrongdoing can eclipse the work of restoration.

But Mishpatim interrupts spectacle.

It replaces drama with detail. It moves from liberation narrative into civic responsibility. It insists that freedom requires law, and law requires proportion.

Restorative justice is not softness. It is discipline. It demands accountability from the person who caused harm and seriousness from the community that must hold both victim and offender within a single moral frame.

That is difficult work. It is also civilisational work.

A Question for our Time

In a moment when societies are polarised and punitive reflexes are easily triggered, Mishpatim offers a quieter but more enduring vision. It assumes that wrongdoing will occur. It refuses to pretend otherwise. But it also refuses to freeze a person forever at the point of their failure.

The question for contemporary justice systems — and for communities — is whether we are prepared to do the same.

Are we willing to build structures that allow for repair? Are we prepared to distinguish between accountability and annihilation? Do we believe restoration is possible in digital as well as physical space?

Or are we more comfortable with permanence?

The Refusal of Permanent Exile

Season Two begins here because justice is not abstract for me. It is theological, professional, and lived. It is shaped by text and by practice, by Torah and by policy.

Mishpatim reminds us that law is not designed to fossilise a person’s worst act. It is designed to repair breach and allow society to continue.

In a world increasingly drawn to permanent judgment, that refusal of permanent exile may be one of Judaism’s most radical contributions.

Restoration is harder than punishment. It requires patience, proportionality, and trust.

But without it, justice becomes theatre.

And societies become brittle.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)