Behaalosecha: Moshe’s Mysterious Marriage

For an response to the view of Ibn Kaspi as presented in this post, see Rabbi Yaakov Trachtman's enlightening article Moshe's Disguised Divorce - a Response to Ibn Caspi.

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Artwork: Autumn's Veil, by Kekai Kotaki

Behaalosecha: Moshe's Mysterious Marriage

The Question 

Parashas Behaalosecha marks the turning point in Sefer Bamidbar from the hopeful to the nopeful.[1] Bnei Yisrael are marching towards Eretz Yisrael with the Ark of Hashem in their midst, poised to bring the Redemption from Egypt to a close with the establishment of a Torah society in the land promised to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. Then tragedy strikes. A series of missteps by the nation and by individuals culminates in the sin of the spies, resulting in 40 years of wandering the Wilderness, and the death of the generation that left Egypt. 

Our parashah concludes with one such misstep: the sin of Miriam and Aharon. The sin itself is recorded in a single pair of pesukim (verses): 

Miriam and Aharon spoke about Moshe regarding the matter of the Kushite [2] woman that he married, for he had married a Kushite woman. They said, “Was it only to Moshe that Hashem spoke? Didn’t He also speak with us?” and Hashem heard. (Bamidbar 12:1-2). 

What, exactly, happened here is murky, to say the least. We are told that Miriam and Aharon spoke about Moshe “regarding the matter of the Kushite woman that he married” – yet, the statement attributed to them is entirely about prophecy, as is Hashem’s focus when He subsequently reprimands them. What does this have to do with “the matter of the Kushite woman that he married”? Furthermore, how are we to understand the seemingly redundant phrase “for he had married a Kushite woman”? What is this intended to add or explain? 

But perhaps the most basic question of all is: Who is this Kushite woman? She is not identified by name and is not mentioned anywhere else in Tanach. This is the question we will focus on. We will not aim to explain the sin of Miriam and Aharon in full. Instead, we will focus on the three methodological approaches taken by the commentators. 

A survey of the commentators reveals that there are essentially two camps. One camp maintains that the Kushite woman is Tziporah, the daughter of Yisro whom Moshe married in his youth after fleeing Egypt as a fugitive. The second camp maintains that the Kushite is some other woman, aside from Tziporah. 

Camp “Tziporah” 

According to the Tziporah camp, there are two questions which must be addressed. The first question is: Why is she called “the Kushite woman”? After all, Tziporah has been mentioned by name three times prior to this incident. Why not call her by name here? The second question is: Why is she called “the Kushite woman” if she was, in fact, not Kushite, but Midianite? 

Onkelos, the Aramaic translator of the Torah, often deviates from a literal translation of the Hebrew in order to address certain issues in the pshat (straightforward meaning of the verse). In this case he is bothered enough by our questions that he makes two rather radical changes. 

Original Hebrew: Miriam and Aharon spoke about Moshe regarding the matter of the Kushite woman that he married, for he had married a Kushite woman. 

Onkelos’s Aramaic: Miriam and Aharon spoke about Moshe regarding the matter of the beautiful woman that he married, for the beautiful woman he married he [subsequently] abandoned. 

Rashi, following Onkelos’s lead, answers both of our questions by explaining that “Kushite” is a euphemism for Tziporah’s beauty – either her physical beauty or the beauty of her deeds. How does “Kushite” function as a euphemism? Rashi explains: “just as the skin-color of a Kushite is universally acknowledged, so too was Tziporah’s beauty universally acknowledged.” [3] Apparently, it was deemed uncouth, immodest, or somehow inappropriate to explicitly speak about Tziporah’s beauty – hence the need for circumlocution. Rashi adds that the gematria (numerical value) of the word “Kushite” equals that of the phrase “beautiful appearance.” 

Onkelos maintains that the phrase “for he had married a Kushite woman” actually means that Moshe “abandoned the beautiful woman he had married.” It is unclear whether “abandoned” means that Moshe separated from Tziporah, or whether he actually divorced her. The question is: How did Miriam know that Moshe separated from Tziporah, and why was she talking about this now? Rashi [4], citing a midrash of Chazal [5], fills us in with the backstory: 

From where did Miriam know that Moshe separated from his wife? Rebbi Nosson says: Miriam was next to Tziporah at the time when it was said to Moshe: “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp!” (Bamidbar 11:27). Upon hearing this, Tziporah exclaimed: “Woe unto the wives of these [men] once they are needed for prophecy, for they will have to separate from their wives in the same way that my husband separated from me!” From there Miriam knew [about Tziporah’s separation from Moshe] and told it to Aharon. And if Miriam didn’t intend to degrade Moshe and was punished thus, kal va’chomer (all the more so) one who speaks in order to degrade his friend! 

There you have it: “Camp Tziporah” answers our questions by positing that “the Kushite woman” is Tziporah, by explaining “for he had married a Kushite woman” to be a veiled reference to their separation, and by filling in the back-story explaining why Moshe and Tziporah separated and why Miriam only brought this up now. 

Camp “Other Woman” 

The Rashbam is known for his pshat explanations. He rarely cites midrash and prefers to answer questions conservatively, based on the principles of Hebrew grammar and the information provided in the text. It is not surprising that he rejects Rashi’s midrashic explanation. What is surprising is that he bases his answer on an obscure “outside text” entitled Divrei ha’Yamim Shel Moshe Rabbeinu (loosely translated as The Moses Chronicles in English). 

This non-canonical text is controversial, to say the least. Those who hold by its authenticity, such as the Rashbam, treat it as a historical account of “the missing years” of Moshe’s life which are not recorded in the Torah. Those who question or reject its authenticity, such as the Ibn Ezra [6], treat it as little more than “Moshe Rabbeinu fan-fiction,” and regard it as worthless. 

Nevertheless, the Rashbam [7] cites this text to explain who Moshe married, supporting his answer with the second question we raised on the position of Camp Tziporah: 

It is written in The Chronicles of Moshe Rabbeinu that he ruled as king in Ethiopia for 40 years and married an [Ethiopian] queen but didn’t sleep with her, as it is written there – but [Miriam and Aharon] didn’t know when they spoke about [Moshe] that he didn’t sleep with her. This is the essential pshat, for if they were speaking about Tziporah, what need was there to explain “for he married a Kushite woman”? Did they not know until now that Tziporah was a Midianite? Another objection is as follows: she wasn’t Kushite! Kush was one of the suns of Cham, but Midian was one of the children of Keturah who was descended from Avraham. 

Unlike Rashi, the Rashbam does not elaborate on why Miriam saw fit to bring this up to Aharon now, nor does he explain why the subsequent dialogue focuses on prophecy rather than on Moshe’s marriage to this Ethiopian queen (whom the Torah doesn’t bother to mention). 

But there is another pshat commentator who answers our question based on the text, and he has quite a lot to say. I am speaking of R’ Yosef ibn Kaspi. Allow me to preface my citation of his commentary with a confession: the whole reason I wrote this article was as an excuse to bring up this excerpt from ibn Kaspi’s commentary. It is one of the most scathing indictments of Rashi’s midrashic approach that I have ever encountered. My jaw dropped as I read it. 

Here is a full translation of what ibn Kaspi had to say, with my own paragraph divisions: 

I am astounded by the early [commentators], who were all more perfect than I am – I who couldn’t even reach their heel. How did they always fall into their own imagination, explaining the Torah to be the opposite of what is written, whether by substituting one word for the opposite word, or adding words with the opposite meanings? 

I am referring to the well-known commentary of Onkelos, about whom the Rambam said, “Onkelos ha’Ger was a great chacham (wise man)!” From where did [Onkelos] get the idea to explain “Kushite” as “beautiful,” [two words] which are as opposite as black and white? [8]

Furthermore, where did he get the idea to add opposite words after “for he married a Kushite woman” as though it was written in the Torah that “the Kushite woman he married he [subsequently] abandoned” or “distanced himself from.” If this were the intent of the Giver of the Torah, why didn’t He write this, and why did He write its opposite? 

Furthermore, who permitted us to do this? Who gave Onkelos so much power, or the Sages of the Talmud, or the Ibn Ezra – all of whom agree on this? Why can’t we do something like this, each man doing what is upright in his own eyes, to the point where we invert, “and you shall love Hashem, your God” to say – God forbid – “you shall hate Hashem, your God,” or “the one whom Hashem loves” to “the one whom He hates.” 

And if you’ll say, “The Torah was received at Sinai and transmitted to Yehoshua, who taught us [as part of the] Oral Torah that this is the explanation of this verse” – the answer is what we responded to the initial claim: Why wasn’t the matter written out as it actually was, rather than writing a word which has the opposite meaning? Is the substitution of a word for its opposite worthy of being called an “explanation”? Rather, an “explanation” is what we call something which explains the words in accordance with their meaning in some way, as [the Sages] explained, “you shall not kindle a fire,” and “you shall not eat over the blood” with deep explanations which fit into what is written, and which certainly do not reverse its meaning. Anything other than this we call “an exchange” or “a reversal” or “an erasure” or “a revision” or “an uprooting.” And this is true in every language whatsoever. [According to the approach of Onkelos et al.,] why shouldn’t we say that “Hashem took you” really means “[Hashem] abandoned [you]”? Similarly, “he and his neighbor should take” [can be interpreted to mean, “he and his neighbor should leave”]. What advantage is there of this over this? 

As Hashem lives, this method – which is unanimously accepted by all of the early Sages, the pillars of the world and of faith and of strength to the Torah of Moshe – is so beyond me that I cannot accept it. God forbid I should do something like this, [which would be tantamount to] completely abandoning the Torah of Moshe and believing that a New Testament was made – God forbid! 

Let us pause here to process the ibn Kaspi’s objection to the approach taken by Onkelos, Rashi, and Chazal. He vehemently objects to those commentators who “interpret” the term “Kushite” as “beautiful,” based on his premise that the two terms are opposites. He refuses to accept the notion that this explanation is “part of the Oral Torah,” and he is so dedicated to the pshat that he implicitly equates the midrashic explanation to pledging allegiance to a New Testament! To be fair, his objection is not to midrash per se, but to midrashic explanations which go against the plain meaning of the text. This will be apparent from what follows. 

After this diatribe, he offers his own explanation: 

Therefore I say that the explanation of what is written here is according to what is necessarily understood from the Hebrew language, namely, that “Kushite” means a woman from the Land of Kush, and the meaning of “because he L.K.CH. [9] a Kushite woman” is that he took her [in marriage], for this is the explanation of the root L.K.CH. as opposed to A’.Z.V. All of this [is based on] the conventional use of the language. 

Accordingly, after Moshe married Tziporah, he married a Kushite woman in addition to Tziporah for a reason that he (peace be upon him) knew. One shouldn’t question the motives of his actions, for he undoubtedly did this out of wisdom. We don’t know the time period in which he married her, whether now when they were traveling or beforehand, because this hadn’t been mentioned in the Torah until this point, just as the Torah didn’t record many of the events that transpired. 

Because this wasn’t mentioned until now, then in order [that the reader] not be confused when it said “regarding the Kushite woman he married,” which we haven’t ever heard about, it said after this, “for he married a Kushite woman” – as if to say, “you should know that he married a Kushite woman, even though this hasn’t been mentioned yet, and this is what [Miriam and Aharon] were speaking about.” 

Because the reason for this additional marriage was hidden from them – perhaps Tziporah fell ill, or maybe she disobeyed him, or maybe it was some other reason we don’t know, or maybe they knew her reason, but they didn’t know [his] secret and the wisdom in this – therefore, they spoke about Moshe’s marriage to an additional wife, because one wife should have been enough for this perfected person. 

To summarize: ibn Kaspi maintains that Moshe married an ethnically Kushite woman in addition to Tziporah for reasons that were unknown to Miriam and Aharon, and undisclosed to us. The seemingly redundant phrase “for he had married a Kushite woman” is intended to validate the reader’s confusion upon learning of this fact, as if to say, “yes, this is a thing Moshe did, even though the Torah didn’t mention it until now.” 

Ibn Kaspi then goes on to explain the connection between Miriam’s statement and the subsequent discussion of prophecy. Miriam and Aharon reasoned that they were on a high enough level of prophecy to be “let in” on Moshe’s reasons for his unconventional decision to take a second wife. Because they overestimated the level of their own prophecy in relation to that of their brother, Hashem rebuked them and explained just how categorically superior Moshe’s prophecy was. And as for the “secret” reasons behind Moshe’s second marriage, Hashem’s silence on the matter indicates that it was really none of their business. 

Methodological Take-aways 

We have seen three approaches taken by the commentators to these two cryptic pesukim: 

(1) Onkelos and Rashi opt for a midrashic explanation which neatly answers all of the questions and fills in the gaps with an elaborate narrative. The weakness of this approach is that it puts a heavy strain on a literal reading of the text. 

(2) Rashbam rejects the midrashic approach and explains the text by making recourse to an outside source. The benefit of this approach is that it supplies us with missing information. This approach is very similar to the academic method employed by modern day Bible scholars. The weakness of this approach lies in the credibility of his source. Moreover, according to the Rashbam, what did Hashem intend for the reader of Torah to make of this episode? Did He expect everyone to have read The Chronicles of Moses? 

(3) Ibn Kaspi also rejects the midrashic approach – not only as false, but as a perversion of God’s word and the Hebrew language. Instead, he relies exclusively on the literal meaning of the text and conservatively infers a larger narrative from the minimal information provided in the pesukim. The downside of this approach is that it completely rejects the wisdom offered in the midrashic literature. 

Each of these three approaches has its pros and cons. Students of Chumash will likely be drawn towards one approach or the other. I, myself, favor the third, but recognize the value – and sometimes, the necessity – of the other two. 

This multiplicity of approaches is part of what makes the study of Chumash such an enjoyable and rich experience. 

Footnotes:

[1] I began writing this article on two hours of sleep, and the conclusion of this first sentence was the amusing result. I was going to change it, but my friends convinced me to leave it in – perhaps as a memorial to my folly. 

[2] The word “Kushite” is traditionally translated as “Ethiopian,” but is often used to refer to people from sub-Saharan Egypt, in general. 

[3] Talmud Bavli, Moed Katan 16b 

[4] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 12:1 

[5] Midrash Tanchuma, Tzav 13 

[6] Rabbeinu Avraham ibn Ezra, Long Commentary on Sefer Shemos 4:20 

[7] Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Meir (Rashbam), Commentary on Sefer Bamidbar 12:1 

[8] This statement will undoubtedly strike the modern reader as strange, inappropriate, or false. Others will deem it to be offensive, racist, and condemnable. Like it or not, the fact of the matter is that certain Rishonim (medieval commentators) regarded Kushites as unattractive, and maintained that the same aesthetic valuation was held by the figures in Tanach whose words and actions they aimed to decipher. Whether Miriam and Aharon actually found Kushites to be unattractive is a question for the historians and anthropologists. Our task as students of these Rishonim is to set aside our personal views in an attempt to understand what insight these commentators intended to convey through their explanations, regardless of whether or not we agree with the premises on which these explanations were based. (I would like to thank the members of the Facebook group “Orthodox Jews Against Discrimination and Racism” for reviewing this footnote to ensure that it was worded in a sensitive manner.) 

[9] Here the Ibn Kaspi actually spells out each letter of the three-letter root – presumably for snark value.

Do Babies Have Souls? (Ibn Ezra)

I must preface this post with a disclaimer: I don't understand what a "soul" is. Years ago I used to think I understood the Torah's view on the concept of "soul," but the more I learned, the more I realized the breadth and depth of the topic, and of my own ignorance and metaphysical naiveté. 

Here is what I do know:

1. The word "soul" is used equivocally. It can mean different things in different contexts. Although there are different words for "soul" (e.g. nefesh, ruach, neshamah), even these terms aren't necessarily consistent in their usage, and each must be interpreted based on its context. 
   
   
2. The human soul has something to do with the tzelem Elokim, which has something to do with the human intellect, but I am at a loss to explain how these three things are related.
   
   
3. There is also some relationship between the human soul and free will, and I find free will to be an even more daunting topic than the soul.
   
   
4. There is a lot of machlokes on this topic among the meforshim, and it is very difficult to discern which of the meforshim are working with the same premises and which of them are working with a completely different set of premises.

And that's about it. Beyond these four points, I feel that I am still "groping in darkness and not in light ... staggering like a drunkard" (cf. Iyov 12:24-25) on this topic. 

Thus, I have decided to take the same approach with this subject as I did with Sefer Mishlei: rather than trying to form grand theories and a complete understanding of the topic, I will instead approach the topic step by step, one idea at a time. If I (am zocheh to) do this for a number of decades, perhaps a clearer picture will begin to emerge. 

Having said all of that, I would like to present one idea about the soul from the Ibn Ezra. Please regard this as merely a clue in our investigation of the vast mystery story of the soul.

Do Babies Have Souls? (Ibn Ezra)

That's the question. How would you answer it on a multiple choice quiz with these choices?

          (A) yes
          (B) no
          (C) maybe
          (D) potentially

Let's cut right to the chase. According to the Ibn Ezra, the answer is (D) potentially. Or, to be more precise, babies have potential souls - not actual souls.

The Ibn Ezra states his view in his commentary on Tehilim 8:3. Here is the perek in its entirety:

(1) For the conductor, on the gittis, a psalm by David. (2) Hashem, our Master, how mighty is Your Name throughout the earth, [You] Who places Your majesty on the heavens. (3) Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings You have established strength, because of Your enemies, to silence foe and avenger. (4) When I behold Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars that You have set in place, [I think,] (5) "What is frail man that You should remember him, and the son of mortal man that You should be mindful of him?" (6) Yet, You have made him but slightly less than the angels, and crowned him with glory and splendor. (7) You give him dominion over Your handiwork, You placed everything under his feet: (8) sheep and cattle, all of them, even the beasts of the field; (9) the birds of the sky and the fish of the sea; for [man] even traverses the lanes of the sea. (10) Hashem, our Master, how mighty is Your Name throughout the earth!

The question on our pasuk is: How is Hashem's strength established through "the mouths of babes and sucklings"? What does this even mean? 

Ibn Ezra begins by quoting the explanation of R' Moshe ha'Darshan, who learns that the pasuk is referring to the literal mouths of the babies, through which they obtain nourishment:

R' Moshe says that out of the mouth of babes means that the babes themselves will praise You even though they cannot speak, for You sustain them. You make them fruitful and You multiply and increase their body’s height and width.

Rabbi H. Norman Strickman, in his footnotes on the Ibn Ezra's commentary, understands R' Moshe ha'Darshan as follows: "The way children grow bears witness to the existence of a Creator. Thus the babes, as it were, declare that there is a God." 

However, the Ibn Ezra disagrees with this approach, and states his own view:

However, in my opinion Scripture reads, “out of the mouth of babes” because man is the most glorious being created in this world. “Out of the mouth of babes” refers to the time that a child first begins to speak. Its meaning is that the power of the rational soul first appears in the body when the child begins to speak. The rational soul develops to the point where it can learn of the power of its Creator by logical thinking. Indeed the soul grows in strength day by day. This is the meaning of, “has Thou founded strength.”

A baby is born with only the potential for rational thinking, which is what the Ibn Ezra means when he speaks of a "soul." This potential is first actualized when the child begins to speak, and continues to develop from that point forward. In this manner, the child builds and cultivates his own soul, which ultimately brings him to recognize his Creator.

The Ibn Ezra's interpretation is in line with Targum Onkelos's translation of the statement, "[God] blew into [man's] nostrils the breath of life, and man became a nefesh chayah (living soul)" (Bereishis 2:7) as "and man became a ruach memalela (speaking spirit)." The human soul and the ability to speak are inextricably linked, and as one develops, so does the other.

And that, my friends, is all I've got for today. Just one piece of the puzzle of the soul. I don't know where this idea fits into the grand scheme of things. I don't know what bearing it has on such topics as the immortality of the soul, the incorporeality of the soul, Olam ha'Ba (the World to Come), reward and punishment, the relationship between mind and body, etc. etc. etc. Those questions must be left for another time.

This morning I came across a passage in the Sefer ha'Chinuch that made me smile. After expressing great apprehension at the prospect of writing about the mitzvah of Parah Adumah (Red Heifer), the Sefer ha'Chinuch offers a few speculations. Immediately thereafter, he apologizes for his boldness, and downplays what he just wrote, saying:

This is not a clarification to provide any comprehension whatsoever of the matter. It is only the love of holiness and the eagerness to achieve a knowledge of the hidden that moves the quill to write.

That sentiment resonated with me while writing this post. Remember, friends: this blog is nothing more and nothing less than a venue for me to think out loud, and to discuss ideas with others who are interested. If you are looking for certainty, expertise, and "authoritative knowledge," then I would be happy to refer you to other resources. 

Punishing Children for their Fathers' Sins

Artwork: Pillory of the Sleepless, by Marc Simonetti

Punishing Children for their Parents' Sins

The second of the Aseres ha'Dibros (Ten Commandments) includes a problematic statement: 

You shall not recognize the gods of others in My presence. You shall not make yourself a carved image or any likeness of that which is in the heavens above or on the earth below or in the water beneath the earth. You shall not prostrate yourself to them nor worship them, for I am Hashem, your God - a jealous God, Who visits the sin of fathers upon children to the third and fourth generations, for My enemies; but Who shows kindness for thousands [of generations] to those who love Me, and observe My commandments (Shemos 20:3-6).

The question is clear: How is it fair for Hashem to punish children for the sin of their fathers? This would appear to be a major injustice! Moreover, there are many pesukim (verses) throughout Tanach which support this point: 

"In those days it will no longer be said, 'The fathers ate sour grapes, and the teeth of sons are set on edge.' Rather, every man will die for his own sin, and the man who eats the sour grapes, his own teeth will be set on edge." (Yirmiyahu 31:28-29)

"The soul that sins, it shall die! A son shall not bear the iniquity of [his] father and a father shall not bear the iniquity of [his] son; the righteousness of the righteous person shall be upon him and the wickedness of the wicked person shall be upon him." (Yechezkel 18:20) 

"Vindicating an evil person and condemning a righteous person - both are abominations of Hashem." (Mishlei 17:15)

Targum Onkelos (ibid.) addresses this problem by translating our pasuk as follows:

You shall not bow down to them nor serve them, for I am Hashem, your God - a jealous God, Who visits the liability of fathers upon rebellious children, upon the third generation and upon the fourth generation, for My enemies, when the children continue to sin [as did] their fathers. 

By clarifying that pasuk is referring specifically to those children who follow in the sinful ways of their fathers, Onkelos's translation bypasses the problem of God punishing innocent children for sins they didn't commit. 

Onkelos's translation follows Chazal's interpretation, as stated in the Gemara (Berachos 7a; see also Sanhedrin 27b and Makkos 24a):

It is written: "He visits the sin of fathers upon their children" (Shemos 34:7), and it is written: "Children shall not die for the sins of their fathers" (Devarim 24:16). These two pesukim contradict each other! 

But [this contradiction] may be answered: it is not a difficulty - the [first pasuk] refers to a case in which [the children] hold on to the actions of their fathers, whereas the [second pasuk] refers to cases in which they do not hold on to the actions of their fathers. 

Ibn Ezra takes a similar approach. He interprets the pasuk not as "[God] visits the sin of fathers upon children" but rather as "[God] remembers the sin of fathers [when dealing with their] children." He explains:

Hashem will prolong [His anger] towards a rasha (evildoer), for perhaps he will repent from his sin, or perhaps he will have a son who is better than he. But if that son follows in the ways of his father, and likewise if the third and fourth generation [follow after the ways of their fathers], then Hashem will not prolong His anger for the fourth generation; if there are four generations of those who hate Hashem, then He will annihilate the memory of all of them. For Hashem will remember what the father did, and what his son did, and what his grandson did, and He will not be tolerant of the fourth generation. 

Like Onkelos, Ibn Ezra learns that the pasuk is not talking about innocent children, but specifically those children who follow in the sinful ways of their fathers. The other meforshim (commentators) deal with this problem in a similar manner.

The Ralbag, on the other hand, takes an approach which differs radically from the mainstream meforshim. Rather than textually sidestepping the problem by reading an unstated qualification into the pasuk, the Ralbag takes the pasuk at face value. He understands the pasuk to be saying that Hashem does punish children - even innocent children - for the sins of their fathers. Thus, Ralbag is faced with the full brunt of the question: How can this be? How is this in line with justice? Here is the Ralbag's explanation (ibid.) in full:

There is a major difficulty with this statement, namely: How is it possible that Hashem (may He be exalted) will punish the children of a sinner, when they do not partake of the guilt of their father's sin?

We will resolve this difficulty in the following manner: Hashem punishes those who violate His words, either through hashgachah derech tochachah (rebuke through divine providence), or by removing hashgachah so that [the sinner] receives the natural raos (harms) which were set to befall him according to the laws of nature. In both cases, the ra that befalls the offspring [of the sinner] would not have befallen them were it not for the sin of their father. 

For example: when our forefathers rebelled [against God], they became liable for the punishment of being exiled among the nations, and the nations would inherit their land. This exile extended to their offspring after them, in that they were born into exile, and it would be impossible for them to escape this ra unless they were able to do so within the laws of nature, or by reaching a level of perfection which would be sufficient for Hashem to miraculously bring them out from the lands to which they had been scattered. 

It is in this sense that the prophet said, "Our fathers sinned and are no more, but we suffer their sins" (Eichah 5:7). In other words, if our fathers had not sinned, we would still be in the Land, and we wouldn't have gone out from there unless we engaged in despicable actions which would make us liable for this type of punishment. However, once we find ourselves in exile due to the sin of our fathers, then [merely] refraining from such despicable actions will not suffice to enable us to return from there. Instead, we need to acquire the degree of perfection necessary to cling to Hashem in a manner that will cause Him to bring us out from this exile through miraculous hashgachah. In this manner, there is no injustice if the punishment of a father befalls his children, for it comes about incidentally [and not directly].

According to the Ralbag, it would only be unjust for Hashem to directly punish a child for the sin of his father, but if the father receives punishment, and that punishment incidentally (or indirectly) affects the child, this would not constitute an injustice. That is just how the world works. This is true for divinely orchestrated hashgachic "rebuke" punishments, as well as the natural punishments within the laws of nature. 

Elsewhere (commentary on Sefer Yehoshua, Chapter 7) Ralbag reiterates his explanation and provides a helpful mashal (example) to bolster his point:

... Hashem does not directly punish children for the sins of their fathers, for this would be unjust. However, it is possible - without injustice - for some punishment to incidentally extend to children on account of their father's sin, and this would not constitute an injustice at all.

For example, if a person sinned against the government and was fined as a penalty, this punishment would also affect his children, since they would be poor and would not inherit the possessions of their father which they would have originally inherited ... In this same manner it may happen that Hashem will visit the punishment of fathers unto children, but not in a direct manner.

While most of us would feel sympathetic towards the children of the man in this example, we understand that this is how the world works. Human beings were endowed with free will and placed in a physical world of cause-and-effect. In such a world, it would be impossible to shield every individual from being affected in any negative way by every other person's actions. Likewise, it would be impossible for each and every person to be born into exactly the same circumstances as every other person on earth, with no relative advantages or disadvantages. The only time that could have happened was in Gan Eden, but those days are long gone. 

Understandably, this explanation might not sit well with everyone. Some people will object, saying, "But shouldn't Hashem just work it out so that this type of thing doesn't even happen? Wouldn't that be more in line with justice?" 

Perhaps the best way to respond to this is by citing the words of the navi (prophet): "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not My ways – says Hashem" (Yeshayahu 55:8). The Rambam expands upon this in his definition of the purpose of Sefer Iyov: 

But the term "hashgachah" (supervision) as applied to Him is not the same concept as our [human form of] supervision, nor is His "hanhagah" (management) of His creations the same concept as our management of what we manage. The two concepts are not even comprised in one and the same definition – as is thought by those who are confused – and there is nothing in common between the two except in name alone. 

In the same way, our actions do not resemble His actions, and the two are not comprised in one and the same definition. Just as natural acts differ from those of craftsmanship, so do the Divine hanhagah, hashgachah, and kavanah (purpose) in these natural phenomena differ from our management, supervision, and intention of what we manage, supervise, and intend. 

This is the objective of the entire Book of Iyov as a whole, namely, the establishing of this foundational concept, and the drawing of attention to the inference to be drawn from natural phenomena, so that you should not err and seek to affirm in your imagination that His yediah (knowledge) is like our knowledge, or that His kavanah, hashgachah, and hanhagah are like our purpose, supervision, and management.

The Rambam is not merely rehashing the oft-repeated statement, "God's ways are mysterious and are beyond human comprehension." Rather, he is saying that God's management and supervision of His universe is completely different than the way we manage and supervise things in our world. He is informing us that understanding this critical point is the gateway to knowledge of the ways of Hashem. To the extent that we judge Hashem's actions by comparing them to our own actions, the true understanding of His ways will be withheld. And to the extent that we open our minds to ideas of hashgachah which are counter-intuitive - and clash with the way we would like to view things - we will come to know and appreciate how the True Judge governs His world.

Thus, when faced with an explanation like the Ralbag's which seems to go against our notion of how God should manage, supervise, and implement justice in His world, perhaps we ought to take a step back and ask ourselves, "Am I making the mistake of looking at God's hashgachah through the lens of human hashgachah?" This doesn't mean that we should ignore our questions and problems. It means that the answer to our question might lie in examining the root of our problem, and opening ourselves up to the possibility that "His thoughts are not our thoughts, nor are His ways our ways."

If we stubbornly try to fit Hashem's actions into our preconceived ideas about how justice ought to be implemented, we will remain developmentally stunted in our understanding. It is precisely by challenging our own intuitive notions of Divine justice that we will gain insight into the beauty and beneficence of Hashem's ways.