Ki Theitzei: the Hidden 

The parsha is filled with brief instructions. To the modern, some are appealing : Do not return the runaway slave to the master, the worker must be paid in time, do not demean the impoverished. Others are difficult: Wipe out Amalek, levirate marriage. Others are unexplainable: do noy wear wool and linen together. Some of the laws are justified by recalling the history of slavery.  Others are demonstrations of retribution intended to dissuade like the stoning of the alcoholic, gluttonous son. Throughout the parsha, I have a sense of the hidden.  The instructions are preventative, we do not want the unseen to emerge. 

The traditional Midrashic interpretation of the first three sections demonstrates this idea. The opening set of passages are interpreted  in the Midrash Tanchuma ( alluded to by Rashi)  in a causal manner.  Referring to the irresistible captive:

 אִם נְשָׂאָהּ סוֹפוֹ לִהְיוֹת שׂוֹנְאָהּ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר אַחֲרָיו "כִּי תִהְיֶיןָ לְאִישׁ וְגוֹ'", וְסוֹפוֹ לְהוֹלִיד מִמֶּנָּה בֵּן סוֹרֵר וּמוֹרֶה, לְכָךְ נִסְמְכוּ פָּרָשִׁיּוֹת הַלָּלוּ

if he does marry her, in the end he will hate her, for Scripture writes immediately afterwards, (v. 15) “If a man have two wives, one beloved, and another hated, etc.” and ultimately he will beget a refractory and rebellious son by her (v. 18). It is for this reason that these sections are put in juxtaposition (Midrash Tanchuma, Ki Teitzei 1) 

There is an implied sequence: The soldier  realizing his mortality, reassessing priorities, inflamed by aggression, buoyed by survival - captures a fantasy, a dream of lust (and perhaps love). Perhaps the  prescribed the month of abstinence, replacing the seductive clothing, cutting the enticing hair and salon nails, will prevent the error of marrying this woman who saved her life by the only means available to her: seduction.  The Torah implies that the technique worked sometimes. It is forbidden to enslave such an ultimately rejected captive. 

וְהָיָ֞ה אִם־לֹ֧א חָפַ֣צְתָּ בָּ֗הּ וְשִׁלַּחְתָּהּ֙ לְנַפְשָׁ֔הּ וּמָכֹ֥ר לֹא־תִמְכְּרֶ֖נָּה בַּכָּ֑סֶף לֹא־תִתְעַמֵּ֣ר בָּ֔הּ תַּ֖חַת אֲשֶׁ֥ר עִנִּיתָֽהּ׃ {ס}        

Then, should you no longer want her, you must release her outright. You must not sell her for money: since you demeaned her, you must not enslave her.

Score one for modern sensibilities.( Maybe a half)

The text goes on to deal with the problem of two wives, each of  whom has an heir. Love for the wife cannot eclipse the actual birth order  (cf Abraham and Isaac [Ishmael]). The rules surpass sensibility. 

The next section deals with the wayward child, stoned for  intractability. In the Midrashic interpretation, this is the end result of the captive marriage that opened the parsha. It is what emerges from disregarding the warnings. Here are two alternative explanations: one made up, the other derived from Midrash. 

The law of the wayward child is a way to eliminate this troublesome firstborn of the detested wife: declare him a סוֹרֵ֣ר וּמֹרֶ֔ה,  deviant and rebellious.  This leads to a sanctioned filicide (child killing). It can all work out if you are desperate and despicable enough. 

The The Midrash Tanchuma at this point,  relates the story of  Avshalom.  Avshalom was the son of Maacah,  whom David had taken as a wife as a spoil of war. Avshalom named his daughter  after his mother. Perhaps he carried some of his mother's resentment for her captivity and the slaughter  of her people.  Avshalom  attempted a coup; he would replace his father, David, as king.  There is no greater turning away and rebellion. Absalom, fleeinf David's army, is caught by his hair ( an echo of the hair that the captive woman must shave off). This rebellion of this son may have stemmed from some allegiance to his mother's tribe and defense of her honor. The rebel son is the offspring of his captive mother.

Soon after this (semi-imagined) narrative of lust, legacy and rebellion, the Torah turns to loss and denial. 

לֹֽא־תִרְאֶה֩ אֶת־שׁ֨וֹר אָחִ֜יךָ א֤וֹ אֶת־שֵׂיוֹ֙ נִדָּחִ֔ים וְהִתְעַלַּמְתָּ֖ מֵהֶ֑ם הָשֵׁ֥ב תְּשִׁיבֵ֖ם לְאָחִֽיךָ׃

If you see your fellow Israelite’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your peer. 

The extra  וְהִתְעַלַּמְתָּ֖ מֵהֶ֑ם do not ignore it;  evokes the possibility of simply not getting involved. The stray animal was lost before, why change its status? Maybe one should treat this situation like the seductress, best to ignore it. The Torah says otherwise. Do not overlook doing the right thing: attempt to return the stray. The correct reaction is hidden in confusion and conflicting tasks and interests. This sentence is training for making the best choice.

 It also recognizes that the right choice can be buried in a mass of conflicting interests. This is a seduction into the belief that the following laws, like shatnez (the prohibition of wearing wool and linen together)  also contain a hidden core of rectitude. Maybe. Maybe that is not the point. 

Our actions and temptations are too complex to understand. The Torah offers guidelines. Thinking about them is not simple, either.

Shoftim: the ax and the trees

 Shoftim: the ax and the trees

There are three trees in this weeks parsha.  

The last tree mentioned is the one that the besieging army should (probably)  not cut down.  It is the famous tree that is not a man. 

כִּֽי־תָצ֣וּר אֶל־עִיר֩ יָמִ֨ים רַבִּ֜ים לְֽהִלָּחֵ֧ם עָלֶ֣יהָ לְתׇפְשָׂ֗הּ לֹֽא־תַשְׁחִ֤ית אֶת־עֵצָהּ֙ לִנְדֹּ֤חַ עָלָיו֙ גַּרְזֶ֔ן כִּ֚י מִמֶּ֣נּוּ תֹאכֵ֔ל וְאֹת֖וֹ לֹ֣א תִכְרֹ֑ת כִּ֤י הָֽאָדָם֙ עֵ֣ץ הַשָּׂדֶ֔ה לָבֹ֥א מִפָּנֶ֖יךָ בַּמָּצֽוֹר׃

When thou shalt besiege a city a long time, in making war against it to take it, thou shalt not destroy its trees by forcing an axe against them: for thou mayst eat of them, and thou shalt not cut them down; for is the tree of the field a man, that it should be besieged by thee?

 The soldier who will certainly willingly kill another of his own kind, an opposing soldier, is told to question cutting down the tree. The soldier is equipping a siege, making tools to attack the enemy city. His army is starving that city. The text has instructed that he kill every adult male after the conquest.  But he should not cut down the tree, for "is the tree a man? "

Such a questioning approach is a stylistic rarity in the Torah. It is appropriate to the context.  The parsha is about decisions, and the authorities that provide expert, or legally enforced, opinions that impact those decisions. The answer to the question, asked before the ax is wielded upon the tree, determines the practical outcome of the process: does the tree get cut down. Before the irreversible act, consider: not only the consequences, but also the meaning of the act.  How much of the aggression has been redirected? Are you cutting down a tree, or are you fighting the enemy? Whom are you hurting; why; what are the long term consequences?

Another tree in the parsha conspires in a negligent manslaughter. The story is famous. 

וַאֲשֶׁר֩ יָבֹ֨א אֶת־רֵעֵ֥הוּ בַיַּ֘עַר֮ לַחְטֹ֣ב עֵצִים֒ וְנִדְּחָ֨ה יָד֤וֹ בַגַּרְזֶן֙ לִכְרֹ֣ת הָעֵ֔ץ וְנָשַׁ֤ל הַבַּרְזֶל֙ מִן־הָעֵ֔ץ וּמָצָ֥א אֶת־רֵעֵ֖הוּ וָמֵ֑ת ה֗וּא יָנ֛וּס אֶל־אַחַ֥ת הֶעָרִים־הָאֵ֖לֶּה וָחָֽי׃

as when a man goes into the forest with his neighbour to hew wood, and his hand fetches a stroke with the axe to cut down the tree, and the head slips from the handle, and strikes his neighbour, that he die; he shall flee to one of those cities, and live:

The talmud ( Makoth 78b) suggests that the wood chips, not the blade of the ax, killed the victim. This may have been a very, very indirect homicide. No matter how little attribution devolves to the wielder of the ax, there may be an avenger who holds him to account; a vindicator who demands a life for a life.  The institutions prescribed by the parsha must shelter the accidental killer. It is only the premeditated murderer  who must be cut down; handed over to the blood avenger. 

This tree story also emphasizes the need for investigation and analysis prior to a significant, irreversible act. The court is the protector of the guilty as well as the innocent. In the simple understanding of the story, the ax blade slipped off the handle; the woodsman should have secured the blade better, but he did not intend to kill another man ( only a tree). The story is always complex, the courts must protect us from passion. 

The first tree in the parsha seems to a landscape architecture zoning law. 

לֹֽא־תִטַּ֥ע לְךָ֛ אֲשֵׁרָ֖ה כׇּל־עֵ֑ץ אֵ֗צֶל מִזְבַּ֛ח יְ

Thou shalt not plant thee an ashera of any tree near the altar of the Lrd thy Gd, which thou shalt make thee.

Rashi understands this to mean that no tree may be planed near the altar and no ashera tree, a tree in the service of idolatry, may ever be planted anywhere. 

This is the bad tree, the tree that should not be planted and, if present, should be chopped down and removed.  A  being that is pleasant to see,  aromatic, a silent provider of shade ( and oxygen) can be and object of rebellion against Gd and the system of justice prescribed. Aesthetics loses  to the rules. 

The last part of the parsha does not involve a tree ( although there is an ax); it  involves an innocent calf that is beheaded in a ritual outside of the temple service. A calf that had never worked is axed; is the heifer a stand in for the ( probably unemployed) killer? It is the symbol of the responsibility of the local authorities to guard against homicide; it is the assertion that courts and police will deter murder in their purview... a modern political campaign issue. The murder must be avenged, even if the perpetrator is never found. 

מִשֶּׁרַבּוּ הָרַצְחָנִים, בָּטְלָה עֶגְלָה עֲרוּפָה

From the time when murderers proliferated, the ritual of the heifer whose neck is broken was nullified.

Be careful and ask questions before you swing the ax. 

 Re'eh: the reward

רְאֵ֗ה אָנֹכִ֛י נֹתֵ֥ן לִפְנֵיכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם בְּרָכָ֖ה וּקְלָלָֽה׃

See, this day I set before you blessing and curse:

The reader is commanded to look at things that  have no substance. This seeing means to make sense of the world.  The statement sensitizes me  to the two verses that follow and the subtle difference between them: 

אֶֽת־הַבְּרָכָ֑ה אֲשֶׁ֣ר תִּשְׁמְע֗וּ אֶל־מִצְוֺת֙ יְ

a blessing,  asher ,that [if], you obey the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you this day:

and 

וְהַקְּלָלָ֗ה אִם־לֹ֤א תִשְׁמְעוּ֙ אֶל־מִצְוֺת֙

and curse, im, if you do not obey the commandments of your Gd

Many English translators do not emphasize the difference in word choice and translate the asher  of the first sentence as "if."  This approach is justified by other instances of asher seeming to mean "if." However, the usual translation of asher is "that".  Asher implies a description, mathematically, a subset to which the predicate belongs.  Here it would mean that the blessing is (in part) the obedience. 

A superficial reading of Rashi stands behind the simplifying translation to "if."

 את הברכה. עַל מְנָת אֲשֶׁר תִּשְׁמְעוּ:

THE BLESSING — with the condition that you should obey

 

Just as asher can be understood as "if," al menas can be simplified to if.  But if Rashi had meant that we simply translate asher as "if" this time, he would have said "im", the same word used in the next sentence in the text which always means "if." This point is made by Eliahu Mizrachi, quoted by the Gur Arye.  In Genesis there is a sentence in which Rashi says asher should be translated as "if. " There Rashi uses im. 

 The Maharal of Prague (author of the Gur Arye) goes on to point us to a recent daf yomi (Gttin 74) that elucidates  the meaning of al menath. It is a payment on credit. The reward is given assuming the fulfillment of the condition. 

Onkolos, official translation of Torah into Aramaic renders the verse: 

יָת בִּרְכָן דִּי תְקַבְּלוּן לְפִקּוּדַיָּא דַּיְ

      ... The blessing—that you heed [obey] the commandments of

This is an accurate translation and makes no assumptions. Onkolos' love of the observance is reflected in the story ( Avodah Zara 11a) of his contagious  faith in Judaism. The way he touched the mezuzah was so moving that the soldiers sent to arrest him converted. I can imagine that Onkelos derived great blessing from the observance. 

Several commentators over many generations express this idea: the observance is itself a reward. 

       IBn Ezra

(12th Century)

כי בשמעכם הנה אתם מבורכים

As you hearken behold you are blessed

to 

     Malbim

(19th  Century)

א"כ זה עצמו מה שתשמעו אל מצות ה' הוא הברכה,

 Therefore that, itself , that you keep the commandments of Gd , that is the blessing.

Or HaChaim (18th Century) 

הוא אשר תשמעו כי השמיעה בתורה הוא תענוג מופלא ומחיה הנפש כאומרו (ישעי' נ''ה) שמעו ותחי נפשכם,

For the observance of the Torah is a wonderful pleasure and awakens the soul. 

Rav Hirsch (19th Century) 

Die Erfüllung der göttlichen Gebote ist schon selbst ein wahrer Bestandteil des Segens, der nicht nur dem Gehorsam nachfolgt, sondern bereits in dem Gehorsam und der treuen Pflichterfüllung seine Verwirklichung beginnt.

The fulfillment of the divine commandments is itself a true part of the blessing, which not only follows obedience, but already begins its realization in obedience and the faithful fulfillment of one's duty.

Every year, when I read this sentence, I think about my father, wearing his tfillin at morning services in his synagogue in Florida. What a complex, al menath, conditional payment. After all he had been through:  Soviet soldier, prisoner of war, hunted Jew, slave in death camp, displaced person, refugee, ... this was what he wanted to do. This was his pleasure; his longed for reward. 

Now it is my reward. 

 

Eikev: the deal

Does everything have a price?  The parsha starts on a  transactional, fee for service, cause and effect, note. 

How to translate eikev?  Onkelos, the official (Talmudically sanctioned) translator of the Torah render it חֳלַף  chalaf, Aramaic for exchange . Eikev is the  root of the name  Jacob, it is a quintessential  Jewish thing.   Literature ( mostly, but not entirely, Gentile) portrays  the Jew as transactional.    The exorbitant gifts that Jacob gave to Esau bought off an attack.  The meal that Jacob presents to his father Isaac, the price for his blessing, is characterized by Esau as" ya'ekav- eni", he did the Jacob thing to me,.  I leave it to the reader to provide a simpler translation. Is it in this same spirit that Gd is offering reward for obedience and punishment for transgression?

Reward changes the road to progress. The exorbitant riches bestowed upon the captains of pharma has radically altered medicine in my professional lifetime. It has pulled great talents away from patient care  and toward the drug approval business. It has confused the process of choosing therapies by injecting  the  commercial goals of drug companies, insurers, hospitals , etc. Medicine has become (much more)  monetized. 

Usually, agreements of exchange are the product of negotiation. The dialogue that leads to the contract involves the buyer imagining what the seller wants and vice versa. How can I imagine what Gd wants?  This is not a deal, it is a covenant, a constitution, The terms are dictated. Take them or suffer the consequences. The only repercussion that  I can impose on Gd is denial, loss of faith. The agreement positions that abandonment of Gd  as the root of all violations, the most evil breech. 

All deals float on faith with barriers of details. Enforcement (in legitimate contracts) comes though disinterested parties; through  law that guarantees fairness for all parties ... and occasionally delivers that. Usually the honesty of the signatories  is sufficient. Behavior conforms to norms; there is no need for outside enforcement. 

Is that also the case with the important rules in Torah? Once we see the prohibition on murder, perhaps even before we see it writing, we know that manslaughter  is wrong  and should no be done.  A weekly day of rest for worker and beast, as well as master, optimizes productivity in addition to expressing kindness to self and others. Just as the secular law defines the parameters of  a contract and compels compliance with the threat of force, the Torah specifies  a domain of compliance enforced by the wrath of Gd. 

Moses recalls the multiple act of Israel that enraged Gd. Moses details the self-sacrificial acts that he performed: courageously arguing with Gd, fasting, forgoing patriarchy - to rescue the people from destruction.  This is Moshe's recollection; this is canon. All recollections are confabulations - a synthesis of events and fantasy - and words can never capture the richness of the events.  Memories are useful for what they bring to bear in the present.  Moses will soon die; this intermediary force will then  exist only in the words preserved by the followers. 

Moses addresses his contemporaries

וִֽידַעְתֶּם֮ הַיּוֹם֒ כִּ֣י ׀ לֹ֣א אֶת־בְּנֵיכֶ֗ם אֲשֶׁ֤ר לֹֽא־יָדְעוּ֙ וַאֲשֶׁ֣ר לֹא־רָא֔וּ אֶת־מוּסַ֖ר יְ

And know this day: for I speak not with your children who have not known, and have not seen the chastisement of the Lrd your Gd, his greatness, his mighty hand, and his stretched-out arm,

He can not honestly relate to any future generation. 

 In every generation we must confront the face of Gd that is shown to us.  We must strike the bargain between our own understanding and the , sometimes inscrutable, Torah.