Getting Rid of the Evil Among Us

Parshat Ki Tetze 

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

 From the one time in Re’eh to the three times in Shoftim to the five times in Ki Tetze, the Torah tells us nine times to eradicate evil – “Uvi’arta hara” – from either amongst you, or amongst all of Israel.

 It would seem that in most of these cases, as well as others in our parsha, the Torah is advocating for a death penalty kind of punishment for those who are either guilty of a crime, or are in violation of a mitzvah.

 Most people I know would have much less of a problem with capital punishment for truly evil people, such as murderers and terrorists. This is likely true in times of peace, but is even more true during times of war when the swift justice of war eradicates evil people.

 But for sinners?

 We are all sinners! Why would we advocate for these death penalty punishments, or any kind of corporal punishment, when the laws which trigger these punishments are so easily violated? I have seen Sharia law advocates explain that the law is meant to be a deterrent, and that the message of “they will hear and they will fear” will serve as the inspiration to create a moral society as we weed out the bad apples among us. Even if this works in theory, the lack of compassion, and the lack of a soul in the hands of the executor of "justice" is so anti the civil society we have accepted as tolerant and (acceptably) liberal.

 The problem with applying the literal presentation of the Torah's laws in our parsha as "the way the Jewish society was" is that the court system always required witnesses and warnings. And if the warning was not issued in the proper fashion (let alone if it was not issued at all), or if there were no witnesses, or if the witnesses did not fit the necessary criteria or were somehow disqualified (such as if they were related to one another or to one of the claimants), the court case is more of a spectacle than an effective system of punishment. The corporal punishments the Torah describes are immediately thrown off the table.

 Understanding to which crimes and sins specific punishments were appended requires a careful reading of Devarim chapters 17-24. But all of the cases in question come with Talmudic caveats. The rebellious son never existed. The betrothed daughter at that specific age was never unfaithful. Warnings. Witnesses. Etc.

 How then is a just society created if the court system has its hands bound and can’t carry out the law?

Two elements come into play in a society living under God. Firstly, monetary cases are decided by the courts. Documents always had to have witnesses. Legal jargon may not have been what it is today, but the paperwork was there. And courts could decide between he said-he said cases, even in the absence of witnesses.

 The other element is God’s role. The God fearing individual reads the Torah, understands the gravity of the worst sins described in the Torah, and makes a conscious choice not to violate, and to otherwise live a holy existence, to the best of one’s ability.

 Otherwise, between the punishment known as “kares” (which has many possible manifestations) and “misah bidei shamayim” (death at the hands of heaven), the courts would put certain punishments in the hands of Heaven. Imagine the otherwise guilty party (minus the necessary proof to actually convict) walking out of court with the judges saying, “Good luck because you’re going to need it. God is going to get you.”

 What will it take? A car accident? A slip and fall? A heart attack? Or, in those days, perhaps getting gored by an animal running amok? Precisely.

 I am not suggesting that the victims of tragedies like these in our day are being punished for indiscretions. Even if they were guilty of certain sins (after all, aren’t we all?), in most cases it was private, and it was certainly never adjudicated in court. More likely they were not even remotely guilty of the sins of the magnitude described in our parsha. How then do we explain why tragedy struck?

 We can’t. And those who think they know the answers are fools and should be shunned. Sometimes we don’t know and can’t understand the ways of God. Saying things like “it was his time” and “God wanted it this way” are the wrong things to say to people who are filled with questions.

Two final points. I read an opinion piece in Haaretz this week that suggested that as we have evolved from the punishments described in the Torah and no longer practice “an eye for an eye” and capital punishment, we should also consider getting rid of Bris Milah, as the author suggested, “Ritual circumcision is the only act of physical harm that remains.”

 The author’s misunderstanding of the corporal and capital punishments aside (most of which were either monetary compensation to victims or impossible-to-enforce capital punishment), he completely misunderstands what Bris Milah is all about. The Covenant is not viewed as a punishment. It is a gift from God. The act of circumcision is an act of faith that has been adequately addressed by Rabbi Akiva almost two thousand years ago. (Midrash Tanchuma Tazria 7) 

 Finally, we are to understand that as much as society “evolves” the Torah’s truths remain. The punishments described for the heinous crimes and sins are meant to illustrate just how badly these specific violations tear apart the fabric of our Torah-guided society.

 Our goal is to weed out sinners. And we do that through educating sinners not to sin. May we all become experts in Torah knowledge so we can not only continue to enhance our wonderful society, but be a light to the world for how to treat our fellow man.

For All My Life

A Rosh Hashana Message

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The Talmud in Kiddushin (40b) has a fascinating passage describing the merits process, which is quite applicable to this time of year.

"Our Rabbis taught: A person should always regard himself as though he were half guilty and half meritorious: if he performs one mitzvah, happy is he for weighting himself down in the scale of merit. If he commits one transgression, woe to him for weighting himself down in the scale of guilt. It is said, 'But one sinner destroys much good' (Kohelet 9). In other words, on account of a single sin which he commits much good is lost to him.

"R. Eleazar son of R. Shimon said: Since the world is judged by its majority, and an individual is also judged by his majority [of deeds, good or bad], if he performs one good deed, happy is he for turning the scale both for himself and for the whole world on the side of merit. But if he commits one transgression, woe to him for weighting himself and the whole world in the scale of guilt, for it is said: ‘but one sinner, etc.’ — on account of the single sin which this man commits he and the whole world lose much good.

"R. Shimon Bar Yohai said: Even if he is perfectly righteous all his life but rebels at the end, he destroys his former [good deeds], for it is said: The righteousness of the righteous shall not deliver him in the day of his transgression (Yechezkel 33). And even if one is completely wicked all his life but repents at the end, he is not reproached with his wickedness, for it is said, 'And as for the wickedness of the wicked, he shall not fall thereby in the day that he turns from his wickedness' (ibid).

"Yet let it be regarded as half transgressions and half meritorious deeds! — Said Resh Lakish: It means that he regretted his former deeds."

The first part of the passage describes the scale we all envision – where our positive deeds and fulfilled mitzvot sit on one weight counter, being weighed against our bad deeds, violations of sin and transgressed negative commandments. This balance act of merits versus demerits is easy for us to understand.

But the teaching of R Shimon Bar Yochai serves to indicate that in some cases, a person can literally be judged based on one's most recent deeds. One who has been good one's entire life can throw everything away in an instant, while one who has been bad can be redeemed in an instant.

Are we reducing Rosh Hashana to a children's game, where we behave nicely right before Rosh Hashana, so Santa Claus will give us the present we want?

Hardly. This is where Resh Lakish comes in. We can't just be judged for our most recent deeds. We must regret our misdeeds of the past as well, and make a commitment not to return to our ways of old.

Herein lies the difference for all of us. It is very easy to say on any given day, "I will be a good person today. I am being judged today. I am being watched today. I will perform well today." It is much more difficult to make a conscience choice to make a commitment today that will last for the rest of my life.

But Resh Lakish is reminding us that we can sincerely regret our past misdeeds, at any time, any day.

If we bring a fair dose of sincerity, and honest feelings of recommitment and renewal to striving to be better people in this coming year, it is our hope we will merit all the blessings that come upon those who truly earn for themselves a sweet new year.

Shana Tova to all.

What was Tzlafchad's Sin?

A few years after writing this, I revisited Tzlafchad's sin over here
Parshat Pinchas

by Rabbi Avi Billet

“Our father died in the desert” (27:3) claim the daughters of Tzlafchad as they build their case to earn his portion in Canaan. Why would they use this as their opening statement when, after all, an entire generation died in the desert?

Chizkuni’s quick solution is that Tzlafchad was under twenty at the time of the spies incident and was not supposed to die on account of that decree and thus died from some other sin.

In the same verse, his daughters continue, “He was not among the members of Korach’s party who protested against G-d, but he died because of his own sin…” This claim could imply that the Korach rebellion either coincided with or preceded his death. Had he died before Korach, they would have said he “was not part of a previous group who had sinned” – such as the spies.

Furthermore, it would stand to reason that the deed for which he was punished was an objectively innocent one, as opposed to a deliberate and purposeful direct affront to G-d. Were he a real sinner, could his daughters use his sin as leverage to grant them their father’s inheritance? Can you imagine Datan’s and Aviram’s children saying “Our fathers died – but we want their inheritance?”

So what was his sin?

Rashi quotes the Gemara Shabbat 96b-97a and Sifrei 113 which record the opinion of Rabbi Akiva that Tzlafchad was the wood gatherer of Bamidbar 15:33 who was stoned for deliberately violating Shabbat in public. Since his daughters say “Our father died in the desert” and the Torah there says “When the Israelites were in the desert, a man was found gathering wood” the two stories are equated.

Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira (same gemara) is troubled with Rabbi Akiva’s attempt to identify the wood-gatherer when the Torah deliberately left him anonymous. How could this crime be pinned on Tzlafchad? He suggests Tzlafchad was one of the Ma’apilim, who tried to invade and conquer the land in the immediate aftermath of the spies, after the generation was told they’d die in the desert.

Many commentaries suggest he had a private sin, one in which he did not cause others to follow his lead.

The Zohar on Parshat Balak (Volume 3, page 205) uses a number of hints and nuances to create a different picture.

Tzlafchad was a leader – a “rav” (not a rabbi) – but he was not eligible to be a prince of his tribe because he was an “am haaretz” – not knowledgeable in Torah. When the Torah tells us “An ‘am rav’ died” on account of the snake bites in Parshat Chukat, it refers to an individual “am haaretz” who was a “rav” in his Israelite family.

When his daughters said, “Our father died ‘bamidbar’ – in the desert” the word “bamidbar” could be read to mean “b’dibbur” – on account of his speech, or complaints.

Taking nothing for granted, the Zohar offers a final proof, noting that the cantillation mark on the word “avinu” – our father – is a serpent-shaped zarka, which indicates that ‘our father’ was the lone person to die from a serpent bite in that incident.

The snakes were sent because those with gripes about manna spoke ill of G-d and Moshe. Objectively speaking, complaining is not necessarily sinning, because many complaints in the Torah do not result in punishment. It is compelling to suggest only one person died, as four verses earlier when the Canaanites took prisoners-of-war, commentaries say they only took one maidservant captive. Furthermore, unlike in other cases of plague where corpses are left behind for the counting (as opposed to when they’re swallowed by the ground ala Korach and company), we are given a tally of the dead. With the snakes, we are not given a number – which points to it being a small number such as “one.”

After telling Rabbi Akiva it is unfair to pin a sin on Tzalfchad, Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira does so himself, effectively ignoring that part of his own argument. The Torah gives us a number of examples of anonymous individuals who sinned – they remain so because their sin is not worthy to gain them infamy.

But in the case of Tzlafchad, the Torah retroactively pardons him and allows his daughters to inherit his property? Why?

There are times when people deliberately sin and give every indication of their inherent evil. And there are times when people make mistakes: something bugs them, and they take it to an extreme.

Rabbi Akiva takes a person who violates a fundamental tenet of the Torah and gives him a pardon through his daughters. Rabbi Yehuda ben Beteira takes one individual out of a group of many, and focuses on him to say he alone deserves to live on in perpetuity, despite the fact that he was part of a group.

The Zohar argues that he acted alone, did not involve others, was not objectively rebelling against G-d, and he was punished on the spot for his mistake. But that does not mean that his name needs to be driven through the mud, forgotten and punished forever. Sometimes death is indeed a “kapparah” (a source of forgiveness for the soul), which allows the family to move on, while still being accepted and generally involved in the community.