Parashat Ki Tetze: Amalek and Fearing God

 Parashat Ki Tetze: Amalek and Fearing God

Rabbi Ari Kahn

At the very end of this week's Parsha, Ki Tetze, the Torah turns and tells us about a battle that took place long ago — a battle against a people called Amalek. This happened when the Jews left Egypt, before they arrived at Sinai.[1]

Amalek attacked them, and at the time, no reason was given. There was no stated motivation. We were simply traveling along the way.

Generally, when there's a war, there's a reason. You enter someone’s territory, you take something they want, or they want something you have. But here, the Torah doesn’t tell us why it happened at all.

This section is known as Parshat Zachor. It reminds us to remember — and not to forget — what Amalek did to us.[2] It describes how we were traveling, tired, and then includes a clause that’s not entirely clear who it applies to.

It says that you, the Jewish people, were tired and didn’t fear God. But that’s not how Rashi interprets it. Rashi says Amalek didn’t fear God — and that helps us understand their motivation.[3] Why did they attack us? Because they were people who lacked fear of God.

Sometimes, there doesn’t need to be a conventional reason. We can begin to see theological layers. The Jews had just left Egypt — an incredible act of divine intervention. The splitting of the sea. They were on their way to Mount Sinai. Amalek didn’t like all this “God fanfare.” They didn’t fear God — and so they attacked.

But there’s another approach. And the truth is, both interpretations appear in a very early Rabbinic source known as the Mechilta.[4] This second approach suggests that the lack of fear of God refers not to Amalek — but to the Jews.

To understand this, the Mechilta takes us back a step. Right before the episode of Amalek and the commandment to remember what happened, there’s another commandment — one about honesty.

It says that when you run a business, when you engage in barter, your weights must be honest and consistent.[5] The weights you use to buy should be the same as those you use to sell. You need to be consistent. You need to be honest in business.

Now, how is this a backdrop to the story of Amalek?

Well, Amalek comes from a particular family — the family of Avraham and Sarah, Yitzhak and Rivka. Amalek is a descendant of none other than Esau.[6] And if we go back to the source of Esau’s hatred toward Yaakov, we find an episode: Esau comes in from the field, hungry, and asks Yaakov for food. Yaakov says, “Sure — sell me your birthright”.[7]

Now, in context, Esau was happy with the deal. But perhaps this sets a precedent — one that demands caution in our business practices. It could be that the family of Esau — and later Amalek — passed down a version of the story that didn’t emphasize Esau’s disdain for the birthright, but instead painted Yaakov as manipulative: “You know what Yaakov did to me? You know how he does business?”

This becomes the seed of many accusations about Jewish business practices — and it all goes back to that moment between Yaakov and Esau.

So when the Torah says we didn’t fear God, it may be telling us something deeper. That we need to be very careful. If we want to be victorious against our enemies, we must be honest, decent, and fair — both with one another and with others.

In that sense, Rashi’s interpretation — that Amalek are simply bad people — resonates. But the other voice, found in the commentaries of Ibn Ezra, Tosafot, Chizkuni, and others,[8] offers a sobering reminder: not to blame the victim, but to emphasize the importance of internal integrity. Especially when going to war, we must ensure our house is in order. Because if we lack decency, we become vulnerable — vulnerable to attacks from people like Amalek.

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[1] Exodus 17:8–16 — The battle with Amalek occurs shortly after the Exodus, before the giving of the Torah at Sinai.

[2] Deuteronomy 25:17–19 — The commandment to remember Amalek is found at the end of Parashat Ki Tetze.

[3] Rashi on Deuteronomy 25:18 — Rashi interprets “and he did not fear God” as referring to Amalek.

[4] Mechilta de-Rabbi Yishmael, Amalek 1 — Offers both interpretations: that the lack of fear of God refers to Amalek or to Israel.

[5] Deuteronomy 25:13–16 — The commandment about honest weights and measures precedes the Amalek passage.

[6] Genesis 36:12 — Amalek is the grandson of Esau through Eliphaz and Timna.

[7] Genesis 25:29–34 — The episode of Esau selling his birthright to Yaakov.

[8] See Ibn Ezra, Tosafot, Chizkuni, and Hizkuni on Deuteronomy 25:18 — These commentaries explore the possibility that the verse refers to Israel’s lack of fear of God.

 

Parashat Ki Tetze: An Imperfect World

 

Parashat Ki Tetze: An Imperfect World

Rabbi Ari Kahn

A number of years ago, I had an idea to write a book about Jewish law. The book I envisioned would be a little different from others. And for those curious — no, I didn’t get very far.

I had a cover idea: Halacha — Jewish Law for an Imperfect World. Because what I saw was that many books dealt with the ideal world, the way things are supposed to be.

But the problem — which I felt then and still feel now — is that the world we live in is far from perfect. And not only the world, but the people in it are incredibly imperfect.

In this week’s parasha, Ki Tetze, the Torah speaks about marriage. And if you look carefully, you’ll find five different ways marriage is addressed — none of them quite the romantic ideal of “boy meets girl, they fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after.”

Instead, it begins with a man going to war, seeing a woman, and taking her captive.[1] That’s not how marriage is supposed to happen.

Then it speaks of a man having more than one wife — a situation the Torah theoretically allows.[2] But it also describes the inevitable fallout: one wife is loved, the other is not, and the children born into this dynamic suffer the consequences.[3]

What the Torah is describing here is case after case of dysfunction. Situations that are not ideal. Not the way things are supposed to be.

So we have to ask: why would the Torah do this?

The answer is simple — because we live in an imperfect world. And the Torah gives us examples of imperfection, some of which we hope are beyond our imagination. But they still exist. And the Torah addresses them.

There are behaviors that are abhorrent — but they must be spoken about. Because ethics isn’t always about choosing between good and bad. That’s easy.

Ethics is what we need when the choice is between bad and worse. Or between two bad options. What do we do then?

Jewish ideals teach us that in those moments, we must choose the path that brings us closer to God.

And that’s not always simple. There are short-term and long-term consequences to consider. But when I look through this week’s parasha, I appreciate how it doesn’t shy away from imperfection — from lust, desire, cheating, and other behaviors we abhor. The Torah speaks about them because we need to.

We need to educate ourselves and others — our children, our students, our communities — about how to avoid these situations. We need strategies.

Take the opening of the parasha: a man goes to war, sees a beautiful woman, and desires her. The Torah says: fine — but realize something. You must bring her home. She becomes your wife.[4]

She gets the credit card. She gets full rights. Full privileges.

This isn’t a casual encounter. The Torah doesn’t allow a relationship outside the framework of marriage. And in a way, this framework works better than a cold shower.

She gets the credit card. She gets full rights. Think about that — and behave yourself.

The Torah is talking about passion. About war. About things that, in a perfect world, wouldn’t exist. But in our world, they do.

And the Torah gives us examples to help us navigate this world. To help us counter the yetzer hara — the evil inclination. One of the best strategies? Long-term thinking. Consider the consequences. Step out of the heat of battle. Step out of the moment.

Step out of the imperfect world we’re presented with — and try to make it a place that’s just a little more perfect.

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[1] Deuteronomy 21:10–14 — The laws of the captive woman (eshet yefat to’ar) taken in war.

[2] Deuteronomy 21:15–17 — The case of a man with two wives, one loved and one unloved.

[3] See Rashi and Sifrei on Deuteronomy 21 — These sources explore the consequences of favoritism and family dysfunction.

[4] Talmud Bavli, Kiddushin 21b — Discusses the laws and moral implications of the captive woman and the Torah’s attempt to regulate desire.

Parashat Ki Tetze: Remembering What to Remember

 

Parashat Ki Tetze: Remembering What to Remember

Rabbi Ari Kahn

This week’s parasha is Ki Tetze. Of all the parshiot in the Torah, this one is among the most densely packed with mitzvot — commandments. But if we look closely, many of these mitzvot deal with what we might call imperfect situations.

They address people who aren’t necessarily the nicest. People guilty of abuse. People who malign others — verbally, physically, sexually. Rapists. People who cheat in business. And as uncomfortable as it may be, these people too are part of the Jewish people. They too need laws. There must be consequences for these actions, and society must know how to respond.

But I want to focus on the very end of the parasha — where the Torah revisits an episode from long ago: the battle against Amalek. We’re told to remember it.

We read Parashat Zachor: “Remember what Amalek did to you”.[1] But in order to remember what Amalek did, we first need to understand what it was they did.

On the surface, Amalek attacked us without provocation. But if we look deeper, we begin to see a motive. Amalek attacked because the Jewish people were on their way to the Land of Israel.

Amalek are descendants of Esav. And perhaps, even though they sold the birthright, they experienced seller’s regret. They gave up the responsibilities — including slavery in Egypt — but now they want the prize at the end: the Land of Israel.[2]

There’s another layer here, one that Rashi grapples with. When the Jews left Egypt, we’re told they were surrounded by divine clouds — clouds that protected them from the elements and presumably from enemies.[3] So how did Amalek succeed in attacking?

To answer that, we need to go back to Parashat Beshalach. The Jews cross the sea, and immediately there are complaints: the water isn’t drinkable. Then the food runs out. More complaints. Understandable, perhaps.

Then again, complaints about water. But this time, they question whether God is with them. And immediately after that, the Torah says: “And Amalek came”.[4]

Now back to Rashi’s comment in Ki Tetze: Amalek attacked those Jews who were thrust out from under the protective clouds — because of their behavior, their morals, their belief.[5]

Those who didn’t believe in the divine were not granted divine protection. And they became vulnerable. Amalek attacked them. Those were the people Amalek killed.

Which means the battle of Amalek — the one we’re told to remember — was a battle fought for those on the fringe. Not the most respected members of the community. Quite the opposite.

Today, we might call them “off the derekh.” Not mainstream. Not fully observant. Not fully accepted.

Those were the people Amalek succeeded in attacking. And those were the people we went to war to protect.

So when we’re told to remember Amalek, it’s not just about remembering the enemy. It’s about remembering the circumstances. Remembering how Jews were pushed to the margins. How they became vulnerable. How they became victims.

And it’s those victims we must protect. It’s those people on the fringe who may need our protection more than anyone else.

That’s what we’re supposed to remember. Remember Amalek. Remember the story. But more importantly — remember who we fought for.

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[1] Deuteronomy 25:17–19 — The commandment to remember what Amalek did.

[2] Genesis 36:12 — Amalek is a descendant of Esav through Eliphaz and Timna.

[3] Exodus 13:21–22 — Describes the divine cloud that guided and protected the Israelites.

[4] Exodus 17:7–8 — After the Israelites question God’s presence, Amalek attacks.

[5] Rashi on Deuteronomy 25:18 — Explains that Amalek attacked those who were expelled from the protective clouds due to their behavior and beliefs.

Parashat Shoftim — May Lead to Mixed Dancing

 

Parashat Shoftim — May Lead to Mixed Dancing

Rabbi Ari Kahn

Exploring the Slippery Slope of Celebration and Boundaries in Jewish Thought

From what I can tell, there are two types of slippery slope arguments: the kind we make (which we tend to like), and the kind others make (which we tend to dismiss). Most people use the phrase “slippery slope” to highlight how a seemingly minor action could lead to an extreme or absurd conclusion.

Orthodox Jews, however, have their own version of this argument—often delivered with a touch of irony:
“Well, that may lead to mixed dancing.”
It’s usually said with a chuckle, but I suspect most people have no idea where this phrase originates or what it’s actually referencing. Surprisingly, its roots may lie in an understanding of something written in this week’s parsha, Shoftim.

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Shoftim and Shotrim: Judges and Enforcers

The parsha opens with the command:

“שֹׁפְטִים וְשֹׁטְרִים תִּתֵּן לְךָ בְּכָל שְׁעָרֶיךָ”
“You shall appoint judges and officers in all your gates” (Deuteronomy 16:18).

The Torah is clearly concerned with maintaining order. A shoter—whether a police officer or someone who enforces judicial decisions—is part of a system designed to uphold justice.

Rabbi Mordechai Yaffe (the Lavush), a 16th-century halachic authority and student of the Rema, offers a subtle insight. Though he doesn’t cite this verse directly, he implies a connection between the end of last week’s parsha (Re’eh) and the beginning of Shoftim.¹

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Joy, Celebration… and Boundaries

Parashat Re’eh ends with a discussion of the holidays—joyous occasions filled with celebration and communal festivity (Deuteronomy 16:13–17). The transition from joy to judgment may seem abrupt, but the Lavush—and even the non-Jewish chapter divisions attributed to the Archbishop of Canterbury²—suggest continuity. The Torah moves from celebration to regulation, from joy to oversight.

Why? Because joy, especially when accompanied by wine and music, can lead to poor decisions. The Talmud hints at this concern:

“אין שמחה אלא בבשר ויין” — “There is no joy except with meat and wine” (Pesachim 109a),
but also warns of the dangers of intoxication and frivolity.

The Rambam codifies this in Hilchot Yom Tov:

“When eating and drinking, one must not be drawn to laughter, frivolity, or drunkenness... this is not joy, but debauchery.”³

He also notes the need for communal oversight during holidays to prevent inappropriate behavior.

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From Celebration to Concern

This idea—that celebration requires boundaries—was taken seriously by halachic authorities. The verses in Shoftim speak of national identity: a homeland, a central place of worship, and a judicial system. But once these concepts were abstracted from their national context, they were applied to communal life in a broader sense.

And that’s where the concern about dancing comes in.

Rabbi Baruch Steinhardt of Germany, in the 18th century, warned that dancing—especially when combined with alcohol and music—could lead to mixed dancing.⁴ His caution wasn’t about dancing per se—it was about what dancing could lead to.

This concern was echoed by major halachic figures:

• Rav Akiva Eiger wrote in his glosses to Shulchan Aruch that one must be cautious about gatherings that could lead to frivolity and immodesty.⁵
• The Chafetz Chaim, in Mishna Berurah, also emphasized the importance of maintaining decorum during celebrations.⁶

They both referenced the need for vigilance, lest joy turn into impropriety.

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Is This Still Relevant?

It’s easy to be cynical. “That may lead to mixed dancing” has become a punchline. But in a post–Me Too world, where we’ve seen how blurred boundaries can lead to real harm, perhaps this concern deserves a second look.

The Torah’s juxtaposition of joy and judgment isn’t accidental. It’s a reminder that holiness doesn’t mean rejecting joy—it means sanctifying it. And sometimes, that requires boundaries.

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Footnotes

1. Lavush, Orach Chaim, commentary on the structure of parshiot and their thematic transitions.
2. The chapter divisions in the Bible were introduced by Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the 13th century.
3. Rambam, Hilchot Yom Tov 6:20.
4. Rabbi Baruch Steinhardt, cited in responsa literature regarding communal dancing and modesty.
5. Rav Akiva Eiger, glosses to Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 529.
6. Mishna Berurah 529:17.

Parashat Shoftim — Torah from Zion

 

Parashat Shoftim — Torah from Zion

Rabbi Ari Kahn

In this week’s parasha, Shoftim, the Torah outlines the judicial structure of the Israelite nation. On two separate occasions, it addresses how legal questions should be resolved—first through local courts, and then through a central authority in Jerusalem.

 Local Courts: Justice in Every Gate

The parasha begins:

“שֹׁפְטִים וְשֹׁטְרִים תִּתֵּן לְךָ בְּכָל שְׁעָרֶיךָ”
“You shall appoint judges and officers in all your gates…”
(Deuteronomy 16:18)

This verse establishes the requirement for a judicial system in every city—b’chol she’arecha. When disputes arise, litigants are expected to approach their local courts. These courts are empowered to rule on matters based on received tradition—mesorah—passed down from teacher to student.¹

However, their authority is limited. They may only rule on matters for which they have a clear tradition. They are not permitted to innovate or set new legal precedents.

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The Supreme Court: Torah from Zion

Later in the parasha, the Torah describes a different kind of legal escalation:

“וּבָאתָ אֶל הַכֹּהֲנִים הַלְוִיִּם וְאֶל הַשֹּׁפֵט… אֲשֶׁר יִהְיֶה בַּיָּמִים הָהֵם”
“You shall come to the priests, the Levites, and to the judge who will be in those days…”
(Deuteronomy 17:9)

This refers to ascending to HaMakom asher Yivchar Hashem—the place that God will choose, ultimately identified as Jerusalem and the Beit HaMikdash.² This central court, known as the Sanhedrin, is the only body authorized to issue new rulings and establish legal precedent.³

The juxtaposition of ritual and justice here is striking. The Temple is not only a place of prayer and sacrifice—it is also the seat of legal authority. Justice and holiness are intertwined.

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Theological Implications: Law from Heaven

This duality echoes the earliest description of the Mishkan:

“וְנוֹעַדְתִּי לְךָ שָׁם וְדִבַּרְתִּי אִתְּךָ מֵעַל הַכַּפֹּרֶת מִבֵּין שְׁנֵי הַכְּרֻבִים…”
“I will meet with you there and speak with you from above the cover, from between the two cherubim…”
(Exodus 25:22)

The Aron housed the Luchot, and the Kruvim symbolized divine communication. The Mishkan—and later the Temple—was a conduit through which the Word of God descended into the world.⁴

Thus, when the central court issues a new ruling, it is not merely a legal act—it is a theological moment. The precedent flows from heaven, through the judges, into the people. This is Torah from Zion.

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Inspiration and Authority

The authority of judges is not solely based on wisdom or integrity—though both are essential. Their legitimacy stems from divine involvement in history. Just as God gave the Torah to Moshe, He continues to inspire those who study and adjudicate Torah law.

The Jerusalem Talmud teaches:

תלמוד ירושלמי מסכת פאה פרק ב הלכה ד

ריב"ל אמר עליהם ועליהם כל ככל דברים הדברים מקרא משנה תלמוד ואגדה אפי' מה שתלמיד ותיק עתיד להורות לפני רבו כבר נאמר למשה בסיני

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said: All of them—all the words—Scripture, Mishnah, Talmud, and Aggadah—even what a seasoned student is destined to teach before his teacher was already said to Moshe at Sinai. Jerusalem Talmud, Peah 2:4

This affirms that divine wisdom continues to flow through sincere Torah study and halachic deliberation.

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Personal Reflection: Torah in Jerusalem

As I sit on my porch overlooking the hills of Jerusalem, I’m reminded that this city is not just a place of history—it is a place where the Word of God descended and continues to resonate. From here, Torah flowed to the people, was taught in every city, and judged in every gate.

But for Torah teachings to emerge—for precedent to be set—God must “open the heavens” and inspire those who seek truth. That is the essence of Torah from Zion.

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 Footnotes

1. Rambam, Hilchot Sanhedrin 1:1–4 — outlines the structure of local courts and their reliance on tradition.
2. Sifrei Devarim 153 — identifies “the place God will choose” as Jerusalem.
3. Mishnah, Sanhedrin 11:2 — only the Great Sanhedrin in the Temple can issue binding legal rulings.
4. Rashi on Exodus 25:22 — explains the Kruvim as the source of divine communication.

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Parashat Shoftim — Building a Society of Justice

 

Parashat Shoftim — Building a Society of Justice

Rabbi Ari Kahn

This week’s parasha opens with a foundational directive for national life:

“שֹׁפְטִים וְשֹׁטְרִים תִּתֵּן לְךָ בְּכָל שְׁעָרֶיךָ”
“You shall appoint judges and officers in all your gates”
(Deuteronomy 16:18)

On the surface, this verse speaks to the infrastructure of a just society—courts and enforcement. But over the centuries, it has also been interpreted on a deeply personal level.

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The Individual Gates: Rav Chaim Vital’s Interpretation

Rav Chaim Vital, the principal disciple of the Arizal, offers a spiritualized reading:

“בכל שעריך” refers not only to city gates, but to the gates of the human body—our senses.¹

According to this view, each person must appoint internal “judges and officers” to guard their eyes, ears, and mouth. It’s a call for spiritual vigilance, a reminder to protect ourselves from harmful influences.

This interpretation resonated especially in the Diaspora, where Jews lacked national sovereignty. Rav Chaim Vital’s insight transformed a civic command into a personal ethic, making Torah relevant to every individual.

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The Peshat: Building a Nation

Yet the peshat—the plain meaning—remains powerful. The Torah is speaking about society. In ancient Israel, judges sat at the city gates, the public square, where justice was visible and accessible.²

Moshe Rabbeinu, nearing the end of his life, is preparing the people to enter the Land. They are about to transition from a tribal wilderness existence to a national society. And that society must be built on law, order, and justice.

This is not just a metaphor. It’s a blueprint.

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From Diaspora to Sovereignty

For centuries, Jews lived as communities within other nations. We built shuls, schools, and mikvaot—but we didn’t build armies or police forces. We lived Judaism privately, not publicly.

Living in Israel changes that. It’s not just about planting trees or observing Shemitah. It’s about creating a society—a reshut harabim—that reflects Jewish values.³

Yes, the modern State of Israel is not a halachic state. But neither were many of the ancient Israelite kingdoms. Some were led by idolaters.⁴ The challenge today is to build a society that aspires toward justice, compassion, and holiness—even if imperfectly.

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Justice as a Universal Value

The command to appoint judges is not just a Jewish value—it’s a universal one. One of the Sheva Mitzvot Bnei Noach is dinim—establishing courts of law.⁵ Justice is the foundation of civilization.

So while Rav Chaim Vital’s interpretation remains beautiful and relevant, perhaps the time has come to reclaim the peshat. The Torah is calling on us—not just as individuals, but as a people—to build a society rooted in justice.

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Conclusion

Parashat Shoftim is not just about personal growth. It’s about national responsibility. As we live in a time when Jewish sovereignty has returned, we must ask: Are we building the kind of society Moshe envisioned?

We need judges. We need police. We need an army.  We need justice.
And we need to remember that Torah is not only for the soul—it’s for the street.

Shabbat Shalom.

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Footnotes

1. Rav Chaim Vital, Shaarei Kedusha, Part 1, Shaar 2 — interprets “gates” as the sensory openings of the human body.
2. See Rashi on Deuteronomy 16:18 — explains that judges sat at the entrance of each city to adjudicate cases.
3. Ramban on Leviticus 18:4 — emphasizes the Torah’s vision of a society governed by divine law.
4. See II Kings 17 — describes the idolatrous practices of the kings of Israel.
5. Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 56a — outlines the Seven Noahide Laws, including the obligation to establish courts.

Parashat Shoftim — Carrying the Torah: Kingship and Its Limits

Parashat Shoftim — Carrying the Torah: Kingship and Its Limits

Rabbi Ari Kahn

This week's parasha, Shoftim, addresses foundational aspects of national governance in ancient Israel. It begins with the appointment of judges and officers (Deuteronomy 16:18), and later introduces the concept of monarchy:

“You shall surely set over yourself a king whom the Lord your God shall choose…”
(Deuteronomy 17:15)

This mitzvah to appoint a king seems straightforward. Yet, when the people later request a king in the time of the prophet Shmuel, the reaction is anything but simple.

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Shmuel’s Grief and God’s Response

In Shmuel Aleph (I Samuel), chapter 8, the people approach Shmuel with a request:

“Behold, you have grown old, and your sons do not walk in your ways. Now appoint for us a king to judge us like all the nations.”
(I Samuel 8:5)

Shmuel is deeply distressed by this request. God responds:

“It is not you they have rejected, but Me they have rejected from reigning over them.”
(I Samuel 8:7)

Why is this request so offensive? On the surface, it seems like a fulfillment of the mitzvah in Shoftim. But the nuance lies in the motivation and phrasing:

“To judge us like all the nations.”

This implies not just a desire for centralized leadership, but a rejection of the Torah-based judicial system. The people weren’t merely asking for a king—they were asking for a different kind of law, one modeled after foreign nations.⁽¹⁾

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Judges vs. Kings: Authority and Law

Until this point, Israel was governed by judges (shoftim), who adjudicated based on Torah law. Shmuel’s sons, however, were corrupt (I Samuel 8:3), prompting the people to seek an alternative. But their request was not just about leadership—it was about legal philosophy.

God interprets their request as a rejection of divine law.⁽²⁾ The issue wasn’t who would implement the law, but what kind of law would be implemented. The Torah system, rooted in Sinai, was being cast aside in favor of a more secular, nationalistic model.

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The First Kings: Shaul and David

Despite His displeasure, God instructs Shmuel to appoint a king. Shaul becomes Israel’s first monarch, but his reign is marked by instability and eventual failure (I Samuel 15). David, also anointed by Shmuel, begins the Davidic dynasty, which culminates in the building of the Beit HaMikdash by his son Shlomo.

David’s kingship represents a turning point: a monarch who strives to align with divine law. Yet even the Davidic kings did not always live up to their spiritual responsibilities.

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The King and the Torah

The Torah mandates that the king must carry a personal Sefer Torah:

“And it shall be with him, and he shall read from it all the days of his life…”
(Deuteronomy 17:19)

This requirement symbolizes the king’s subservience to Torah law. He is not a lawmaker in the modern sense, but a guardian of divine legislation.⁽³⁾

A king who sees his role as creating new laws or rejecting Torah values is not the kind of king the Torah envisions. The image of the king walking with the Torah is not just ceremonial—it’s ideological. It affirms that true leadership in Israel is rooted in fidelity to God’s law.

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Conclusion

The tension between divine authority and human governance is central to Parashat Shoftim. The Torah permits monarchy, but only under strict conditions: the king must be chosen by God, must not amass excessive wealth or power, and must remain tethered to the Torah.

The episode in Shmuel Aleph reveals how easily this balance can be disrupted. When leadership becomes a vehicle for rejecting divine law, it ceases to be legitimate. The king who carries the Torah is not just a ruler—he is a servant of God and of the people.

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Footnotes

1. See Ralbag and Malbim on I Samuel 8:5, who interpret the request as a desire to imitate foreign political systems.
2. Radak on I Samuel 8:7 explains that the rejection was not of Shmuel personally, but of the divine system he represented.
3. Rambam, Hilchot Melachim 3:1–3, elaborates on the king’s obligation to write and carry a Torah scroll, emphasizing his role as a spiritual exemplar.

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