Reb Jeff

Righteousness and Self-Righteousness

7/26/2019

This week's Torah portion is Pinchas, named for the biblical character that Jewish tradition sees as the model of righteous zealotry. Don't be surprised if you did not learn about Pinchas when you were a child in religious school. His story is rather grisly.

In the story, Pinchas took swift, but unauthorized, action when he saw an Israelite man named Zimri "whoring" with a Midianite woman named Cozbi. (It's a charged word, but an accurate translation of the Hebrew, לזנות, in Numbers 25:1). Pinchas picked up a spear and killed both Zimri and Cozbi. According to the text, Pinchas' zealous action averted God's wrath against the Israelites and it earned him the reward of "perpetual priesthood."

Even the ancient rabbis had a hard time understanding and explaining this story, as it implies that vigilante killing can be excused, and even rewarded, if it is done in zealous obedience to God. It's a dangerous idea. We don't want to encourage people to justify killing by saying, "God told me to do it."

The Talmud states that Pinchas was only rewarded for his murderous action because he struck the couple while they were caught in the midst of the forbidden act. Further, it says that Zimri had a right to kill Pinchas in self-defense because no court had ordered him to be executed (B. Sanhedrin 82a). By some measure, Pinchas was no better than the man he killed.

What is the Torah trying to tell us? What are the rabbis trying to say?

Zealotry is a common human experience to things that excite our anger and our sense of righteousness. When people see things they believe to be evil, they often are quick to strike (preferably with words, not spears). We can recognize this tendency in ourselves.

Think about the times when you have responded angrily to something that seemed wrong to you. Did you say something hurtful? Did you become hostile? Did you do something that you later regretted, even if you thought your anger was justified?

Jewish tradition has an ambivalent approach to such zealotry. On the one hand, it is good to be passionate in the cause of justice and righteousness. We applaud swift action to stand up for what is right. On the other hand, we are reminded that we rarely make good choices when we are enraged.

The rabbis intentionally narrowed the circumstances when actions like Pinchas' could be permitted. They warned that the line between righteous indignation and self-righteous fervor can be very unclear when we are upset. They reminded us that zealotry can backfire in terrible ways.

How should we respond when our passions are excited by things that seem wrong to us? First, we should be patient with ourselves. Take the time you need to consider an appropriate response. Consider the perspective and intentions of the other person.

Second, let your response come from your best self – your highest values and your deepest commitments – and not from anger, self-aggrandizement, or fear. Remember that we always have a choice to make things better, or to allow our anger to make them worse. Make choices that lead to healing.

Finally, be humble. None of us is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. Remember the times when you fell short of your standards and you needed others to be forgiving toward you – not enraged. Lower your ego before you judge others.

Pinchas' story is not easy. It challenges us and may even anger us. It reminds us that there are no easy choices in this world. It reminds us to examine ourselves, our motivations, and our feelings. It tells us to do the best we can to do what is right in a world that is often wrong.

Other Posts on This Topic:
Pinchas: Zealotry
Pinchas: Phinehas' Spear

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Pinchas: Zealotry

7/28/2016

Ultra-orthodox protestors throw chairs in their zealous opposition of a women's prayer service at the Western Wall.

This week's Torah portion, Pinchas, is often called a "difficult" portion because it includes a prominent story with a morally questionable message. The story is about an Israelite man, Phineas (Pinchas in Hebrew), who took it upon himself to kill a fellow Israelite who engaged in sexual immorality. In Jewish tradition, the story is a touchstone for debate over how far a person can go in enforcing morality on others.

The story, as interpreted by the rabbis, begins with the nations of Moab and Midian attempting to defeat the Israelites by unconventional means. The Moabite and Midianite women tried to sexually entice the Israelite men to seduce them into the worship of idols. Their hope was to trick the Israelites into abandoning their God so that God would no longer protect them.

The dalliances between the Israelite men and the foreign women so enraged God that the Israelites were in danger of being wiped out by a plague that God delivered as punishment. Phineas took immediate action. He saw a high-ranking Israelite man escorting a Midianite woman into his tent and immediately picked up a spear and killed them both (Numbers 25:8). In the story, Phineas' swift and deadly action ended the plague and saved the Israelites.

The rabbis of the Talmud cannot reconcile Phineas' execution of the Israelite man and Midianite woman with their own ideas about justice and morality. Punishment, according to the rabbis, should be authorized by courts and procedures, not by zealous vigilantes. The rabbis came to a split decision in which they justified Phineas' actions as fulfilling God's will, but they also concluded that if the high-ranking Israelite had picked up a sword or spear and killed Phineas in self-defense, that killing also would have been justified (B. Sanhedrin 82b). A person who takes the law into his or her own hands, they suggest, must be willing to accept the consequences when the offender becomes a defender.

The story, and the rabbis' interpretation of it, presents more questions than answers. The idea that the Israelite could have defended himself does not change the outcome of the story. It does not solve the moral outrage of his execution. There is no way to justify the moral implications of Phineas. And, yet, this is Torah. Our tradition asks us to struggle to find positive meaning in it, a message for our own times.

Moral zealotry is on the rise in our society today. We are living in a time in which it is common for people to justify anti-social behavior in the name of moral imperatives. Public servants refuse to issue marriage licenses when they are offended by same-sex couples. Activists block highway traffic to protest the killing of civilians by police. At the Western Wall, ultra-orthodox Jews throw chairs at people and rip apart their prayerbooks because they are offended by women reading from the Torah. We have many examples of modern-day heirs of Phineas who take direct and disruptive action when they believe that God is on their side.

The rabbis are unwilling to make a blanket condemnation of such zealotry. They recognize – and we can, too – that there are times when civil disobedience and violation of social norms is the right thing to do in the face of injustice and immorality. However, the rabbis also warn that anyone who wishes to take such action must do so with caution. Before playing the role of the zealot in complete certainty of our righteousness, we must consider that we might, in fact, be completely and certainly wrong. We must consider and accept the consequences of our actions.

As we enter our quadrennial season of national political decision-making, it is only natural that engaged citizens will feel passion in promoting their views and opinions. For myself, I can say that I know that I feel energized by politicians who inspire me. I also know that I can feel enraged by those politicians whom I believe threaten my beliefs. I know that I have been guilty of burning with the fires of zealotry, and I have sometimes come to regret the choices I have made in zealous passion.

The Torah and our tradition come to remind us that passion for a good cause can be a good thing, but it can also be a trap. If we allow ourselves to get carried away with our zealotry – if it becomes a justification for speaking or acting in hurtful ways toward others – we must be willing to accept the consequences of the harm we do. We owe it to ourselves and to our society to balance our passion with a measure of humility. We must not allow our righteous fervor to turn into self-righteous zeal.

Other Posts on This Topic:
Pinchas: Phinehas' Spear
Women of the Wall

Pinchas: Freedom Must be Won

6/27/2013

Tell me if this story sounds familiar to you.

A group of people who had been denied basic rights enjoyed by others approached the highest court in the land. Thousands of years of tradition stood against them. They were opposed by powerful interests that saw their cause as a threat. On their side, they had only the righteousness of their cause and the truth of their arguments. When their pleas for justice were heard, the honest sensibility of their position was so incontrovertible that the halls of power could not deny them. They won fair treatment that put them on the path toward freedom and equality.

That is this week's story, both in the news and in the Torah. It is the story of the U.S. Supreme Court restoring equal marriage in California and ruling that the federal government must recognize all legal marriages equally — those of same-sex couples the same as those of straight couples. It is also the story of the daughters of Zelophechad in this week's Torah portion (Pinchas).

The Torah recounts how the five daughters of Zelophechad — Machlah, Noah, Choglah, Milkah and Tirzah — approached Moses after the death of their father. In front of all the elders of Israel, they explained that their father had no sons to carry on his name and inherit his land. Since women were not permitted to inherit, his name would be lost and his land holdings would be absorbed by others. They asked, given these circumstances, that they receive the right to inherit.

Traditionally, this is considered one of the four incidents in which Moses had to consult with God in order to answer a legal question (Sifre Shelach 113). Moses brought the case of the five sisters to God and God told Moses, "The plea of Zelophechad’s daughters is just. You should give them a hereditary holding among their father’s kin. Transfer their father’s share to them" (Numbers 27:7). In addition, God instructed Moses that this rule would apply any time a man died without a son. His daughters would be allowed to inherit.

In the context of the time, this was a great victory for justice. But was the victory of the daughter's of Zelophechad complete? No. They won the right to inherit, but only when there were no sons to inherit ahead of them. It took many centuries more for any human society to reach the point where men and women would be be accorded equal property rights. It was not a complete victory, but an important milestone on the way toward equality.

The same is true of Wednesday's victories in the Supreme Court. It was a great victory, but not a complete one. Two thirds of Americans still live in states that do not accord equal marriage rights to all of their citizens (and I am one of them). There is still a great deal of work left to do in the cause of justice.

We Americans are proud to live in a country that values liberty and freedom as much as we do. Sometimes, we assume that freedom comes as easily as breathing in our country — as if it were part of our society's culture and DNA. We forget that there are many Americans whose freedom is denied by persistent forms of discrimination. If some adult Americans do not have the right to marry the person they love, no matter what state they live in, we have not yet reached the full promise of being a free country.

We also forget that winning freedom is not easy. Like the thousands of American men and women who have spoken up for equal marriage, the daughter's of Zelophechad did not sit in their tents waiting for justice to be delivered to them. They did not despair that the obstacles were too great, or that they had to accept inequality. They gathered their courage to stand in front of powerful men to ask for something no woman had received before. They made their case in such a powerful way that not even the mighty could deny the truth of a God who loves justice. They won because they dared to speak up and to fight for what they believed.

Tell me if this story sounds familiar to you. The task is not yet complete. There is so much more we need to do to create the society of our dreams. Keep standing up and speaking out for justice.

Other Posts on This Topic:
DOMA, the Supreme Court, and Love
Pinchas: Five Sisters Who Turned the Key to Unlock the Torah
Life's Do-Overs

Pinchas: Phinehas' Spear

7/9/2012

This week's Torah portion (Pinchas) picks up in the middle of a story that began at the end of last week's portion. It is a story that frightens us with its praise for a gruesome killing.

The women of Moab and Midian sought to defeat the Israelites by wooing their men into the worship of idols. This so enraged God that Moses feared his entire community would be wiped out by the plague God brought as punishment.

According to the story, one Israelite, a grandson of Aaron named Phinehas (or, Pinchas, in Hebrew), took immediate action. He saw a high-ranking Israelite man escorting a Midianite woman and immediately picked up a spear and "stabbed them both, the Israelite man and the woman through the belly" (Numbers 25:8).

The description is graphically violent and there can be no question about the sexual message of the image. It is as if Phinehas is saying, "If you wish to drive your 'spear' into that foreign woman's belly, I will spear the two of you together, literally." The Talmud even says that the man and woman were copulating at the time Phinehas killed them (B. Sanhedrin 82b). No subtlety there. Phinehas' fury is likened to the fervor of sexual passion.

For this deadly act, Phinehas is rewarded with the priesthood for himself and his descendants. God says, "I grant him My covenant of peace. A covenant of priesthood shall be his and descendants after him forever, for he acted passionately for his God and atoned for the Israelites" (Numbers 25:12-13).

There is no doubt that this is a deeply troubling story on multiple levels. It is wantonly chauvenistic. It condones horrific violence. For now, though, let us look at the central problem of a man who executes two people without any judicial process and, as a result, is treated as a hero. How do we make sense of that?

The ancient rabbis saw that Phinehas' merit was in his fire, his zealous passion to do the will of God. Yet, the rabbis also are wary of such fire. In the Talmud, the rabbis go so far as to say that the man Phinehas killed did have the right to defend himself. Had he killed Phinehas first, the rabbis say, he would not have been guilty of murder.

Phinehas acted outside the law, which can be defended only up to a point, even as an act of righteous fury. Curiously, the Talmud characterizes the case of Phinehas as a unique situation that should never be repeated. "Zealots may kill one who fornicates with Midian women," the rabbis say, "but this is a law that must not be taught" (B. Sanhedrin 82b).

So, what does that say about the Jewish attitude toward zealotry? It is good to be passionate about Judaism. It is good to have a fire within that drives you to a life of Torah. Yet, that fire can become destructive. The rabbis warn against crossing the line that turns zealotry into fanaticism—the point at which we start to use religion as an excuse for shaming, harming, and even killing people.

It is a concern that should not be too distant from our thoughts about religion in the modern world. Whether it is Moslem fanatics who fire missiles to kill innocent civilians in S'derot, or Christian fundamentalists who provoke the murder of doctors who perform abortions, deadly religious fanaticism is alive and well today. In the Jewish community, too, we have seen Ultra-Orthodox Jews attack and persecute other Jews for not being as "pious" as they believe themselves to be.

Jewish tradition says it is wrong. Our texts teach that zealotry, even for a cause motivated by Torah, has its limits. No one should teach that Torah permits or condones harming another for the sake of religious fervor.

And what of Phinehas' reward? Why is he given God's "covenant of peace"?

There may be an answer for that, too. Rabbi Daniel Landes, the Director and Rosh Yeshiva of the Pardes Institute in Jerusalem, suggests that the priestly covenant given to Phinehas is not a reward. Rather, Phinehas was enjoined, from that moment on, to have a relationship with God built only on peace. It is as if Phinehas was told to put down the sword of a soldier and, instead, to take up the peaceful life of priest.

This should be the joyful model for Jewish passion. Our zealotry for God is not measured in how we show ourselves to be holier than others. We find the true fire and ecstatic attachment to Torah and Jewish living in the choices we make that bring our souls to peace.

Other Posts on This Topic:
Pinchas: Five Sisters Who Turned the Key to Unlock the Torah
Shavuot: The Torah is Your Lover
The Problem with Certainty

Pinchas: Five Sisters Who Turned the Key to Unlock the Torah

7/15/2011

This week's Torah portion, Pinchas, includes the story of five sisters who came before Moses to challenge a law. The story interests us from a feminist perspective because the sisters triumphed in the end and changed the law to their benefit and the benefit of all women. However, the story also is a great example of how Jewish tradition understands the need for Torah to change.

At some point, just about everyone who begins the serious study of Torah asks themselves this question: How did the rabbis get away with making up so many laws that have so little basis in the text of the Torah? To name just one example, the Torah says absolutely nothing about the fate of a woman whose husband divorces her, but the rabbis developed a complex marriage contract—the ketubah—to protect women from cruel poverty after divorce. Where did the rabbis get the right to alter the Torah to this extent?

The answer, of course, is that they got the right to change the Torah from the Torah itself.

The ancient rabbis knew that they went far afield in their interpretations. They admit it in the Mishnah, where they talk about the many laws they pronounced based on just a few scant verses. The sages say, "The laws concerning Shabbat, the festival offerings, and the transfer of sacred items for secular use are all mountains suspended by a hair! Scripture teaches little about them but the laws we derive are many!" (M. Chagigah 1:8).

In fact, rabbinic Judaism is based on exactly this kind of far-reaching interpretation. In the time of the rabbis, the survival of the Torah depended upon it.

The Torah is the product of an agricultural civilization built around a powerful king and a Temple where priests oversaw sacrifices to earn God's protection for the nation. That civilization quickly was becoming irrelevant by the first century c.e. when the rabbis took center stage. The rabbis recognized that in order to maintain the core values of the Torah, they had to show that the Torah was really a guide that taught spiritual lessons hidden in the rules about herding cattle and offering sacrifices.

The rabbis had to adapt the Torah to the needs of an age that was predominantly urban, that had lost the sovereignty of its king, that was influenced by the universal ideals of Greek philosophy, and that was increasingly skeptical of the inherited authority of priests. The rabbis used interpretation to transform the Torah into a teaching fit for philosophers and ethicists, instead of for farmers, priests and kings.

But, how did they unlock the Torah to make such transforming interpretations? The key was there in the lock itself, only waiting for someone's hand to turn it.

In the story of the daughters of Zelophechad, the five sisters came before Moses to present a grievance. The law had stated that land could be inherited only by males. Since their recently deceased father had no male heirs, his inheritance would be scattered to the other men of the tribe. Their father's name would be lost to history and his land would permanently enter into the possession of other families.

Machlah, Noah, Choglah, Milkah and Tirzah went to Moses and said, "Why should our father’s name be lost to his family just because he had no son! Give us land to possess along with the rest of our father’s kin!" (Numbers 27:4). Moses heard their protest and could say nothing until he "brought the case before Adonai" (verse 5).

God instructed Moses that the daughters of Zelophechad were correct. When a man dies without leaving a male heir, God said, the daughters would be given possession of the land as the equals of their father's kinsmen. The previously pronounced law was challenged and changed through a new act of interpretation in order to meet an unforeseen need.

That is the power of the Torah—and the power of interpreting the Torah, which is first exemplified by the Torah itself! The Torah contains within itself the flexibility to change and to be rediscovered and reinterpreted.

In our own times, when so much has changed in the way we view the dignity of human beings—regardless of gender, race and sexual orientation—we can view this story as a reminder that keeping the Torah does not mean refusing to change. The Torah itself asks that we look at moral implications to adapt the law to meet the needs of the times. Not only does that keep Torah relevant, it draws Torah out of stagnation and into the realm of the joy of the human spirit.

That is the way of ensuring that the Torah's central teachings survive and thrive in a changing world.

Righteousness and Self-Righteousness

Pinchas: Zealotry

Pinchas: Freedom Must be Won

Pinchas: Phinehas' Spear

Pinchas: Five Sisters Who Turned the Key to Unlock the Torah

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