Shoftim: Appointing a King in Israel (abridged version)

by Rav Moshe Leib HaCohen Halbershtat, Founder and Dean of YORU Institute, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion is Shoftim, in Deuteronomy 16,18-19,21. In it we read of the commandment to appoint a king: "When you come to the Land… and you say, 'I will place a king over me, like all the nations around me. You shall certainly place upon yourselves a king; you may not place upon you a foreigner who is not your brother" (17,14-15). 

Several questions present themselves, including the following:

1. The Medrash (D'varim Rabba 5,9) says that when kings of Israel oppressed their subjects, G-d essentially told Israel it was their own fault for asking for a king in the first place. "You yourselves chose to leave Me and accept the kingship of flesh and blood!" But how can the Medrash say this, if we see that the Torah itself not only condones the selection and coronation of a King, but even commands us to do so!

2. The Torah states that G-d will choose the king, meaning via a prophet or the Urim VeTumim on the High Priest's breastplate - but at the same time, we are told that we may not take a king who is not our brother. Which is it: Is the choice up to us, or is it up to G-d and His prophet?

3. Toward the end of the Prophet Samuel's life, his sons Yoel and Aviyah were judges in Israel, and they behaved very sinfully. When the elders of Israel came to Shmuel and asked that a King be appointed to replace them, Shmuel was saddened, and prayed to G-d for guidance. But, why was he upset? Did he not realize that this was an opportune time to fulfill the Torah's command to "place upon yourself a king"? And even more puzzling is G-d's response: "Hearken to the people's request, for they have not turned away from you, but rather from Me." In what way were they turning against G-d, if they were simply trying to replace corrupt judges with a king in accordance with the Torah's command?

The Medrash explains that while the Israelite elders' request to name a king was acceptable and even laudable, it was the lower strata of the nation who marred the process. This was because they stated that they wanted a king so that they could be "like the other nations." That is, they wanted a king not because they sought honest and G-d-fearing leadership, but simply because they preferred a mortal king like the other nations, and not to have to be subject to the Divine King of all Kings. They basically wanted to stop having to worship G-d, and to commit idolatry instead. This is, of course, why G-d was angered at their request.

This point answers the first two question as well. The Torah presents here two ways in which a king can be installed in Israel, and their respective inevitable consequences.  One way is the result of wanting to be "like all the nations around me" (D'varim 17,14). This is of course a betrayal of G-d, and it leads to various forms of evil: appointing a king who was not chosen by G-d, but rather one that they will choose themselves, including possibly even a foreigner (verse 15). Such a king is liable to acquire too many horses (verse 16) or wives (verse 17), leading him to become arrogant and seek out only silver and gold (verse 17). This in turn will cause him to stray from the Torah's commandments (verse 20) and not remain king for long. The Prophet Shmuel listed some of the terrible consequences for Israel if they choose a wicked king: "He will take your sons and employ them in his chariots, and they will have to run before him… He will take your daughters, and your good fields and orchards and give them to his servants… etc." (Samuel I 8). 

The second option for the choosing and coronation of a king is with the aim only of fulfilling the Torah's commands. This means choosing only a king whom G-d wants, one who will be very diligent not to act in a way that will lead to arrogance, so that he will not fall into heresy and idol worship. He will be a king who is far from physical and material lusts for wives and silver and gold, and who will certainly not return the nation to Egypt (verse 16). 

How will such a king be able to avoid the pitfalls of power and stature and not fall into traps that will lead him into the above wicked behaviors? The answer is that he is commanded to "write himself a Torah Scroll… and it will be with him and he will read from it throughout his life, so that he will learn to fear G-d and carefully keep the Torah's laws" (verses 18-19). And in this way, "he will have a long reign amid Israel" (verse 20).

Holidays: Converging Customs

by Rav Yeshayahu Shteinberger, rabbi of Ramat Sharett and other southern Jerusalem neighborhoods, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

Though quite different, the customs among Sephardi and Ashkenazi Jews in the month of Elul leading up to the High Holy Days are directed to the same summit of teshuvah, repentance. And a note on the Haaretz Newspaper.

The late Chief Sephardic Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef noted a custom in some non-Hassidic circles not to get married in the month of Elul. The basis for it is the serious nature of the days leading up to the New Year coronation of G-d as King and the Day of Atonement. Rabbi Yosef had strong criticism of this custom, however, terming it strange and inexplicable. And in fact it is hard to find a month that is more appropriate for the mitzvah of marriage than Elul, which is an acronym for Ani L'dodi v'dodi li, expressing the love between G-d and the Jewish nation. 

This appears to be a fine example of the differences between the Sephardim, who are often lenient, and the more stringent Ashkenazim, as I explained in my recent article entitled, "Why Sephardim are Happier." I wrote there that the Sephardic mourning customs during the Three Weeks before Tisha B'Av are notably less stringent than those of Ashkenaz. This is seemingly related to the general Sephardic optimism regarding the Redemption, compared to the Ashkenazi measure of pessimism on this topic. Since marriage is a type of personal redemption for the young couple, as is clear from the words of the Seven Blessings of the wedding meals, we see that each group, or part thereof, is consistent in its own approach to the idea of holding weddings during the Three Weeks.

This is why it is surprising to see the opposite in the month of Elul. While the Sephardim arise very early every day this month to recite the penitential s'lichot prayers, the generally stringent Ashkenazim do not join in until just a few days before Rosh HaShanah. Until then, their preparations for the Days of Awe suffice with a few seconds of shofar-blowing every morning, and the recitation of Psalm 27, L'David Hashem Ori V'yish'i, "Hashem is my light and my salvation" night and day. Does this not demand an explanation?

It turns out that while the Ashkenazim are lenient in their actions, they are quite stringent when it comes to the content thereof. Their custom of blowing the shofar is a striking introduction and powerful preparation for the Day of Judgement, Rosh HaShanah. (This is why after Rosh HaShanah, we no longer blow the shofar.)

On the other hand, the s'lichot of the Sephardim, while recited at a difficult hour of the day, are replete with comfort and Divine attribute of mercy. They are a great preparation for the Day of Forgiveness, Yom Kippur, on which G-d as if moves from the Throne of Judgement to the Throne of Compassion. The s'lichot express our request for atonement, a central part of teshuvah. The Sephardim thus have it "easy" in that sense, while the Ashkenazim are the more stringent. 

Ever since the destruction of the Holy Temple, instead of the Atonement sacrifices and service, the s'lichot have become the centerpiece of our Yom Kippur prayers. On Rosh HaShanah, on the other hand, there are no s'lichot, and not even confession; it is a day of judgement, not of requests for forgiveness.

In any event, the atmosphere of this month of Elul is a complex one. We are still in the midst of the Seven Weeks of Consolation following the mourning period over the Temple's destruction; the haftarot that both Sephardim and Ashkenazim recite on these Sabbaths are full of prophetic consolation for Zion. It is a month that well represents the typical Jewish oxymoron, "Rejoice with trembling" (Psalms 2,11). On the one hand, we happily anticipate Redemption and the rectification of the world, both collectively and individually. On the other hand, Elul is accompanied by fears and anxiety as it brings us closer to the day we stand before the Divine Throne of Judgement that determines what will befall us this coming year. Elul is the sixth month of the year, the preparation for Tishrei – just as Friday is the day of preparation for the Sabbath.

In truth, the Sephardim do not totally ignore the Shofar before Rosh HaShanah. They blow it every morning more than once, during the recitation of the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy during the s'lichot prayers. In addition, all Jewish congregations read aloud the Torah portion of Ki Tavo shortly before Rosh HaShanah, which includes a series of intense rebukes and punishments for our not having kept the Torah. The verse "Will a shofar be sounded in the city and the people not tremble?" (Amos 3,6) is also quite familiar to their congregations.

We therefore see that the ends meet in this instance. Everyone experiences a multi-dimensional Elul, full of the sometimes contradictory emotions of hope, joy, and the fear of judgement. 

Both Sephardim and Ashkenazim seeking during these days to reach the pinnacle of teshuvah. This is why the haftarot of consolation are replaced after Rosh HaShanah with the "two haftarot of teshuvah" – one on the Fast of Gedaliah immediately after Rosh HaShanah, and the second on Shabbat Shuvah before Yom Kippur (see the first Tosafot on Megillah 31b). The two haftarot of teshuvah are connected to those of consolation that precede them: The Redemption of the nation and the redemption of each individual are two sides of the same coin; the former, which is hidden within the consolation of Zion and Jerusalem, is the introduction to the redemption of each individual soul at these times.

About this the Rambam wrote: "Israel is redeemed only via teshuvah – but the Torah has promised that Israel will ultimately do teshuvah at the end of their Exile, at which time they will immediately be redeemed." (Laws of Teshuvah 7,5)

Haaretz

On a related topic, I would like to note that my article, cited above, received attention in the Haaretz newspaper – by, of all people, an Israeli Druze poet named Salman Masalha. He actually displayed an amazing knowledge of Jewish Law, discussing the differences between Sephardic and Ashkenazi rulings and quoting Rav Ovadiah and the renowned 18th-century Chida (Rav Yosef Chaim David Azulai). Masalha took the opportunity to mock the Jews for their inter-ethnic disputes. I responded with a Letter to the Editor, praising Masalha's breadth of knowledge and offering to write a parallel article on the differences between Shiite and Sunni Muslims and the hundreds of thousands of deaths caused by them. The "newspaper for thinking people" published the first part of my letter, but for some reason omitted the second part. I therefore thought I would note it here.

Emuna: War and the Seventh Year Reminder

by Rav Yosef Veitzen, Rabbi of Psagot in the Binyamin Regional Council, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

Our daily Amidah (Shmoneh Esrei) prayer comprises 19 blessings, and the Talmud explains (Megillah 17b) that their order is quite precise: 

"… And why is Redemption the topic of the seventh blessing? Rav said: "Because Israel is destined to be redeemed in the seventh year [of the Shmittah cycle]." 

"But [we learn elsewhere that] the sixth year is one of [shofar] sounds, the seventh year – wars, and at the end of the seventh, the [Messiah] son of David arrives! [Answer:] War is the beginning of redemption."

We see from this Gemara that the Sages reveal an intrinsic connection between the Shmittah year and war. We are called upon during that year to go out to war against the savage Ishmaelites. What is the essence of this intrinsic connection between war and Shmittah?

The Holy Zohar cites a story involving R. Yosi and R. Chiya. They were walking along and saw two other men who then met a third man – who said that he had lost his way and had not had anything to eat for three days. One of the two men took out food from his pack and gave it all to the hungry man, leaving himself with nothing to eat. R. Chiya and R. Yosi discussed the matter: The former felt that the generous man was too generous, and did not do the right thing in leaving himself without anything. R. Yosi, however, said that it could be that a grave judgement had been decreed upon the giver, and that Divine providence had granted him the chance to do this good deed so that he could be saved from the decree. In the end, R. Yosi was proven correct, in that a miracle was wrought for the man who had given away all his food. 

R. Yosi cited this verse: "Trust in G-d and do good, [that you may] live in the land and be nourished with faithfulness" (Psalms 37,3): If you do good, with trust in G-d, He will save you from troubles and you will thus dwell in the land. 

The Message of Shmittah

R. Yosi's words seem to clash with the traditional teaching that we are not to rely on miracles. In truth, R. Yosi acknowledges that while this is true in general, there are exceptional cases, such as when a person faces a harsh judgment, when he must do a particular mitzvah with devotion and without calculations, and then G-d will protect him.

That is, there are times when a person must ignore regular considerations of money and the like, and simply trust that G-d will help him. The Zohar says that we can learn this from the idea of Shmittah, when we must let the land lay fallow and trust that our sustenance will come not from our work, but from Him. 

Our purpose in this world is simply to cling to Hashem – but He Himself placed us in a world that does not allow us to be engaged only in that. Rather, the rules of the world obligate us not only to keep our eyes on our physical and material goals, but also to plan out ways to achieve them. As such, we work our fields for six full years, just like all the other nations, and then in the seventh year we rest. 

However, there are risks that stem from our preoccupation with earning a living in the "natural" way. We might not only forget our real purpose, but we are liable also to assume that our material success comes exclusively thanks to our own efforts, our hishtadlut. That is, while hishtadlut is important, it might lead to forgetting G-d. And this is why we have the Shmittah year, a "Sabbath unto G-d." This is a full year in which we are exempt from worrying about our sustenance, but rather spend our time and efforts in doing goodness, engaging in matters of the spirit, and rest and cease from all other work. We thus throw our trust only in G-d. 

As the Torah states when it commands us regarding Shmittah: "And if you should ask, Whatever will we eat during the seventh year? … I will direct My [extra] blessing to you in the sixth year…" (Vayikra 25). 

Yes, the Shmittah year is a test: Even though we have little food for ourselves, we are told to trust in G-d and give of ourselves to others. That is, in accordance with the verse cited above, the test is to see if we set aside our personal calculations and seek only to come close to G-d. 

Similarly: During times of war, our individual lives are considered simply a means for the goal of the welfare of the entire country and for the Sanctification of G-d's Name.

While it is difficult to know when we must act like the generous man in the above story and put aside all personal considerations, it appears that during a war, the general rule is that we must set aside our personal issues and devote ourselves to the collective. The Rambam says that when one goes out to war, he must erase from his mind all thoughts of his wife and children, and concentrate exclusively on his war mission. The sacred goals of victory, neutralization of all national threats, and the prevention of a chilul Hashem (desecration of G-d's name) – all these override all personal calculations. 

This is why during the storms of war, we don't count the number of our dead; individual lives must give way to our collective life.

In War, the Ends Generally Justify the Means

When we are engaged in a war, the goal of "victory" is that which determines our strategy. We must wage war in an ethical and moral manner – but only when doing so will not lead to the most unethical and immoral result of all, that of losing the war! When our enemies seek to wipe us out with great cruelty, this is the ultimate immorality, both in terms of the murder and suffering, and also in the chilul Hashem that it entails. 

Yes, of course we fight our wars ethically – for our wars are, essentially, battles for justice and ethics; how can we fight unjustly for the sake of justice? This would be like cutting off the branch on which we sit. But this can never become a reason for us to lose the war, which would be more unjust and unethical that any individual unethical act we could do. 

Trust in G-d During War and in Shmittah

We have thus seen an important connection between the Shmittah year and waging war. Both of them require that we have total trust in Hashem that we will be able to attain our objectives. The attribute of trust in G-d produces within us new strengths; we no longer need to rely only on our own limited capabilities, but rather know that we have infinite Divine forces on our side, which no earthly force can withstand. 

"Give us aid against the adversary, but the salvation at the hand of man is futile. Through God we shall gather might, and He will trample our adversaries." (Psalms 60,13-14)

Re'eh: Entering the Land with Prophetic Guidance

by the late Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rav Avraham Shapira ZT"L, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

This week's Torah portion – Re'eh, Deut. 11,26-16,17 – tells us that we must "seek G-d's presence" (12,5) in Jerusalem, and specifically at the site of the Holy Temple, known today as the Temple Mount. 

The Medrash Sifri explains that this verse is telling us to "seek" via a prophet. We are obligated to consult with the prophet regarding the construction of the Temple and its precise location.

Concerning the King of Israel we have a similar obligation, about which we will read in next week's Torah portion: We are charged to install a king, in accordance with the prophet's directives. The laws of the king are to be connected with the prophet.

And there is also a third mitzvah in this little group, that of wiping out Amalek: "G-d is at war with Amalek for all generations" (Exodus 17,16). The laws regarding this commandment were given over to King Sha'ul by the Prophet Shmuel (as is also apparent from the words of Psikta Rabati 12). 

In our Kabbalat [Greeting] Shabbat prayer, we recite Psalms 95-99, including these verses: Moshe v'Aharon b'khohanav, "Moshe and Aharon were among His priests, and Shmuel among those who call in His name… In a pillar of cloud He spoke to them, they kept His testimonies and the statutes [that] He gave them." We know that G-d gave the Torah to Moshe, and some of the laws He gave to Moshe and Aharon together – but what laws were ever Divinely instructed to Shmuel?

The explanation is as above: The laws of kingship in Israel were given to the nation via the Prophet Shmuel. This is clearly stated in the Medrash Yalkut Tehillim (853) on the above verse: "We know that Moshe was taught the Torah, and we also know regarding Shmuel, that a Torah scroll was written for him, as is written after Shmuel chose Sha'ul to be king, "Shmuel told the people the rules of the kingdom, and wrote it in the Book and placed it before G-d" (Shmuel I 10, 25).  

We learn from here that these three commandments - to seek out and build the Temple, install a king, and destroy Amalek – are unique in that they must be performed at the directives of a prophet. And these are also the three mitzvot that must be performed when Israel enters the Holy Land, as the Talmud teaches (Sanhedrin 20b): "Israel was commanded to perform three mitzvot when they enter the Land: to install a king, to cut off the descendants of Amalek, and to build the Holy Temple."

At first blush this is strange. We were commanded many mitzvot upon entering the Land - especially those that are agricultural, but not only those! Why are these three specifically noted? 

Rashi explains that these three are inter-dependent, in that they must be performed in a certain order. But we can add another reason, based on what we said above: These three are to be executed in a particular manner, with the guidance of a prophet, and therefore they were listed on their own. 

The Exact Spot

We note that when the Torah speaks of the site where G-d's Divine Presence is to dwell, which is where the Holy Temple is to stand, it does not specify its exact location (as Maimonides notes in his Guide to the Perplexed). It rather refers to it as "the place that I will select." Similarly, when Avraham Avinu is told to offer up his son Isaac as a sacrifice on Mt. Moriah, where the Temple will later be built, the exact location is left vague: "on one of the mountains that I will tell you" (B'reshit 22,2). 

Bottom line: In order to build the Temple, it is incumbent upon us to awaken our desire for G-d's presence among us. This is precisely the Torah's words, l'shichno tidrishu. We must seek G-d, and this very pursuit and search will bring us closer to our inner Temple. As we read in Parashat Terumah: "They shall make for Me a sanctuary and I will dwell in their midst." This means that man himself constitutes a dwelling place for the Divine Presence, and he must seek to do so in accordance with prophetic guidance. 

Maimonides wrote (in his Epistle to Yemenite Jewry): "It is fitting for the public to rely on the Prophets, those with the true eyes... and after the [era of the] prophets, they must put their trust in the Sages, who study day and night the various explanations and opinions in order to ascertain which are true and which are false." And the Gaon of Vilna wrote similarly in his commentary to Seder Olam Rabba. 

May it be G-d's will that the Beit HaMikdash be rebuilt speedily in our days, and that we receive our share in His Torah.

Emuna: Removing Tradition (and Openness) from Traditional

by Rav Avraham Vasserman, Community Rabbi in Givatayim, yeshiva.org.il, translated by Hillel Fendel.

What does it mean to be a traditional Jew, as opposed to an orthodox observant Jew? There are many answers, but most "traditionally," the way it developed in the Orient amongst Sephardic Jews was the following: Faith in the G-d of Israel, belief that He gave the Torah to Israel at Mt. Sinai, belief in the concept of Divine reward and punishment, and respect for Halakhah [Jewish Law]. In their world, rabbis are greatly respected and are invited to important occasions, while family connections are warm and important. At the same time, the Halakhah is not fully observed, and families might go for a Sabbath drive to the beach after the father and sons return from synagogue. There is a comfortable openness towards those who are not observant of Jewish Law barely at all, even if the parents might sigh in regret that their children are not as traditional as they would have liked them to be. Often, when something substantial happens in their lives, they might take upon themselves an additional mitzvah, such as lighting Sabbath candles or wearing tefillin. 

This way of life is not an ideology, but rather just the way they are. Sometimes people even express the wish to be more observant, but "my spouse doesn't agree," or, "it's too hard to commit." This is a style that appreciates Jewish religiosity while not feeling bound by it, and it has much beauty and positivity, especially in its openness to different degrees of observance – including even those who are very religious. 

Most unfortunately, in recent years there are those who have been trying to reframe this "traditional," practical way of life as a methodological ideology that declares openly that Halakhah "means nothing to us." Nothing could be further from the truth. 

In essence, the reframing is a type of Reform – not vis-à-vis Orthodoxy, but of traditional appreciation of Judaism. "Our way of life has nothing to do with religious life," these reformers paraphrase what was once said by certain Zionists about Zionism. This attempt to impose agendas on the large mesorati (traditional) public in Israel, on the large sector of grandparents and parents who recite Kiddush and Grace after Meals at their festive Sabbath meals – together with their children who do not normally do so – is nothing more than cynical advantage-taking of their good hearts. The vast majority of mesorati Jews in Israel want nothing to do with such a (non-)relationship to Jewish Law and to Jews who are more or less observant than they are.

Rav Kook (d. 1935) lived in a generation when many Jews abandoned their Torah beliefs and lives. In his profound analysis of this phenomenon, Rav Kook explains that one of its reasons is that it is hard for many people to find G-d in detailed laws, such as not cooking or making a phone call on the Sabbath. They still seek a connection with G-d, however – in the belief, sometimes, that this will be an even deeper connection. It is manifest partly in the "short cut" of being a good person, helping others, honoring parents, kissing the Torah scroll in the synagogue, and believing that G-d wants the best for all of us.

Rav Kook then goes a step further, and explains that this is basically the influence of Christianity. Though this sounds surprising, it is a fact that many Christians believe that what determines whether they are "saved" in the Next World is whether or not they believed in Jesus as their savior – and not necessarily their deeds in This World. 

That is, man wanted an escape from legalisms, and therefore created a different spiritual and religious ideology. But in his desire to remain connected to the original divine revelation and to eternal life, he came up with a twist in the plot: He turned the Torah into the "Old Covenant (Testament)," one which still exists but is no longer relevant. Instead, goes the claim, there is a "New Covenant" which no longer requires the laws of the Torah, but still believes in the Creator and His supervision, reward and punishment, and more. This new covenant emphasizes the ethics and morality of the Torah, in place of its laws and other teachings, even though the latter includes within them all of the former. This is precisely the problematic issue caused by stealing the lights of the Torah and detaching them from the practical mitzvot.

Some readers will yell out: "Are you calling these good Jews, Christians?! Have they instituted a new religion?!" Of course not. But it is important to know the common denominator between them, and that is the desire to throw off the yoke of the law. The Christians chose the idea of a new revelation, while some Jews went with a pick-and-choose attitude towards the mitzvot, keeping some and rejecting the others. 

Don't worry: Saba and Savta [your grandparents] will always be happy to welcome you, even if you come by car on the Sabbath. But don't dress them up with agendas that they never considered.