September 6th: Ki Tetzay
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Our Torah portion this week begins with words of war:
“When you take the field against your enemies…” (Deuteronomy 21.10)
In this passage—and in others in last week’s portion, the Torah attempts to guide us in the barbaric and desperate world of mortal combat.
I have never been to war, and all I know about war comes from history books and movies. Some of the movies and books are exciting, but many of the movies and most of the history books are boring. Rather than a well-paced, excitement-filled Tom Clancy or Gregg Hurwitz thriller—or a James Bond or Jason Bourne movie, real war is complicated, plodding, full of factors and strategies and conflicting opinions—an undifferentiated mass of confusion and blood. My suspicion is that real war is akin to those endless battle scenes in Lord of the Rings, Saving Private Ryan, or Game of Thrones. Fighting and fighting and fighting and killing for hours and hours—or being killed, with comrades falling at your side and little sense of the dangers that almost randomly come at you. This is the Hell of warfare. And do not forget the other factors: supply lines, alliances, shifting alliances, political power-plays, misinformation, etc. All of these things are part of war, and their sheer complexity and multivalent shifting of sand makes war very difficult to discuss in soundbites, editorials, and sermons.
Furthermore, even if someone has been to war, the perspective of being in the middle of a pitched life-or-death battle may not be overly helpful in understanding the larger vision that those in charge of wars must consider. For that perspective, we rely upon experts—line officers who have fought and supervised fighting and whose opinions are more reflective of the strategies and larger issues involved in warfare. The problem with them is that they have lots of different opinions about what is and should be happening. These experts are not always in agreement—and not always fully informed, and that puts those of us not-in-the-know still not-in-the-know. Though there is a lot of talk about war and how best to conduct it, it seems to me that a healthy dose of humility is important. A healthy dose of humility.
Our Prophets look forward to peace:
“Lo yisa goy el goy cherev; lo yil’m’du od milchamah.
Nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war any more.”
(Isaiah 2.4 and Micah 4.3).
However, the Torah also presents a resigned acceptance of the fact that wars happen—that they may sometimes be necessary. Though we hold up visions of peace, the fact is that such sentiments are prayers—idyllic dreams and poignant hopes that are, unfortunately, more Messianic than practical. Why? Because there are bad guys out there who are trying to hurt/conquer/kill us, and sometimes the only way to stop them is battle. War is not a good thing, but it is too often thrust upon us. It is not one of those blessings in life to which we look forward. But survival is better than death, and freedom is better than enslavement, and sometimes our love of peace cannot find fulfillment.
In a kind of poignant parallel, our Torah portion also speaks with resigned acceptance of another unpleasant possibility in life, Divorce. Deuteronomy 24.1 is the passage where Judaism gets our operative Halachic approach: “When a man takes a wife and possesses her,” and the marriage does not work, “and he writes her a bill of divorcement…”
Though a terribly dramatic event in some people’s lives, the Torah is pretty matter-of-fact about the dissolution of a marriage. For the Rabbinic Sages, divorce is not a positive mitzvah—something that God commands us to do. But, in the unhappy situation of a failed marriage, God nonetheless expects us to behave with righteousness. Thus do the Rabbis of the Talmud derive and prescribe the various mitzvot incumbent upon divorcing parties. The mitzvah is not to divorce but to be holy in even sad and difficult circumstances. Over the ages, this concern with righteous behavior has continued, and many adaptations have been made to render the process fairer and more compassionate. The Reform and Conservative Movements have been at the forefront of these modern innovations, but one can also see progress in parts of the Orthodox world.
Our Jewish approach is in marked distinction to the attitude of traditional Christianity. Theirs has traditionally been vehemently anti-divorce, and they have considered divorce to be a human rebellion against God’s decision. They take their opposition from a verse that appears twice in the New Testament, once in the Gospel of Mark (10.9) and another time in the Gospel of Matthew (19.6): “What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” Whereas Judaism sees marriage as a relationship between and managed by humans, Christianity sees the sanctification of marriage by the clerical officiant as essentially removing the marriage from human “ownership” and making it God’s. Rather than being something owned and administered by the husband and the wife, the marriage is considered the “property” of God—something the humans have no right to dissolve. History is full of the chaffing that such an attitude has caused—with the machinations of rich and powerful people who try to finesse the system, and the changes that some modern denominations have made. Nonetheless, it is curious to consider how differently our two different faith traditions approach the divide that sometimes opens up between our ideals and our realities.
When it comes to both war and divorce, we are sometimes forced to deal with things we do not want—with things we would rather not have to do. Our dreams of both peace and a perfect marriage may be strong but sometimes dreams evaporate. What do we do? Judaism in both Torah and Talmud urges us to deal with our problems righteously. We do not deny the sad and tragic parts of life. We stand up and face the truth—and try to figure out the most righteous and holy ways to navigate life’s tragedies.