August 18th: Shoftim
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
The instructions that begin our Torah portion seem straightforward:
“You shall appoint judges and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice. You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the pleas of the just. Justice, just shall you pursue, that you may thrive and occupy the land that the Lord your God is giving you.” (Deuteronomy 16.18-20)
Be fair. Be honest. Judge with justice. It seems simple, but human situations can get quite complex, and judges can find themselves having to choose among lesser evils or lesser injustices.
A famous Talmudic story illustrates such complexity, and the law at its center comes just a few verses after the famous, “Justice, justice…” In Deuteronomy 17.1, we read; “You shall not sacrifice to the Lord your God an ox or a sheep that has any defect, for that is abhorrent to the Lord your God.”
A note before the story. Some translations render “mum kol d’var ra” as “any defect,” and others render it “any defect of a serious kind.” How bad must an imperfection be for it to be considered a defect? This becomes important in the story.
Here’s the story, from Talmud Gitten 55b and 56a, based on the Sefaria translation by Educator David Schwartz:
The Gemara explains: Jerusalem was destroyed on account of Kamtza and bar Kamtza. There was a certain man whose friend was named Kamtza and whose enemy was named bar Kamtza. That man once made a large feast and said to his servant: Go bring me my friend Kamtza. The servant went and mistakenly brought him his enemy bar Kamtza. The man who was hosting the feast came and found bar Kamtza at the table. The host said to bar Kamtza. You are my enemy. What are you doing here? Arise and leave. Bar Kamtza said to him: Since I have already come, let me stay and I will give you money for whatever I eat and drink. Just do not embarrass me by sending me out. The host said to him: No, you must leave. Bar Kamtza said to him: I will give you money for half of the feast; just do not send me away. The host said to him: No, you must leave. Bar Kamtza then said to him: I will give you money for the entire feast; just let me stay. The host said to him: No, you must leave. Finally, the host took bar Kamtza by his arm, stood him up, and took him out.
An advice columnist might have a lot to say about this situation, and, as we shall soon read, the ancient version of moral and etiquette arbiters, the Sages/Rabbis, are present and apparently do not intervene.
After having been cast out from the feast, bar Kamtza said to himself: Since the Sages were sitting there and did not protest the actions of the host, although they saw how he humiliated me, they must approve of what he did. I will therefore go and inform against them to the king. He went and said to the emperor: The Jews have rebelled against you. The emperor said to him: Who says that this is the case? Bar Kamtza said to him: Go and test them; send them an offering to be brought in honor of the government and see whether they will sacrifice it. The emperor sent with him a choice three-year-old calf. While bar Kamtza was coming with the calf to the Temple, he made a blemish on the calf’s upper lip (and some say he made the blemish on its eyelids), a place where according to us, i.e., Halachah, it is a defect, but according to them, gentile rules for their offerings, it is not a defect. Therefore, when bar Kamtza brought the animal to the Temple, the priests would not sacrifice it on the altar since it was blemished/defective, but they also could not explain this satisfactorily to the gentile authorities, who did not consider it to be blemished/defective.
One wonders what Dear Abby or Miss Manners would advise. Something about communication? In any event, the Sages—legal experts to whom the Priests turn for tough questions—are thrown into a logical cauldron.
The blemish notwithstanding, the Sages thought to sacrifice the animal as an offering due to the imperative to maintain peace with the government. Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkolas said to them: If the priests do that, people will say that blemished animals may be sacrificed as offerings on the altar. The Sages said: If we do not sacrifice it, then we must prevent bar Kamtza from reporting this to the emperor. The Sages thought to kill him so that he would not go and speak against them. Rabbi Zechariah said to them: If you kill him, people will say that one who makes a blemish on sacrificial animals is to be killed. As a result, they did nothing, bar Kamtza’s slander was accepted by the authorities, and consequently the war between the Jews and the Romans began. Rabbi Yoḥanan says: The excessive humility of Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkolas destroyed our Temple, burned our Sanctuary, and exiled us from our land.
There are so many missteps in this tragedy that one yearns to start over. I want to focus on the final sentence however, for it speaks to the dynamics in which judges often find themselves. Humility is generally considered a good trait. We certainly read that Moses was the most humble of men (Numbers 12.3), and that is considered a wonderful thing. However, when the Gemara speaks of Rabbi Zechariah’s “excessive humility,” I think they are speaking euphemistically about him being weak and afraid to make the hard decision necessary in this messy case. There are times when any and every course of action leads to problematic consequences. Doing nothing, however, disallows any kind of guidance. Leadership requires courage and foresight so that the lesser of evils or injustices can be chosen. Will criticism come afterwards? Probably, but it is better than the catastrophe that Rabbi Zechariah’s paralysis brings to our people.
May we keep our eyes open to the consequences of our actions and may our hearts open to everyone our decisions affect. May we also have courage and strength—and bear the noble burden of responsibility.