The Double Vision of
Deuteronomy
D’var Torah for
Parashat Shoftim
By Rabbi Boaz D.
Heilman
My mother-in-law, Elaine, has never needed glasses, not for
reading or for distance. She attributes
this blessing to the fact that she is actually equally near-sighted in one eye
as she is far-sighted in the other.
Somehow the two eyes have learned to coordinate with each other in such
a way that one compensates for the other.
The result is perfect vision.
Now, I didn’t mean that as a mother-in-law joke, God forbid. Elaine is a wise and fortunate woman, the
perfect example of an eshet chayil, a
woman of valor.
What I did mean to say is that when we read the fifth book
of the Torah, Deuteronomy, we need to have the kind of double vision my
mother-in-law has. On the one hand we
need to see with utmost clarity the savagery of the world at the time the book
was written, the pervasive lack of justice, the misuse and abuse of power both
by royalty and the priestly castes. But
at the same time, we need to pay close attention to Deuteronomy’s idealism, to its
lofty vision of a world where justice is tempered with compassion and where cruelty
is countered by kindness.
This double vision is exemplified perfectly in this week’s
Torah portion, Shoftim, (“Judges,”
Deut. 16:28—21:9). In this portion,
Moses instructs the Israelites, once they settle in the Promised Land, to set
up a system where shoftim v’shot’rim
(judges and magistrates) rule the people.
Almost immediately, however, what becomes clear is that what really existed
at the time was something quite different. Unlike the idyllic portrait of a
land “flowing with milk and honey,” Canaan actually was ruled by corrupt and
greedy rulers. The orderly and impartial
system of justice Moses calls for in Shoftim
is highlighted against the darker and more realistic background of chaos and
lawlessness. Canaan of the 10th
century BCE was a time and place where enslavement and abuse were commonplace;
where child sacrifice was seen as an acceptable way of repaying the gods for
their favors; and where blind vengeance, not justice, was the basis of all civil
law.
What makes Deuteronomy such difficult reading is that, while
calling for a kinder, gentler and more just world, it also accepts that which
it cannot change. The very portion in
which we encounter that breath-taking and visionary command, tzedek, tzedek tirdof, (“justice,
justice shall you pursue,” Deut. 16:20), also permits the ancient Israelites to
take for themselves all the women, children and livestock of an enemy defeated
in war.
It is such duality that makes some of us slam the Good Book
shut and put it aside for good.
Still another verse from Shoftim
reads, “Life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for
foot” (Deut. 19:21). But to claim, as
some people do, that this simplistic view of justice is the entire teaching of the
Torah, is simply erroneous. If this is all that the Torah has to teach us, then
it never evolved from the time of Hammurabi, who laid the law some 1000 years before
Moses.
In truth, however, the Torah sees the world with two
eyes: One sees reality as it is; the
other, as it could be, as it should
be.
Take, for example, the instructions for those shoftim v’shotrim, the very judges and magistrates
that the Torah has us set up to oversee law and order. The Torah admonishes: “You shall not pervert
justice; you shall not show favoritism, and you shall not take a bribe, for
bribery blinds the eyes of the wise and perverts just words” (Deut.
16:19). The portion continues by
teaching the difference between intentional murder and accidental homicide. Shoftim looks at blood vengeance—common
not only in the 10th century BCE, but also still in our own day—and
has us replace it with a society where refuge cities provide protection for the
innocent and where unbiased courts offer the possibility of arbitration, compromise
and due process of law.
Further, in what could only be seen as a revolutionary act, Parashat Shoftim holds that even the king must be answerable to the law. In
a world where rulers were perceived as possessing divine powers, the Torah
insists that an Israelite king must always be subject to the same laws as
everyone else. Recognizing the greed and insatiable hunger for power that
characterize supreme leaders, the Torah teaches that a king must always have
two copies of the Torah—one to be kept in a safe and secure place, the other
always at his side, to be constantly consulted and studied. No king is to be above the Law; no prince
must be so bold as to believe himself descended from a god and therefore seemingly
perfect, almighty and unimpeachable.
Finally, Shoftim
addresses the enormous power exercised by men—and women—of the cloth. Augury, witchcraft and sorcery are given as examples
of the misuse of our all-too-human need to believe, to have faith in powers
that lie beyond our own limited scope and understanding. The world of ignorance is an irrational
world, ruled by magic and superstition. In
such a darkened world, it is easy for false prophets and other extremists to claim
unique and absolute understanding of God’s will. Shoftim
has no use for such counterfeit religion.
True faith, the Torah teaches, is the belief in a God who wants us to think
for ourselves, even when that is difficult; to pursue justice with compassion,
even when our wrought passions call for immediate satisfaction; and to live our
lives by laws of righteousness and kindness even when it seems no one else around
us does so.
There is no question that the world Deuteronomy portrays is one
of brutality and injustice. That is the
wider, more realistic view. It takes
into account human passions, cravings, fears and desires. However, with its inner eye, the Torah envisions
a Promised Land, a world of possibilities, one we recognize from the prophecy
of Isaiah: “The wolf also shall dwell
with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and
the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them”
(Isaiah 11:6).
It seems that vast oceans separate between the two
visions—the real and the ideal. Yet what
we must do is learn to see with both our eyes, as my mother-in-law has learned
to do. While recognizing our frailties,
we must also learn to see our strengths.
Especially at this season of the year, as summer wanes into autumn and
as Rosh Ha-shanah, the holiday that symbolizes our partnership with God in the
unfinished work of Creation, looms ever closer, we pray to find within our
heart, mind and soul the power to bring about change where change must take
place. It may be somewhere far away, or
perhaps much closer, within our own sphere of existence, within our own life,
within our homes.
Acceptance of the unavoidable is a blessing, but so is our
ability to transform the world from what it is, into what it can be. For all its apparent harshness and brutality,
that is the true lesson of Shoftim.
Its double vision is not a paradox, nor a contradiction. Rather, it encourages us to see with both our
eyes; to dig deep within ourselves; to aspire for lofty ideals; and to find the
courage and strength to be agents of change both within ourselves and in the
world around us.
May we learn these lessons well, and may our work find favor
in the eyes of God and human beings.
Amen.
© 2015 by Boaz D. Heilman
