August 25th: Ki Tetzay
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Ellis Rivkin, one of my favorite professors at the Hebrew Union College, used to raise eyebrows when he would declare that he is a fundamentalist—believing everything in the Bible literally. In a place founded on Die Wissenschaft des Judentums, the Science of Judaism, and subsequently a champion of The Documentary Hypothesis and other interpretations that speak against fundamentalism and literalism, his comment was always provocative. That is, until he would add, “Since the Bible has so many different and conflicting opinions, I can believe whatever I want and always find some Biblical passages to support me.”
A similar message—though less eyebrow raising—has been constant at the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, where I have been studying for the past several years. There, they put it this way: The Torah, as well as the rest of the Bible, and the Talmud present a chorus of voices, representing many diverse views about God, Jewish ritual, morality, the Jewish people, etc. Our Tradition reflects a continuing conversation over the things in life that matter the most, and, over the centuries, many wise people have contributed to our tribal deliberations.
I think of this dynamic when I read this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tetzay, and its opening words, “When you go forth to war…” (Deuteronomy 21.10) In a Tradition that prizes peace and tranquility—and justice and kindness, what’s with the “war talk?”
Consider just a few of our peace scriptures:
“Hineh mah-tov umah-na’im shevet achim gam-yachad.
Behold, how good and pleasant it is when people dwell together (in peace).” (Psalms 133.1)
“And they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more.
But they shall sit, everyone, under their vines or fig trees, and none shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4.3-4)
“The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard lie down with the kid;
The calf, the beast of prey, and the fatling together, with a little boy to herd them.
The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together;
And the lion, like the ox, shall eat straw.
A baby shall play over a viper’s hole, and an infant pass his hand over an adder’s den.
In all of My sacred mount, nothing evil or vile shall be done;
For the land shall be filled with devotion to the Lord as water covers the sea.” (Isaiah 11.6-9)
The Prophets and Psalmists hold up these idyllic visions and desire them earnestly. However, as a colleague once quipped, “The lion lying down next to the lamb gets to decide how long he wants to be a vegetarian.” There are times when peace is not possible—when the lion changes his diet, and as much as we look forward to better times—peaceful and tolerant times, there are enemies out there, and self-defense is necessary.
In Ki Tetzay, we are plunged immediately into the barbarism and unholiness of war. The trauma of battle, the anticipation of what losing will mean, and the adrenal intensity of killing can turn even the most civilized people into scary creatures—and the Torah attempts to give guidance and moral moderation for those extraordinary moments.
The passage that begins the portion is particularly difficult because its subject is battlefield rape, and the alternative suggestion—the “better” plan—is essentially postponement. A cooling-down period and marriage (without the possibility of divorce) may be better than the horror of the battlefield, but the captive woman’s lot is far from ideal—far from what we hope for our mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters. We shudder at the inclusion of such barbarity in our Torah, and yet, the Torah does not only deal with idyllic and pastoral scenes—or with people whose lives are easy. For far too many people both Jewish and Gentile, life is difficult and filled with dangers and abuse. In such situations, prayers and visions take a markedly realistic and practical tone.
As much as we shudder at such a plight for our enemies, we fear even more what could happen to us. And so, we prepare for war and learn to defend ourselves. It will be wonderful when we can beat our swords and spears into farm tools, but, in the meantime, we need sharp swords and the skills to use them. As Hillel reminds us, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” (Avot 1.15)
I am not a warlike person. I did not have to serve in the military, and I have no idea how I would have coped—or how they would have assigned me. And yet, in my own unmilitary, unwarlike, unaggressive, and weak sensibility, I am profoundly appreciative of those strong and brave people who defend me and my loved ones. Appreciation and thankfulness is a mitzvah.
In Psalm 29, the subject is God’s power. God’s voice thunders, overwhelms the mighty waters. It breaks the cedars of Lebanon and kindles flames of fire. It is majestic and ever-present, bringing both destruction and creation—convulsing the wilderness and helping deer give birth. God’s glory is made known in every bit of Creation, and we pray for some of that power to be shared with us.
“Adonai oz l’amo yiten. Adonai yivarech et amo vashalom.
When the Lord gives our people strength, the Lord allows us the blessing of peace.”