Parashat Shoftim is most appropriately named. This week’s parashah concentrates our focus on dimension of living Torah which engages the larger social structures. We are given guidelines for armed conflict, the nature of monarchy in Israel, the workings of our judiciary, etc. The first verses of the parashah immediately launch us into a realm beyond our own cognizance: if we are in doubt, or in conflict regarding a whole range of matters, we much take that doubt and conflict to the judges and act precisely in accordance with their ruling, straying not an iota, neither left nor right. The midrash fixes on those words and insists: even if they tell you that your left is right or your right is left. In manner which echoes some of the most famous political philosophers, the Torah insists we cede to government – in our case, G-d fearing, Torah masters – a significant segment of our own autonomy to decide matters, for the good of the collective.
But wait a second, just who are these judges? Who are these leaders, these elders, how does the Torah depict their self-conception, their own sense of their responsibilities, such that we can develop the trust necessary to cede the power we are called upon to cede? A careful look at the last mitzvah of the parashah, eglah arufah, can shed some light on this question.
The Torah is quite insistent that murder cannot go unatoned-for. When it can be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone committed a murder, he is put to death and that execution has expiatory power for his soul as well as for the society as a whole. As is stated in Parashat Noach: The spiller of blood of man, by man shall his blood be spilled. The textual symmetry of that singular verse mirrors the balance restored in the world as a result of carrying out its stipulation.
But what happens when blood has been spilled, the divine image has been dimished, but it is unknown who killed him? As tempting as it might be to do a cursory investigation and let the case go cold, the Torah understands that is is not in the believing public interested to cover such things up. When a person is found murdered between towns, and it is unknown who killed him, the elders and judges of the nearest town accompany the Kohanim down to an adjoining virgin valley, take a heifer which has never known a yoke, and break its neck. Then they wash their hands over the carcass and say, “Our hands did not spill this blood and our eyes did not see”. The Kohanim follow this statement with a supplication for atonement for the people.
Rashi brings a midrash which addresses the obvious question: Does anyone really suspect that these elders and judges murdered the poor habeus corpus? No, says the Midrash: rather, they are saying, we did not see him and dismiss him without providing for his wellbeing. The image is of a stranger, lacking everything, come to town, wandering around uncertain of his surroundings, hoping someone will welcome him, give him guidance and perhaps some food and drink, maybe a place to curl up for the night. And these great leaders solemnly aver: we did not see such a one and fail to attend to his needs.
Beautiful. The lesson is when a society ignores such basic, Avrahamic obligations, they are already heading down the greased slippery slope that will end with corpses being uncovered just beyond the edge of town. But there’s something that still nags: The Midrash asks rhetorically, do we really suspect that these elders are, G-d forbid murders? No, it answers, we merely suspect that they are insensitive, self-absorbed shirkers! And it’s that suspicion that they must dismiss by their proclamation. But why should they come forth and perform this ceremony, don’t we have charitable institutions in town which see to issues of welfare, and what about the common householders? Certainly, the elders and judges are the least likely to be in need of having a stain expiated!
An answer can be found in the laws of Pikuach Nefesh on Shabbat. When a person is seriously ill, such that there is reason to be concerned that he might die, Shabbat restrictions are set aside and we perform full-fledged melachot as needed to treat his condition. Not only that, but, as a baraita in the Gemara says, we do not use non-Jews or minors, but rather the leaders and scholars of the community to perform the actions.
What is the reason for this? Why not use non-Jews, and preserve the sanctity of the Shabbat while accomplishing the needed life-saving actions? Two answers are given: 1) perhaps the non-Jews will not be as zealous and quick-moving in their actions. 2) If we use non-Jews and minors, people might think that it’s actually prohibited to violate Shabbat even in situations such as this, and, the next time around, waste precious time looking for a non-Jew.
In the Shulchan Aruch, the Rema rules that IF there happens to be a non-Jew present who will act efficiently and quickly, we may use him and, says the Rema, that is the accepted custom.
The Taz, in his commentary on this paragraph, in his imitable style lays into the Rema. He says that the Rema has ignored the second of the two reasons above. Furthermore, he reminds us that the baraita in the Gemara has a second part: We do not tell women and Samaritans to do it, but, rather, precisely, the leaders and scholars. It would seem that, although women and Samaritans are both commanded regarding Shabbat, and no one would make the mistake that only one not commanded regarding Shabbat may act, nevertheless, since these two categories were, in those days, on the lower end of the social spectrum, people might think that its really difficult to allow a “violation” of Shabbat even to save a light, so, y’know what, let the women and Samaritans do it. To avoid such a conclusion on the part of the masses, we use… judges and elders? But why? Why not just regular, old adult Jewish males? We’d achieve the desired goal, no one would think that it’s difficult to permit the necessary actions on Shabbat.
The Taz tells us that there are two separate goals here: one is to avoid future mistakes. The other is to teach the people how to serve Hashem in quandaries such as these. The second goal can only be achieved by the leaders, the teachers, the judges and elders. The Taz allows that if a person wants to use an efficient non-Jew who just happens to be there, he may, but only if he announces to all that it would have been completely permissible for a Jew to have acted. Why does the Taz only ALLOW for that? Why does it remain for him the best course of action – mitzvah min hamuvchar – for the leaders to engage in Pikuach Nefesh? Not just because the best teaching is by personal example, but because, of course, the elders themselves see how this IS the fulfillment of the mitzvah of Shabbat in this case, and they crave to fulfill Hashem’s will on Shabbat also when that entails lighting a fire, stitching a wound, etc. It was told of a Yom Kippur in Yeshivat Merkaz Harav where someone fainted and the rabbis “fought” at the phone as to who would make the call to Magen David Adom.
And so it is in our parashah. The judges and elders wash their hands of the affair because they feel their hands are perhaps stained with that blood, because this happened on their watch, because they need the atonement as much as the lowliest street urchin in town. It’s judges such as these, whose sense of responsibility is not a burden to be born but and expression of a breadth of soul, of depth of spirit, and of a yearning to serve Hashem in the hardest, darkest places, that the Torah tells us, “don’t depart from their instruction right or left”. May we raise up from amongst us such leaders, nurtured by the spirit of a people who longs for the realization of the verse, “from the midst of your kinsman shall you place upon yourself a king”.
But wait a second, just who are these judges? Who are these leaders, these elders, how does the Torah depict their self-conception, their own sense of their responsibilities, such that we can develop the trust necessary to cede the power we are called upon to cede? A careful look at the last mitzvah of the parashah, eglah arufah, can shed some light on this question.
The Torah is quite insistent that murder cannot go unatoned-for. When it can be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone committed a murder, he is put to death and that execution has expiatory power for his soul as well as for the society as a whole. As is stated in Parashat Noach: The spiller of blood of man, by man shall his blood be spilled. The textual symmetry of that singular verse mirrors the balance restored in the world as a result of carrying out its stipulation.
But what happens when blood has been spilled, the divine image has been dimished, but it is unknown who killed him? As tempting as it might be to do a cursory investigation and let the case go cold, the Torah understands that is is not in the believing public interested to cover such things up. When a person is found murdered between towns, and it is unknown who killed him, the elders and judges of the nearest town accompany the Kohanim down to an adjoining virgin valley, take a heifer which has never known a yoke, and break its neck. Then they wash their hands over the carcass and say, “Our hands did not spill this blood and our eyes did not see”. The Kohanim follow this statement with a supplication for atonement for the people.
Rashi brings a midrash which addresses the obvious question: Does anyone really suspect that these elders and judges murdered the poor habeus corpus? No, says the Midrash: rather, they are saying, we did not see him and dismiss him without providing for his wellbeing. The image is of a stranger, lacking everything, come to town, wandering around uncertain of his surroundings, hoping someone will welcome him, give him guidance and perhaps some food and drink, maybe a place to curl up for the night. And these great leaders solemnly aver: we did not see such a one and fail to attend to his needs.
Beautiful. The lesson is when a society ignores such basic, Avrahamic obligations, they are already heading down the greased slippery slope that will end with corpses being uncovered just beyond the edge of town. But there’s something that still nags: The Midrash asks rhetorically, do we really suspect that these elders are, G-d forbid murders? No, it answers, we merely suspect that they are insensitive, self-absorbed shirkers! And it’s that suspicion that they must dismiss by their proclamation. But why should they come forth and perform this ceremony, don’t we have charitable institutions in town which see to issues of welfare, and what about the common householders? Certainly, the elders and judges are the least likely to be in need of having a stain expiated!
An answer can be found in the laws of Pikuach Nefesh on Shabbat. When a person is seriously ill, such that there is reason to be concerned that he might die, Shabbat restrictions are set aside and we perform full-fledged melachot as needed to treat his condition. Not only that, but, as a baraita in the Gemara says, we do not use non-Jews or minors, but rather the leaders and scholars of the community to perform the actions.
What is the reason for this? Why not use non-Jews, and preserve the sanctity of the Shabbat while accomplishing the needed life-saving actions? Two answers are given: 1) perhaps the non-Jews will not be as zealous and quick-moving in their actions. 2) If we use non-Jews and minors, people might think that it’s actually prohibited to violate Shabbat even in situations such as this, and, the next time around, waste precious time looking for a non-Jew.
In the Shulchan Aruch, the Rema rules that IF there happens to be a non-Jew present who will act efficiently and quickly, we may use him and, says the Rema, that is the accepted custom.
The Taz, in his commentary on this paragraph, in his imitable style lays into the Rema. He says that the Rema has ignored the second of the two reasons above. Furthermore, he reminds us that the baraita in the Gemara has a second part: We do not tell women and Samaritans to do it, but, rather, precisely, the leaders and scholars. It would seem that, although women and Samaritans are both commanded regarding Shabbat, and no one would make the mistake that only one not commanded regarding Shabbat may act, nevertheless, since these two categories were, in those days, on the lower end of the social spectrum, people might think that its really difficult to allow a “violation” of Shabbat even to save a light, so, y’know what, let the women and Samaritans do it. To avoid such a conclusion on the part of the masses, we use… judges and elders? But why? Why not just regular, old adult Jewish males? We’d achieve the desired goal, no one would think that it’s difficult to permit the necessary actions on Shabbat.
The Taz tells us that there are two separate goals here: one is to avoid future mistakes. The other is to teach the people how to serve Hashem in quandaries such as these. The second goal can only be achieved by the leaders, the teachers, the judges and elders. The Taz allows that if a person wants to use an efficient non-Jew who just happens to be there, he may, but only if he announces to all that it would have been completely permissible for a Jew to have acted. Why does the Taz only ALLOW for that? Why does it remain for him the best course of action – mitzvah min hamuvchar – for the leaders to engage in Pikuach Nefesh? Not just because the best teaching is by personal example, but because, of course, the elders themselves see how this IS the fulfillment of the mitzvah of Shabbat in this case, and they crave to fulfill Hashem’s will on Shabbat also when that entails lighting a fire, stitching a wound, etc. It was told of a Yom Kippur in Yeshivat Merkaz Harav where someone fainted and the rabbis “fought” at the phone as to who would make the call to Magen David Adom.
And so it is in our parashah. The judges and elders wash their hands of the affair because they feel their hands are perhaps stained with that blood, because this happened on their watch, because they need the atonement as much as the lowliest street urchin in town. It’s judges such as these, whose sense of responsibility is not a burden to be born but and expression of a breadth of soul, of depth of spirit, and of a yearning to serve Hashem in the hardest, darkest places, that the Torah tells us, “don’t depart from their instruction right or left”. May we raise up from amongst us such leaders, nurtured by the spirit of a people who longs for the realization of the verse, “from the midst of your kinsman shall you place upon yourself a king”.
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