Rabbi Ari Kahn
Parashat Ekev 5775
Rain
This past week was a
difficult one here in Israel. There were two separate incidents of murder and
attempted murder: First, a man who, based on his external dress, could be
called an orthodox, or even ultra- orthodox Jew, attacked other Jews in the
center of Jerusalem. Second, an Arab family was attacked, resulting in the
death of their youngest child, a toddler named Ali; although the investigation
is still underway, the evidence appears to indicate that the perpetrator or
perpetrators are, again, “observant” Jews. In both cases, the victims of this
unthinkable violence were the very members of society who often feel most
persecuted and vulnerable: the gay community on the one hand, and the Arab
community on the other.
For two thousand years,
Jews have endured one particular challenge in almost every corner of the globe:
They have lived as a persecuted minority. With the establishment of the State
of Israel, a new challenge emerged: Suddenly, for the first time in millennia, we
have been forced to grapple with the challenge of being in charge, of being the
majority. So many long-forgotten issues arose with the re-establishment of
Jewish sovereignty: How will minority groups be treated in the Jewish State?
How will those who are “different” be made to feel? Will we protect those “others”
– the disenfranchised, the outsiders, or will we make them feel vulnerable?
Although this week’s parashah does not address this topic
directly, we may gain insight into the Jewish approach to communal life through
Moshe’s final lessons to the Jews as they prepare to enter the Land. Moshe
speaks about the need to obey the word of God, to obey the commandments. The
consequence of disobedience, he warns them, is lack of rain. (Dvarim 11:16,17) Conversely,
if the people follow the will of God, we are assured that rain will fall in the
proper quantity and season; economic success is insured. (Dvarim 11:13-15)
What is clear from this
section is that the resulting prosperity is collective, and not individual. The
rain will not fall only on my crops while my neighbor’s field suffers from
drought. The experience of living in a country – especially our country, the Land
of Israel, which has a particularly sensitive spiritual constitution - is one
of collective economic destiny. Famine, as well as plenty, is a shared reality,
and is the result of the behavior of the collective.
There are those who would
argue that precisely because of this shared destiny, the religiously sensitive
person must step up, take the law into his or her own hands, and insure that
the Torah’s commandments are obeyed and enforced. This approach leads to
vigilantism of the type we have been subjected to this past week, and it is anathema
to Judaism.
From the dawn of our
history, Judaism has abhorred murder. The seven Noachide laws (Bereishit 9:5,6)
applied to Jews before the covenant at Sinai, and the Ten Commandments include
the prohibition of murder (Sh’mot 20:13). Rambam (Maimonides) describes why the
taking of a life is considered so severe:
Although there are
other sins that are more serious than murder, they do not present as serious a
danger to society as murder does. Even idol worship - and needless to say, sexual
sins or the violation of the Sabbath - are not considered as severe
as murder, for these other sins involve man's relationship with God, while
murder also involves man's relationship with his fellow man.
Whoever commits this
sin is an utterly wicked person. All the mitzvot that he performs throughout his lifetime cannot
outweigh this sin or save him from judgment. (Laws of Murder and Preservation
of Live chapter 4 law 9)
The sin of murder
eclipses any good deeds the murderer has done or will do in the future. Thus, a
person dressed in “religious garb” who commits murder – is simply a murderer in
religious garb, no more and no less. Neither the choice of clothing nor any
other religious behavior or affectation will save him or her when the time
comes to stand before God and be judged. A murderer may clothe himself in any
fashion he chooses, but he is naked in terms of spirituality.
According to Rambam,
murder is the most terrible sin precisely because it poses the gravest threat
to human society. Taking another person’s life (other than cases of self-
defense) - no matter who they are or what you believe them to be guilty of - causes
the delicate fabric of society to unravel.[1] Murder
pollutes the collective, undermines society at its most basic level – and makes
prosperity impossible for each and every individual as well as for society as a
whole.
For
a more in-depth analysis see:
[1]
Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (1843-1926), in his commentary to the Torah Meshech Chochma(Shmot 21:14), opines
that the killing of a non-Jew is even worse than the killing of a Jew.
