Parashat Ha'a'zeenu & Rosh Ha'Shana

This week’s portion, Ha’azeenu -- which literally means “Lend me your ears” (to quote a great biblical scholar, William Shakespear) – is the penultimate portion of the week. It is also a great poem, delivered by Moshe to his people on the day he dies, just prior to him ascending the mountain from which he has “seen the promised land” (to quote another great biblical scholar, the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King).

The poem in question is justly considered by many to be one of the greatest depictions of the relationships between the Chosen People and its God. While the poem itself merits a serious discussion, I will forego such a daunting task and instead make very short two comments on the word that opens the Portion and the single sentence that ends it (the portion’s “bookends,” if you will).

The First Word in Ha’azeenu: On Listening

The Portion begins with – and is therefore is named after – the order to “listen to me”  - Ha’azee-nu. And who are those who are required to listen to Moshe? The verse seems to suggest that the subject of the order to listen are none other than the entire heavens and the earth. But are these entities the actual intended audience? A close reading of the last verse in the previous Portion – Ve’ye’lech suggests another possibility:

 “And Moshe recited to the entire congregation of Israel, to their ears, the following entire poem from beginning to end.” (Deut. 31:30).

This verse suggests that, far from the amorphous Heaven and Earth, this poem was intended to arrive directly at the ears of the “entire congregation of Israel.” [and compare God’s order to Moses, at Deut. 31:19, to “now teach this poem to the People of Israel so it may be preserved for the end of days by the People of Israel.”]

But the verse from last week (a mere technicality, as it is clear that it belongs in this week’s portion) goes beyond merely stating the obvious – the real designated addressees of the poem being the People of Israel. Rather, it also discusses several other issues that may be relevant to us today. First, it suggests that Moshe spoke not merely to the People, but actually to their ears. This is interesting, as in Hebrew, the noun “ear” (“o’zen”) and the command to listen (“Ha’a’zee’nu”) come from the same origin. That way, when a person speaks to someone’s “ear,” they expect that person to actually “listen” to what they say rather than merely “hear” the words uttered. But the verse goes further to suggest that Moshe insisted on reciting the poem “from beginning to end.” That, again, tells us something about the true meaning of listening: one can never truly listens if one does not listen “from beginning to end.” Too often, unfortunately, this simple command is being violated today – in TV, in Congress, on the street, everywhere. True, that command has a flip coin: make sure your own argument is short enough – unlike Moshe – such that the other person would listen to it “from beginning to end.” But as a listener, and as a rule, try to let the other person finish what they were trying to say.

Indeed, these two notions – of listening, and of allowing the other to finish their thought – seem almost archaic in this day and age, when Congress members do not hesitate to yell to the President of the United States “You Lie” in the middle of a speech. Yet it is good to realize, as always, how relevant and instructive the teachings of this ancient Torah are to our lives today.

Finally, we all know of the classic Jewish order “Na’a’se Ve’nish’ma” – we shall obey (first) and then hear (second). In other words, in Emunah – that is, in the relationships between a person and their Jewish God, the request is first and foremost to obey the order. Listening – which may involve attempts to understand, questioning, negotiating, and all sorts of dialogues – is preserved for after the actual following has been completed. First you obey, tells us the Jewish teachings, then you attempt to understand. Not so when the relationship in question are between one person and another. Here, we should all “listen” first – that is, try to understand, negotiate, conduct a dialogue – and only then “obey.” This is another very crucial difference between the relationships between us as persons and our God and us as persons and our fellow persons. This difference comes to a head in the coming week, just before Yom Kippur, when we are required to ask forgiveness from all our friends and relatives – since even the Holiest of Days, Yom Kippur itself may not repent those violations between a “person and his fellow person.”

In sum, the first verse of this week’s portion is extremely instructive – for today’s manners, and for understanding the different sets of relationship every person of belief may have.

Ha'azeenu's Last Verse: The Reward of God

The last verse of this week’s portion is part of the final dialogue between God and his most trusted prophet, the only person to ever be named a “Man of God” by the Bible (Deut. 33:1). That great person, Moshe, is about to die, and God Himself arrives to bid farewell to his trusted agent. One might expect, under these circumstances, a rewarding summary by God of all of Moshe’s “greatest hits,” including things like the parting of the sea, overcoming all of Egypt’s legendary’s army, leading Israel for forty years in the desert, and many other acts. But instead of thanking him for his longstanding service and loyalty over the years, the Lord opts to do quite the opposite; He reminds Moshe of the single instance where, if one attempts real hard, Moshe may have demonstrated a trace of distrust toward his Lord. But God does not stop there – He is not here to merely mention that single instance and omit of all Moshe’s greatest act of obedience; Rather, God shows up for the last time only to tell Moshe of his punishment for that single instance of indiscretion:

“And you shall only see that land from afar, but there you shall not arrive – to the land which I shall give to the People of Israel.” (Deut. 32:52)

Many a commentator were baffled at this parting words by God to his devoted slave. Some tried to explain that Moshe the leader, with his desert acumen and Egypt/slave mentality, was not the right “fit” to lead the nation into their new chapter as an independent nation. Others have pointed out that Moses was too old for the job – it was time for him to go and for a new leader to step up (recall it was not a democracy and there were no term limits). A better interpretation, in my mind, could be found in the radical option that God’s message was not a punishment at all; rather this final dialogue, like many that preceded it, was a the mere transfer of information from God to Moshe about what is about to happen. The fact that Moshe was not a part of this future occurrence is merely a descriptive, neutral reality rather than a harsh punishment.

To understand such interpretation, one must realize that for Moshe, being as close to God as anyone before or since was his true life’s achievement. Being physically in a different place – in the Land of Israel, for example – would not change that. Being mentally in a different state – a leader in a country, rather than in the desert – would not change that either. From a religious perspective – and this is a religious text – Moshe has received his “prize” many times over: he lived a life of devotion and standing before God like no other man before or since. This was his true “reward,” and no “punishment” may ever erase that. And while it true that this life was now over (like that of any other person since Adam), we should also be reminded that God Himself felt close enough to Moshe to notify him of that fate in person. But from a religious perspective there is no punishment here, nor a need to summarize Moshe’s greatest achievements: The mere standing before God for the last time, the mere occurrence of that last dialogue between a man and his God, is the very best summary of all of Moshe’s life, as well as the best testimony of his greatest life  “achievement.” So, no punishment here – only rewards.

Shana Tovah, and Shabbat Shalom.

Doron

Parashat Nitzavim-Va'yelech, Deut. 29:9-31:30

This week’s portion – Nitzavim-Va’ye’lech – is an elegant example of high quality found within small quantity (“a little that holds the plentiful,” to translate a favorite Mishna saying).  Indeed, despite being one of the shortest in the entire Five Books – in fact, so short that there are two portions combined here – these portions contain profound and comprehensive treatment of some of the greatest philosophical puzzles about faith that has been of interest to us since time immemorial.  

To recap, we are currently reading one of the very last portions of the cycle, and as we have noted the main theme here is a summary of the relationships between the Chosen People (a term we discussed last week) and the Lord our God.  If you recall, last week’s portion introduced us to the ideological framework of Judaism – the duty to commit and follow all the Mitzvot (orders of God) in order to avail God to treat us as a part of the Chosen People. This week the discussion moves to the realm of actual implementation, or compliance in legal parlance, of that framework. And what does the Portion have to say on compliance?  Two very important things:  First, everyone has the ability to perform and follow the Mitzot. Second, everyone has the duty to do so. Sounds confusing?  Let us approach the text, which is one of the most exquisite ever written.

Following the Mitzvot - Anyone Can Do It

After concluding that in order to stand before God we should properly follow his ordinances, the following question may be presented: But what if one is not capable of doing all that? What if the Torah’s duties are so lofty, so complex, and so intricate to follow that only a super-human can follow them properly? Can a simple person follow all those requirements properly? The text’s answer is clear, concise, unequivocal, and beautiful:

(11) For this Decree (Mitzvah) that I order upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond your reach. (12) It is not in the heavens, so that you may say “who amongst us is capable of ascending to the heavens and receive it for us and translate its meaning to us so we may observe it”? (13) Neither is it beyond the great sea, so that you may say “who amongst us is capable of crossing the great sea and receive it for us and translate its meaning to us so we may observe it? (14) [No,] For this thing is all too close to you; in your heart and in your speech you may observe it.

(Deut. 30:11-14). Indeed, I personally always liked to hear that the Torah “is not in the heavens” (“Lo Ba’sha’ma’yim hee”).  I think this is a direct message from the biblical text itself – and its true author – to anyone interested in reading it by themselves. Indeed, over the many years since the text has been written, many a person (and many an institution) have attempted to persuade us that it is their interpretation – and theirs alone – that controls the “true” meaning of the text. But the text itself espouses an entirely different view, a much more democratic one, according to which this text, the original text, without intermediaries, was given to the people and for the people (although, at least according to some, not by the people). Thus, it is always very comforting to return to the text and to find this beautiful phrasing – “it is not in the heavens,” explicitly denying the notion that others (who may, in their own mind, ascend to the heavens or cross the great sea) should read it for us.

The lesson here is quite important. In the Torah’s (own) mind, if you would make the effort to read and follow the Mitzvot yourself, you have satisfied your end of the bargain (and would become “chosen,” although, as I have noted last week, only in the eyes of God, not vis-à-vis your fellow human beings). To be sure, there is no harm in asking for help in understanding the text; there is no harm in turning to a Rabbi and accepting his (or her) Halachic authority. But these are acts of a personal choice, and this is key: No one can, or should, claim that only he (and it is mostly “he,” hardly ever “she”) speaks for God, and that only his view of what God orders counts. This is not the way Judaism intended to be, and in my mind – this is one of the most beautiful aspects of all of Judaism and one in which we may truly distinguish ourselves from other religions (such as the Catholic Church).

Choose Life

The second point – after establishing that each of us may approach the text directly and without intermediaries  – deals with the actual values we should follow. Again, the text could not be more beautiful in describing one of the greatest philosophical puzzles of all times – that of life versus death; good versus evil; and freedom of choice versus moral determinism under the rule of God. Again, the message could not be clearer:

(15) Look as I have presented before you today both life with [its concomitant] good, and death with [its concomitant] evil. (16) For I command you this day to love the Lord your God, to walk in His ways, and to keep His commandments, His laws, and His rules, that you may thrive and multiplied … (19) I have testified before you today both the heavens and earth; Life and death I have provided to you, the blessings and the curse, and shall choose life for you and your offspring shall live.”

(Deut. 30:15-19). This great order – to always “choose life,” to always prefer life over death – despite sounding somewhat obvious is one of deepest, most profound Mitzvot in the entire Torah. (It is also one of the more practical ones; thus, for example, between a funeral and a Bar Mitzvah (or another “simcha”) that happen to fall on the same day, the decree of “choose life (over death)” always prevails).

Indeed, even devoid of context this decree requires that between two options every one of us should always opt for the “life” and “good” option over the “death” and “bad” option, for that first option represents viability, optimism, and hope over death, cynicism, and hopelessness.  This is even more true once the context is brought into the fore, where the choice is even deeper:  It is God who puts before each of us the option of “life and prosperity, death and adversary.”  We can always choose one over the other – we have the power to do so; but if we are observant Jews, if we choose to be committed to our end of the bargain with God, then we must follow him and choose life.  Choose the life of fulfillment, not only of the Mitzvot (religious decrees), but of your own life as you see it – because there is no meaning to life, unless you really choose to live your life in a meaningful way.  And, at the end of the day, perhaps this is the greatest choice you have been given on this earth: the choice of how to lead your own life.

Shabat Shalom.       

Doron

Parashat Ki Tavo, Deut. 26:1 -29:8

"And when you have arrived ["ki-tavo"] to the Land that the Lord your God has given you…" - so opens one of the last, and most exciting Portions of the Week.  Indeed, this week we stand merely several short portions away from the High Holidays, a very meaningful period in every Jewish person’s life. And those Holidays culminate with Simchat-Torah – a uniquely Jewish holiday marking the end of the Portion of the Weekk cycle.

Cheshbon Nefesh - The Calculus of the Mind

During the High Holidays we are required to conduct “Cheshbon Nefesh” – A Hebrew term usually translated into reflection, contemplation, or re-thinking of the things we have done in the year past. But in my mind, the translation – though not inaccurate – misses the brilliance of the Hebrew term; properly translated – or, more accurately, transliterated – the English equivalent would be “a calculus of the sole” – the instruction to conduct a cost-benefit analysis of sorts, of all things sole-related we have committed last year; and the decree here is to dedicate no less than ten days (!) to this analysis (if not the entire month of Elul). Thus, while reflection, contemplation, and re-thinking are all important, we are actually asked to do much more than that: We are to conduct the final analysis by which we will be judged (or evaluated) by God on Yom Kippur. And we must prove, first to ourselves, that in this final analysis the value of the good, or positive actions we have taken outweighs the value of the bad actions (or of omitting from taking good actions). So it is with this somewhat somber mode that we turn to reflect now on the current portion of the week.

My intention in discussing this week’s portion is somewhat ambitious and definitely provocative (and obviously controversial): it is to debunk the sometime wide-spread notion that we, as Jews, by our very nature constitute some sort of “Am Sgulah” (the “chosen people”, a unique group, or any other term used for translation) other than in a very narrow sense (to be explained later). In other words, the notion that we as Jews we are prima facie better than other persons who are not Jewish just by virtue of being Jewish is simply wrong – both from a human-rights perspective but also, and perhaps more importantly, from the Torah’s perspective. To explain why, let me begin with a short introduction.

The Last Five Portions - Nearing Conclusion

The last five portions of the cycle may be seen as somewhat of a summary – a philosophical summary, if you will – of the relationships between the Children of Israel, the Jewish people, and their Lord God.  

Indeed, this week’s portion contains some of the most well-known and oft cited ideas repeated through the entire five books. From extensive Passover Hagadah sections (See e.g., Deut. 26:5-8 – “My father was a fugitive Aramian, who went down to Egypt….”), to variations on a theme of the Shema (See, e.g., Deut. 26:16 – “And you shall follow these rules with all your heart and all of your sole”; 28:1 – “And if you shall obey the Lord your God and follow all his Mitzvot which I have provided you with today…”), to slightly altered Second and Fourth Commandments (See Deut. 27:15-16 “Cursed is he who would make any sculpture or a mask – for they are abhorred by the Lord … Cursed is he who insults his father and his mother…”).  But I would not discuss these well-known ideas, some of which we have touched upon in the past. Rather, this week I want to examine only three verses that in and of themselves are so comprehensive and so complex that they may be said to contain the entire relationships between the Jews and their Lord God. And this is the language of these three verses: 

Deut. 26:17-18:

"(17) You have affirmed* this day that the Lord is your God, that you will walk in His ways; that you will observe His laws, commandments, and rules; and that you will obey Him. (18) And the Lord has affirmed* this day that you are His treasured people, as He has promised you, to observe all His commandments. (19) And to put you supreme on all other people He has created for fame and for glory, and to provide you to be a holy people to the Lord your God as He has spoken.”

Before we dive into the complex meaning of these short verses, a word about the translation:  I added an astrix (*) near the translation [provided here by JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh, 2d ed. 1999] of the word “affirmed,” as the Hebrew original – "Hae-ae-mar-tah" – is so unprecedented it may well be labeled untranslatable. Indeed, the translator of this edition was honest enough to drop a footnote admitting that “exact nuance of Hebrew uncertain,” as no other source for comparison exists (other than the very next verse) in the entire Bible. I will not enter here into the great debate about the possible meanings of this unique use of the term “to say” or “to declare”; suffice it is to mention that the words “you have chosen to declare” seems to me more appropriate than the “you have affirmed” used here in translation. I should also note that the same unique term is used here both in relation to humans and to God – a linguistic clue as to its possible meaning, but also an indication of the limitations imposed on the writer of the text who is required to describe God’s actions in human terms.

The Relation between The Jewish People and Their God

Back to the text.  The late Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz (1903-1994), one of the greatest Jewish philosophers of all time and an ardent follower of the Rambam (Maimonides), poses this great question:  What is the relation between the first part of this section – dealing with the People who chose to have the Lord as their God, and the second part – dealing with the Lord who chose this People to be His?  What is the relation between the People’s declaration and God’s declaration?  Is this a relation of cause and effect (that is, because the People of Israel have chosen God, He has chosen them back)? Or a reverse cause and effect (that is, because God has chosen the People of Israel, they have chosen him back)? Or maybe these are merely parallel, co-incidental occurrences? (look! The People of Israel have chosen the Lord, and, by mere chance, He has decided to choose them as well!).

    

Loyal to his method, Leibowitz repudiates each of these possibilities.  Yet he puzzles over these two short verses.  Why is the text so explicit about these two parties to the transaction?  How deep is the connection between the People’s choice to have God as the Lord, and God’s choice to have the Jews as his People? 

His answer is quite surprising.  According to Leibowitz, these two verses represent but one idea. They are actually two sides of the same coin. And that coin, in turn, represents the fulcrum on which both Leibowitz and the Rambam build their entire, very impressive philosophical structure:  That the essence of the Jewish belief in God is the observance and keeping of the Miztvot – the Torah’s laws and commandments as delivered by God.

This is, of course, an oversimplification of an otherwise very multi-faceted and complex idea; but the essence is the same: Without a strict following of the Mitzvot, there can be no real “belief” in God. This line of thought, obviously, is extremely controversial, especially in a day and age where keeping the Mitzvot is far from being at the forefront of the leading Jewish movements. 

Still, let us look at these verses again, this time through the Leibowitzian prism:  Part one deals with the People of Israel.  They have chosen to declare that they accept the Lord as their God.  But how would they accept Him as their Lord?  And here is the thrust: by “walk[ing] in His ways”; by “observ[ing] His laws, commandments and rules,”; and by “obey[ing] Him.”   

And God? What about Him? He, too, has chosen to declare that the Jews are His “treasured People” [“Am Se’gulah,” a beautiful Hebrew term], but in what way? In that they “shall observe all His commandments.”

No Inherent Supremacy Over Other Poeple

So it is only in that way that we, the Jewish People, are unique: In the sense that we have been chosen to be given the option to observe all the Jewish laws, and that we have accepted our obligation to do so.  In that, and in that alone, we are superior – in the eyes of God – to all other people.  This is the simpler explanation of the next verse, which reads:  “and that He will set you, in fame and renown and glory, high above all the nation that he has made; and that you shall be, as He promised, a holy people to the Lord your God.”  Here, the “fame and glory” are not of the “American Idol” kind, but rather of the religious kind:  the heavenly fame and glory that comes from the personal knowledge that you are a part of the People – the “holy people” – that observes God’s laws.

And herein lies the two most important lessons of this Week’s Portion:  First, if you are a Jewish person who chose to not observe God’s laws, don’t assume that God will keep His end of the bargain towards you.  Second, and most importantly, there is nothing inherent in us, the Jewish People, as being superior to other people.  The only thing in which we may be superior is the option we have received to obey the only true God’s laws.  If we do that, and only to the extent we do that, then God – and no one else – shall consider us to be the Chosen (or superior) People. In other words, even to the extent that we are superior in that narrow sense – we are only superior vis-à-vis God, not vis-à-vis any other person. That incredibly transcendental notion receives a more earthly demonstration in the decree to the priests – those who “serve in the holly” – to change back into plain cloths (from  their religious garb) once they return from the Holy of Holies back to the ‘ordinary’ people, lest they – the priests themselves – would fall into the mistake that they are superior to the people in any way other than the opportunity they were given to serve God.

This understanding, in my humble mind, is key both in clarifying our relationship to God but also, and more importantly, in clarifying our relationship with other people. We are all equal, all created in the image of God.

  

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron 

Parashat Ki-Tetze, Deut. 20:10-25:19

This week’s portion – Ki Tetze (literally, “Should you go,” as in “should you go to war against your enemy”) – continues Moshe’s lecture on the laws of the Torah - the very essence of the Book of D'varim. Some of these laws may seem somewhat antiquated, at least at first sight. But others surprisingly maintain their freshness and relevance to today's world, demonstrating a keen social eye and a true understanding of the human nature, despite being written (and contemplated) over 3,500 years ago.

This week's portion covers a myriad of important and substantial rules and laws; I would do justice to none should I merely attempt to enumerate them all (let alone to discuss them is some detail). Instead, I would rather focus today on just one of these law – a law near and dear to my heart -- the Law of the Rebellious Son. But before reviewing this fascinating law and its implications, allow me to say a few words on the format of some of the laws we will be reading this week.

On the Format of Biblical Laws

Anyone who studies law today – and by “study the law” I literally mean the studying of the rules and laws currently governing a modern democratic community – could not escape the notion that those rules could not be written in a more formal, dry, perhaps even dreary fashion. Take for example the manner in which the Ohio Criminal Code describes a man escaping from prison who, on his way out, purposely kills one of the guards: 

No person who is under detention as a result of having been found guilty of or having pleaded guilty to a felony or who breaks that detention shall purposely cause the death of another… Whoever violates this section is guilty of aggravated murder, and shall be punished as provided in section … 

I’m sure that there are many other ways to draft this law in a manner that is way more interesting to read. But, world-over, criminal codes today are written, to a large extent, in this exact same manner. Now, to be sure, some biblical laws are also written in the same concise, dry fashion – the second part of the Ten Commandments comes to mind as a perfect example (“Thy shall not kill”; end of story). Other laws are also concise – but far from being dry. Take for example one of my all-time favorites (a biblical law that sounds more like a life-coaching advice than a firm rule, which I have applied on a myriad of circumstances), which appears in this week’s portion; it reads:

“Do not try to block an ox while it is threshing.”

(Deut. 25:4; and compare Sun Tzu, The Art of War: “He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight… Do not stop an army on its way home.”)  But the reason I bring up this week’s portion in the context of legal format is different. This portion also presents to us a completely different way to thinking about law drafting. A way that is much more narrative-based and less formal; much more detailed and less generally-applied; much more specific and therefore, likely, less applied. Still, these laws, which are probably based on cases that Moshe heard during his days as a judge, are read like the best John Grishams of today. Take for example the law of the “Captive Beautiful Woman,” which opens this week’s portion:

Should you go to war on your enemies and God has given them to you and you have taken some prisoners; and you have seen, among the captive, a beautiful woman whom you desire and would like to become your wife; then you shall bring her into your own home, and let her shave her head and pare her nails; then she would replace her captive’s garb, and you would let her sit and your home and cry for her father and mother for an entire month; and only then shall you come to her and consummate, and then she would become your wife. But in case you shall no longer want her you shall let her go free; you shall not sell her for money – you shall not exploit her for you have already tortured her.

(Deut. 21:10-14) Other than being a somewhat just and humane law for its time (consider the fact that neither captives nor women have enjoyed any rights at the time), I think this law may serve as a great example for how to write laws; surely if all laws would have written this way many more people would have attempt to practice law…

 The Law of the Rebellious Son

A much more serious issue is presented by one of the most controversial laws presented in this week’s portion – The Law of the Rebellious son. But before even touching upon the complex relationship between parents and their undisciplined boys as they are beautifully presented in this week’s portion, we should remember that we are dealing with a book of laws. And a book of laws (a legal code), the book of D’varim does not tend to bother with the myriad instances of hardships that accompany our everyday life – the house that is never in order, the payments that are always late, the never-ending chases – these warrant no special legal attention or regulation. Rather, this law book – like many others before or since – deals mostly with life’s aberrations, those instances that warrant special attention (and, in most cases, special punishment). One of those instances is that of the rebellious son.

We are all familiar with the notion of a son who does not listen to his dad. Most of us have been right there – when Dad wants you to do “what is right” while you, thinking you know much better, insist on doing “what is cool, fun, or just feel like doing.” What are the options that parents have in this situation?

Most of my life I tended to examine this question through a very narrow lens – that of the (ignorant) son, who naturally thinks he knows better than his parents and therefore opts to do the opposite of what he is told.  That view has evolved, however, over the years; as Mark Twain had observed: “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But, when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years." Indeed, I, too, realized how much my dad has “learned” over the years as I grew up.

My perspective has further evolved about five years ago, when I had my first son (Gabi) and became a parent myself.  Suddenly I realized what it means to actually ask your son to do something and have him completely ignore me (or worse, do the opposite). From that vintage point, all of a sudden, the issue of “the son who knows better” received an entire different meaning. It begins with requirements that seem very small, or petty, to him – the insistence that he would hold my hand when we cross the street; the requests not to play ball near traveling cars – but may lead to a safety issue in case they are ignored. And it continues towards much larger issues – study properly, respect your parents (and other elders), etc., etc., etc.

So what is a father to do in these situations? What can we do when our children repeatedly ignore our requests, or insist on doing the opposite? The Torah, at first glance, offers very little guidance. The solution it offers – quite shockingly – is to kill that boy. Here is the language of the text:

If a man has a wayward and rebellious son, who does not obey his father or his mother, and they chasten him, and [he still] does not listen to them; his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city, and to the gate of his place. And they shall say to the elders of his city, "This son of ours is wayward and rebellious; he does not obey us; [he is] a glutton and a guzzler.” And all the men of his city shall stone him to death, and he shall die. So shall you clear out the evil from among you, and all Israel will listen and fear. (Deut. 20: 18-21)

To be sure, the Law of the Rebellious Son was never implemented as written; indeed, our sages were quick to realize that this is a paradigmatic case of “Halacha Ve’Ein Mornin Ken” – A law that should remain on the books, but never enforced.  So why is that law on the books? Why would the Torah dedicate so much time and effort to detail a story that would never come to pass? Many a sage have attempted to offer a solution to this question (mostly that there is value in studying the Torah itself, even if it does not lead to immediate applications in our own lives), but none of those seem satisfactory.  My hunch – for all its worth – is that this law was intended more as a cautionary tale than a real rule. And this cautionary tale is aimed at all of us, “sons” and “fathers” alike. On the “son” part, it intends to tell us that our parents – through the representing institutions – have the ultimate authority upon us – even the power to kill us. The parents are the ones instructed with the role of our education; but they also have the authority to constrain us should we keep disobeying their orders. So extreme is the power parents have, that they can even lead to our death as disobedient sons.

But the lesson to the parents, in my mind, is even more striking. Allegedly, this section provides the parents with the ultimate solution to a very difficult and delicate problem; “Know you, all parents out there,” the Torah instructs us, “that should your son consistently disobey you, you are hereby granted with the ultimate power; you may – through the representing institution – put your son to death.” But this solution is of very little comfort. Very few parents would like to see their son die (even a disobedient son). And even fewer parents would like to actually send their son to his death by their own hands.

Indeed, perhaps the Torah is trying to tell us something much deeper here. Perhaps the message is that death can never be a solution; that even if you have the power to inflict death, in a relation between parents and children, you should never exercise that power – you should always opt for a much more sophisticated, and lesser harsh, sanctions to  try and amend the ways of your disobedient son.

And to that extent – that in the father-son context, death is never a real option for a solution – I find the Portion very rewarding this week.

Before I part with my usual Shabbat Shalom, I wanted to mention another very interesting Shabbat Blog – one relating to the Shabbat food. If you’re planning on having  - or going to – a Shabbat dinner, please give this blog a chance; you will not regret it.  http://www.edibletorah.com/

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron  

Parashat Shoftim, Deut. 17:18-21:9

This week’s potion – “Shoftim,” literally Judges – is a wonderful potion. It is wonderful because it still sounds fresh after thousands of years; it is wonderful because it contains many useful lessons – even today, in the age of ipad and i-can’t-get-any-advice-over-three-seconds-long; and it is wonderful because it shows us, as Kohelet observed later, that “nothing is new under the sun.”

Of the many issues that the Portion deals with, I want to focus on four: The Judges; the Police Officers; the Law of the King; and the “Green Heritage” of the bible. I will take those in turn.

1.      The Judges

The portion begins with both a descriptive and prescriptive role of Judges in the community. First, they should judge according to “the law of justice.” (Deut. 16:18) Then, they are ordered not to be biased; not to recognize one party over the other; and not to take bribes. While the first two orders are (apparently) self-explanatory, the last one – about bribes – receives a special, short-but-sweet explanation: “For the bribe will blind they eye of the wise,” and would “twist” (or “take out of context”) the “words of the just.” This is a wonderful analysis of the effect of bribe; until today, it is of full force and effect. This part ends with the wonderful order: “Justice, Justice you shall pursue.” (16:20) – Indeed, the quest for justice is never-ending; but still, this ideal state should always be pursued, despite all the hardships.

This section is one of the eloquent ever written about the judges’ role. Many judges – all around the world, from Israel to the U.S. and anywhere in between – have quotes from this passage hung in their chambers. And for good reasons; the more you think about it, the better judge you are. It not for nothing that judges of the Supreme Court are called “Justices”; now you also know why.  

2.      The Police Officers

Though the translation of the term from Hebrew – Shotrim – is straight-forward (police officers), the true meaning of the term is far from clear. These biblical office holders are probably not precisely the “policemen” of today, although it seems clear from the context that they are an arm of the executive branch (as they are today). Be it as it may, I want to focus today on a unique moment – in which those police officers are in charge – and that is the moment before setting out to war. The text begins with a description of what the spiritual authority – the Chief Priest (Cohen) – would tell the people (a form of religious pep-talk, if you will; see Deut. 20:2-4). But now comes the time of the “police officers.” They would stand before the people and start to provide “waivers” for all of those who would not be required to go to war: First, “He who just built anew house, but have yet to dedicate it.” He may go back home, “lest he would fall in battle and another man would dedicate his home.” Second, and very similar, “He who planted a vineyard but has never harvested it.” He, too, may go back home, for the exact same reason. In similar form “He who was engaged to a woman, but has yet to marry her,” may return home. Generally speaking, therefore, the bible recognizes (through the police officers) that for those who the war comes at a very bad timing, perhaps their heart would not be with the war but elsewhere; these people should be let go. But then comes a surprise: “And the police officers continued to speak to the people and said: Who is the man who is afraid, that his heart is soft (disheartened) – he should go back home.” But why? Why would the cowardly-acting warrior allowed to go back home? He has no home to dedicate, no vineyard to harvest, to wife to take – nothing, in fact, to wait for. So why? In one of my favorite movies, A Few Good Men (already known to loyal readers of this blog), Col. Nathan Jessop – played by Jack Nicholson in a career-defining role – comes face to face with the same exact question. In the movie, a failing Marine – Private William Santiago – is asking to a transfer from Gitmo, where he is currently stationed under the command of Jessop, primarily due to poor performance (a “sub-standard marine,” in Jessop’s language). Jessop, in turn, is consulting with two of his officers about the request. The two provide opposite solutions - one (Kiefer Sutherland) suggests he stays and be “re-educated,” while the other (J.T. Walsh) recommends he would be transferred as requested, as he simply is not fit to be a part of the team. Upon hearing that, Col. Jessup’s response is memorable:

Col. Jessep: Hmmmm... transfer Santiago. Yes, I'm sure you're right. I'm sure that's the thing to do. Wait a minute, I have a better idea. Let's transfer the whole squad off the base. Let's... On second thought, Windward! Let's transfer the whole Windward Division off the base. John, go on out there get those boys down off the fence, they're packing their bags. Tom! 
Tom: Yes, sir! 

Col. Jessep: Get me the President on the phone right away. We're surrendering our position in Cuba!

Tom: Yes, sir. 

Col. Jessep: Wait a minute, Tom, don't get the President just yet. Maybe we should consider this a second. Dismissed, Tom. Maybe, and I'm just spit balling here, maybe, we have a responsibility as officers to train young William. Maybe we as officers have a responsibility to this country to see to it that the men and women charged with its security are trained professionals. Yes, I'm certain I remember reading that somewhere once. And now I'm thinking, Col. Markinson, that your suggestion of transferring Santiago, while expeditious and certainly painless, might not be, in a matter of speaking, the American way. Santiago stays where he is. We're gonna train the lad! 

The biblical solution, however, is different. The bible suggests to release the “William Santyago’s” of the world, and to enable them to go back home prior to the war. But why? The answer is striking: “For he shall not melt his brethren’s heart as his own,” meaning – that his cowardness (and, in modern terms, “sub-standard performance”) would not be infectious. The interesting point here is on the focus: While Col. Jessup is focusing on “Young William” himself, the biblical text is more concerned with the effect such soldiers may have on their brothers-in-arms. Who is more right?   

3.      The Law of the King

This point is interesting only because of the striking contrast between the biblical Order (T’zivuy, like “Mitzvah”), and biblical Reality. Long before Shaul, our first King (and the tension that that institution created with Shmu’el, the head of the religious establishment at the time), the biblical text warns the people of Israel from an opulent king, who would be extremely extravert about his status. But reality, as it happens, is quite the contrast. Let us compare the writings here with the story of King Shlomo (Salomon):

Deut. 17:16: “(The King) should not have many horses… “

King Shlomo (Kings I, 5:6): “And King Shlomo had forty thousands stalls of horses, for his chariots, and twelve thousand horsemen.”

Deut.: “And he (The King) should not many women…”

King Shlomo: “And he (King Shlomo) had seven hundred (primary) wives, and three hundred concubines…” (King I, 11:4)

Deut.: “And he (The King) should not amass silver and gold….”

King Shlomo: “And all King Shlomo’s drinking vessels were of gold, and all the vessels of the house of the forest of Levanon were of pure gold; none were of silver – that was considered nothing gin the days of Shlomo… “

You get the idea.  

4.      Biblical “Green Heritage”?

Finally, a very interesting note – or warning, perhaps – appears in an unexpected place in the text. The subject of the discussion is the law of siege – what should you do while besieging a city “for many days.” And while we may expect the text to suggest to perhaps spare the lives of the women and children in the city, the text suddenly turn to discuss something completely different: the lives of the trees near the city. And here is what the bible tells us: “When in your war against a city you have to besiege it for many days in order to fight and capture it, you shall not destroy its trees or wield an ax over them, for you shall eat from that tree and you shall not cut it for a man is merely a tree in the field.” (Deut. 20:19) This last sentence, by the way, is the title of a beautiful poem by Nathan Zach, where he compares the growing of a tree to that of a human. (For a wonderful rendition, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HiswDU4JZSY).

Importantly, this shows us the great “green heritage” of the bible – which considers the lives of the trees in general, and in particular in times of war.

Shabbat Shalom,

Doron