Mishlei 14:4 - Dealing with Ox-Filth

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Mishlei 14:4 - Dealing with Ox-Filth

משלי יד:ד

בְּאֵין אֲלָפִים אֵבוּס בָּר וְרָב תְּבוּאוֹת בְּכֹחַ שׁוֹר:

Mishlei 14:4

Where there are no oxen, the trough is clean; but many crops come [through] the power of an ox. 

There is one major question on this pasuk: 

1. Duh! This pasuk is obvious! Of course if there are no oxen then your trough will be clean, and of course the only way to produce many crops is through the power of an ox. What is the chidush (new insight) here? What would we have thought?

Most meforshim (commentators) interpret this pasuk metaphorically, but not us! This type of pasuk is a real test for our Mishlei methodology of taking every pasuk as literally as possible.

[Okay - time to think! Read on when ready.]

Here's my four-sentence summary of the main idea of this pasuk:

The only way to have abundant crops is by harnessing the power of an ox, but if you have an ox, you’ll have to deal with all of the filth it produces. The same is true in all other areas of life: if you desire an end, not only will you have to deal with the hassle of implementing the means, such as using the ox to plow your field, but you will also have to deal with the byproducts of the means, such as cleaning up the filth produced by the oxen. To desire or expect to benefit from an end without needing to deal its means and their byproducts is to desire an impossible fantasy, and will only increase your frustration and misery. Just as one cannot “have a cake and eat it, too,” one cannot expect to have abundant crops and a clean trough.

The answer to our "duh!" question is that this pasuk is not a response to a logical hava amina (false presupposition), but to a psychological hava amina - namely, the feeling/wish that the ends can be achieved without dealing with any "ox-filth" (i.e. annoying byproducts, costs, and other negative features of the means). 

Let's walk this through the example in our pasuk. The farmer wants crops, and he psychologically accepts the fact that the only way to get crops is to use his ox to plow. This is an easy reality to accept because it's evident that the ox's plowing directly contributes to the increase in his crop yield. 

But cleaning up the ox-filth in his barn? That doesn't directly produce crops. Taking his ox to the vet when it's sick or injured? That doesn't directly produce crops. Making sure that the ox doesn't damage any property? That doesn't directly produce crops. All of this makes it much easier to entertain the wish of: "If only I had an ox that didn't require all of this upkeep!" The problem is that there is no such thing, and the more attached a person becomes to this fantasy, the more frustrated he will be with the reality of his ox and its filth.

To fully appreciate this idea, we must consider examples from other areas of life. For example, I am a high school teacher. My goal is to teach. That is the end which I seek. In order to teach, I need to prepare my lessons. Those are the means by which I achieve that end. Psychologically, it is easy for me to accept the fact that the only way to achieve that end is through those means. But being a high school teacher also involves a fair share of "ox-filth," such as grading, proctoring, sitting through faculty meetings, dealing with irate parents, etc. I might fantasize about being a high school teacher who doesn't have to deal with any of this ox-filth, but from a practical standpoint, that would be impossible. 

Here's another example: having a car to drive. The only way to achieve that end is to pay for the gas. Fine: driving is the end I seek, and filling my car with gas is the only means that would enable me to achieve that end. But there's plenty of other "ox-filth" involved in owning a car: paying for insurance and car repairs, finding parking, maintaining up-to-date state inspections and registrations, worrying about the car getting damaged, etc. None of these "ox-filth" responsibilities directly enable me to drive my car - and yet, it is impossible for most people to own a car without having to deal with this upkeep.

Like all pesukim in Mishlei, our pasuk applies to a wide range of practical decisions in everyday life, but unlike many pesukim in Mishlei, our pasuk prompts us to change our thinking rather than our actions. That type of change is far more difficult to achieve, but the payoff is enormous.

Is a Rasha "Evil"?

Originally published in February of 2012. Click here for a printer-friendly version of this blog post.

Is a Rasha "Evil"?

Disclaimer: When I began my original blog in 2007, I intended it to be a venue not only to present "finished" ideas, but to explore developing ideas. Over time I became pressured into only posting ideas I had fully polished. Ultimately, this pressure deterred me from blogging altogether. In an attempt to rekindle the spirit of that blog, I am going to try to be more forthcoming in writing about ideas that I am currently in the process of exploring. Please bear that in mind as you read this post. 

If I asked you to translate the root R.SH.A' (ר.ש.ע) you'd probably translate it as "evil" or "wicked." Likewise, if I asked you translate the word rasha, you'd probably translate it as "evildoer" or "wicked person" something like that. I know I would.

Well, it's time to open our minds to a new and radical definition of "rasha."

The first pasuk of the first chapter of Tehilim states: 

תהלים א:א

אַשְׁרֵי הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר לֹא הָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת רְשָׁעִים וּבְדֶרֶךְ חַטָּאִים לֹא עָמָד וּבְמוֹשַׁב לֵצִים לֹא יָשָׁב:

Tehilim 1:1
Happy is the man who does not follow the advice of resha'im (wicked), and who does not stand on the path of chatoim (sinners), and does not sit in a session of leitzim (scoffers).

Ibn Ezra notes that there is a machlokess (disagreement) among the commentaries as to the "badness order" of the three types of people mentioned in the pasuk: 

Our Early Sages of blessed memory said that "standing on the path of chatoim" is a greater transgression than "following the advice of resha'im" and that "sitting in the session of leitzim" is worse than either "standing on the path of chatoim" or "following [the advice of resha'im]." Now if this is so, then leitzim are worse than chatoim. Rabbi Moshe ha'Kohen says the reverse (i.e. the pasuk begins with the most severe offense and concludes with the least severe). 

Ibn Ezra sides with the Sages. On the surface, this presents us with a difficulty: How can rasha be the least bad out of the three? Doesn't the term "rasha" refer to an "evil" person, and isn't "evil" the "baddest" out of all types of badness?

Ibn Ezra answers this question by deploying his bomb of a definition. He writes:

According to my opinion, the word "resha'im" refers to people who are in a constant state of flux, [1] in the sense of: "the reshaim are like the troubled sea, incapable of rest" (Yeshayahu 57:20). Likewise, "wherever he turned himself, he unsettled them (ירשיע)" (Shmuel I 14:47) and "He grants quietude, and who can agitate (ירשיע)?" (Iyov 34:29). For this reason it says "follow" in conjunction with resha'im, referring to a person who is seduced to follow the counsel of the rasha to a path he doesn't know.

Allow me to reiterate that revolutionary definition. According to Ibn Ezra, "rasha" does not mean "evil" but rather "troubled," "unsettled," "agitated," "restless," and "inconsistent" - a definition which he derives this from the etymology of the root R.SH.A'. And remember, if there's one Rishon whose etymological credentials are beyond reproach and whose lexical convictions are strong, it's the Ibn Ezra.

After stumbling upon this definition I wondered: "Maybe Ibn Ezra is only defining rasha this way in this context. Perhaps he uses a more traditional definition elsewhere?" In an effort to find the answer I conducted a search using the Bar-Ilan Responsa database to see if he elaborates on this definition elsewhere. I searched for all instances of the shoresh R.SH.A' in the commentaries of the Ibn Ezra and scanned through all 200+ of them to see all the places where Ibn Ezra explicitly defines the meaning of the term, as he does in Tehilim. [1] I found only three instances in which he gives somewhat of an explicit definition, as he does here:

• "There the resha'im cease from agitation" (Iyov 3:16). Ibn Ezra, commenting on the phrase "there the resha'im," explains that this refers to "those who are restless (הם המתנועעים)." 
• "Do not be overly rasha (אל תרשיע הרבה) nor be a fool. Why die before your time?" (Koheles 7:17). Ibn Ezra explains: "Since too much resha brings a person into danger, he says, 'Why die before your time?' Know that this rish'us (רשעות) refers to involvement in worldly matters. He says: Be involved in what is necessary for you, and do not be a fool at all, since foolishness leads to premature death." 
• "Man is powerless over the spirit - to restrain the spirit; nor is there authority over the day of death; nor discharge in war; and resha cannot save the wrongdoer" (ibid. 8:8). Ibn Ezra explains: "The meaning of 'resha' is 'abundance of restlessness and conflict' (רוב התנועה והניצוח)." 

Unfortunately, Ibn Ezra doesn't give us much to work with. Here are the qualities we have seen so far from the Ibn Ezra's comments and from the pesukim themselves:

1. the rasha is like the stormy sea, incapable of tranquility (Ibn Ezra on Tehilim 1:1, Yeshayahu 57:20, and Iyov 3:16)
2. the rasha does not follow a consistent pattern of behavior (Ibn Ezra on Tehilim 1:1)
3. the rasha's turmoil is related to his preoccupation with worldly matters - specifically, the fact that he is not content with meeting his needs in moderation (Ibn Ezra on Koheles 7:17)
4. the rasha is fraught with restlessness and conflict (Ibn Ezra on Koheles 8:8)
5. the rasha is like chaff, driven away by a gust of wind (rest of Tehilim 1)

Based on these qualities, I would like to propose a hypothesis: according to the Ibn Ezra, "rasha" refers to a person whose actions are primarily determined by his emotional reactions to the circumstances in which he finds himself. 

Yes, I am aware that most people can be described this way - but that's a question on Ibn Ezra, not on me. And yes, I am aware that this broadens the definition of the term "rasha" way beyond the conventional usage - but that, too, is a question on the Ibn Ezra. Besides, neither of these questions poses an actual problem with the Ibn Ezra's definition. They just underscore the fact that this idea is not in line with our prior ideas about reshaim.

I'll end this post by reiterating what I said in my disclaimer. This post is intended to be a first step - not an authoritative proclamation of the Ibn Ezra's view. In order to fully understand the Ibn Ezra's definition of rasha, we would need to learn through each of the 200+ instances in depth and in context. Nevertheless, we have to start somewhere, and the Ibn Ezra's definition in our pasuk in Tehilim is a good lead, especially when combined with the three aforementioned sources in which the Ibn Ezra reiterates a similar definition. Whether this concept of rasha can be developed further remains to be seen.

[1] lit. "those who do not persist in a consistent mode [of behavior]." I've chosen to go with H. Norman Strickman's translation, since I think it better captures the connotation of the Ibn Ezra's definition.

[2] Note that this post was written in 2012. When editing it for republication I didn't go back and search a second time, and although it's possible that newer sources were added, I'm going to rely on my original search for now.

Why Do Jews Wear Yarmulkes?

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Why Do Jews Wear Yarmulkes?

If you are a kippah-wearing Jew, chances are that you've been asked some version of this question. And unless questions like this leave you tongue-tied, chances are that you've managed to give at least some semblance of an accurate answer. 

There are a number of valid answers that can be given to this question. In this blog post I'd like to share the answer that I usually give, though I am well aware that it may not be the most "mainstream" answer. I'm going to share this answer in its fullest form, but I'll conclude with a one-sentence summary, which is probably the version that you'll most frequently use as an answer if asked this question in real life.

I typically begin with an explanation of the etymology of the word "yarmulke." There are two explanations for the origins this strangely spelled word: one pshat (an accurate explanation of the word itself), and the other drash (a homiletic explanation). The pshat explanation is summed up by this article in Tablet Magazine which states:

Yarmulke’s etymological pedigree is undeniably Polish, in which language the word jarmułka (with the stress, though, on the second syllable) still exists, and which originally referred to a skullcap worn by priests.

The drash explanation is that the "yarmulke" is a compound word derived from the Aramaic expression "yarei malka" (ירא מלכא) which means "fear/awe of the king." According to this "folk etymology," the yarmulke is a reminder to be in a state of fear/awe before "the king." Although this explanation is clearly post-facto (i.e. historically, no Aramaic speaker ever used the word "yarmulke"), I find that it serves as an excellent springboard for answering the question at hand. 

Towards the end of the Moreh ha'Nevuchim (3:52) the Rambam depicts the personal conduct of highly perfected individuals using a mashal (metaphor) of how a person conducts himself in the presence of a king:

Man does not sit, move, and occupy himself when he is alone in his house as he sits, moves, and occupies himself when he is in the presence of a great king; nor does he speak and conduct himself when he is with his family and relatives as he speaks in the king’s council. Therefore, he who chooses to achieve human perfection and to be a true man of God must awaken himself and know that the great king who accompanies him and clings to him is greater than any human being, even [King] David and [King] Solomon. 

Now if one were to pause here and ask: "Who is this king?" most people would answer: "God, of course!" The Rambam, however, provides a different answer:

The king who cleaves to [man] and accompanies him is the intellect that overflows towards us and is the bond between us and Him, may He be exalted. Just as we apprehend Him by means of that light which He caused to overflow toward us – as it is stated: “In Your light do we see light” (Tehilim 36:10) – so does He by means of this selfsame light examine us; and because of it, He, may He be exalted, is constantly with us, examining from on high: “Can anyone hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him?” (Yirmiyahu 23:24). Understand this well. 

Let that sink in for a moment: the "great king" in the Rambam's mashal, "who accompanies him and clings to him," is not God. Rather, it is the human intellect, which constitutes the sole connection between man and God. [1]

When we plug this understanding back into the original mashal, we emerge with a significantly different vibe than our initial impression might have left us with:

Man does not sit, move, and occupy himself when he is alone in his house as he sits, moves, and occupies himself when he consciously recognizes that he is an intellectual being; nor does he speak and conduct himself when he is with his family and relatives as he speaks when cognizant of the fact that he possesses an intellect, which constitutes his sole connection to God. [2] 

The Rambam then elaborates on the practical implications of this recognition, one of which is the basis of the minhag (halachic custom) to wear a yarmulke at all times:

Know that when perfect men understand this, they achieve deliberateness, humility, awe and fear of Hashem, and shame before Him, may He be exalted – in genuine ways, not based on imagination [3] – such that their secret conduct with their wives and in the bathhouses is like their public conduct with other people. This, as you will find, was the way of our most renowned Sages with their wives: “One uncovers a handbreadth and covers up a handbreadth” (Talmud Bavli: Nedarim 20a-b). They also said: “Who is modest? Whoever goes to the bathroom at night as he does by day” (Talmud Bavli: Berachos 62a). You know already that they forbade “walking about with an upright posture” (Talmud Bavli: Kiddushin 31a) on account of: “The whole earth is filled with His glory” (Yeshayahu 6:3) – all this being intended to firmly establish the notion that I have mentioned to you, that we are always before Him, may He be exalted, and in the dwelling of His shechinah (i.e. providence). And the greatest among the Sages of blessed memory were averse to uncovering their heads, because the shechinah hovers around man. They also spoke little for this reason. We have already given in [the Commentary on] Avos the explanation that was needed concerning the habit of speaking but little: “for God is in heaven and you are on earth; therefore, let your words be few” (Koheles 5:1).

In other words, the practice of wearing a yarmulke - or, more accurately, not going about with an uncovered head - serves to reinforce and naturally express the recognition that God knows and relates to man, and that "the whole earth is filled with His glory," and our intellect is the link between ourselves and Him. 

When answering the question at hand, I tend not to delve into the halachic intricacies of wearing yarmulke. However, I do underscore the Rambam's view that wearing a yarmulke is not a halacha, but a minhag (halachic custom) - one that was intended specifically for talmidei chachamim (Torah scholars). The Rambam codifies this minhag in the Mishneh Torah in the section of Hilchos Deos (Laws of Character Traits) which pertain specifically to talmidei chachamim:

5:1 – Just as a chacham (wise man) is distinguished in his wisdom and character traits and is differentiated from the rest of the nation, so too, he needs to be differentiated in his actions: in his eating and drinking, in his sexual intercourse and the manner in which he uses the bathroom, in his speech, in his manner of walking, in his clothing, in the content of his words, and in his business dealings. All of these actions must be refined and perfected to a very high degree. 

5:6 – Talmidei chachamim conduct themselves with great tznius (modesty): they do not degrade themselves, nor do they uncover their heads or their bodies. Even when they go to the bathroom, they are modest etc. [the Rambam then goes on to list various ways in which talmidei chachamim practice modesty in the bathroom.]

The Rambam's codification makes sense in light of the passage in the Moreh ha'Nevuchim. The average Jew maintains his awareness of Hashem via the mitzvos that are incorporated into his day to day routine: krias shema, tefilah, tefillin, mezuzah, tzitzis, berachos, etc. These specific mitzvos serve as reminders of specific ideas about Hashem and His relationship with us, and "were commanded in them in order to love God and remember Him constantly" (Introduction to the Mishneh Torah: Division of Books). Only the elite chachamim, whose lives revolve around Torah and chochmah, are on the level to attain the level of "deliberateness, humility, awe and fear of Hashem, and shame before Him, may He be exalted – in genuine ways, not based on imagination" described by the Rambam. Only such highly perfected individuals need the extra reminder of the yarmulke because only they are in a position to live a life with that degree of awareness of God. 

Nevertheless, the minhag has spread to the average Jew, and although we aren't on the level to truly "fear the king" in this manner, we still benefit from our knowledge that such a level of human perfection is possible, and is the ultimate goal towards which we must strive.

I sometimes conclude by mentioning that the yarmulke happens to be a great symbol of Jewish identity because it reflects Judaism's uniqueness as a religion. Whereas other religions preach that the relationship between man and God is based on faith, Judaism teaches that it is based on the intellect. [4] It is therefore fitting that the Jew adorn his head, which houses his brain - the seat of the intellect - with a symbol of his religious identity.

So, to sum it up succinctly:

Q: Why do Jews wear yarmulkes?

A: To remind ourselves to be "in awe of the king" - that is, to live our lives based on our intellect, which is our only connection to God.

[1] In truth, the Rambam's explanation here is predicated upon the Aristotelian notion of the Active Intellect (seichel ha'poal), its relationship with the material intellect, and the relationship of both to Hashem. Based on my limited knowledge of this debatably outdated doctrine, I don't see any point in bringing it up in the context of the answer to the question at hand.

[2] When writing this blog post I associated to a video clip of James Randi (a.k.a. "The Amazing Randi") in which he explains why he doesn't use drugs. Although Randi's statements reflect a purely secular outlook, I think it's still a great exemplification of the type of intellectual awareness that the Rambam describes. Randi says:

I want to be, if I can, as sure of the world - the real world around me - as is possible. Now, you can only attain that to a certain degree, but I want the greatest degree of control. I don't, I've never involved myself in narcotics of any kind, I don't smoke, I don't drink, because that can easily just fuzz the edges of my rationality, fuzz the edges of my reasoning powers, and I want to be as aware as I possibly can. That means giving up a lot of fantasies that might be comforting in some ways, but I'm willing to give that up in order to live in an actually real world - as close as I can get to it.

[3] The distinction between a person who relates to this idea "in genuine ways" as opposed to ways that are "based on imagination" requires its own blog post. Suffice it to say, an excellent example of ways that are "based on imagination" can be found in the Christmas song, "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" mentality of:

He sees you when you're sleepin'

He knows when you're a wake

He knows if you've been bad or good

So be good for goodness sake!

This represents a rather childish sentiment that, "I shouldn't do anything bad when Daddy is watching!" and is a far cry from the state of mind described by the Rambam here.

[4] See my blog post Parashas Yisro: The Mitzvah of Emunah for a detailed treatment of this concept.

Purim 5779 - Haman's Ancient Motive

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Artwork: Vizkopa Confessor - by Ryan Pancoast

Purim 5779 - Haman's Ancient Motive

The Question

Mordechai's refusal to bow down to Haman is one of the pivotal events of Megilas Esther. Were it not for Mordechai's decision and Haman's reaction, the fate of the Jews would have played out quite differently. Let's review the incident in the pesukim at the beginning of Chapter 3:

(1) After these things King Achashveirosh promoted Haman son of Hamedasa the Agagite and elevated him; he set his seat above all the officers who were with him. (2) All the king's servants at the king's gate would bow down and prostrate themselves before Haman, for so had the king commanded concerning him. But Mordechai would not bow and would not prostrate himself. (3) So the king's servants who were at the king's gate said to Mordechai, "Why do you disobey the king's command?" (4) Now it happened when they said this to him day after day and he did not heed them, they told Haman, to see whether Mordechai's words would prevail, for he had told them that he was a Jew. (5) When Haman, himself, saw that Mordechai did not bow down and prostrate himself before him, Haman was filled with wrath. (6) [However,] it was despicable in his eyes to send [his] hand against Mordechai alone, for they had told him the people of Mordechai. So Haman sought to destroy all the Jews, who were throughout the entire kingdom of Achashveirosh - the people of Mordechai.

I've always considered Haman's reaction to be rather extreme. Yes, Haman was egotistical, and Mordechai's flagrant disrespect would have undoubtedly dealt a blow to his ego, but was he really motivated to wipe out ALL Jews simply because this one Jew refused to bow down? This stretches credulity and makes Haman seem more like a Disney villain than an actual human being with real human motives.

That's the question I'd like to take up in this blog post: What was it about Mordechai's refusal to bow that motivated Haman to annihilate all Jews?

The answer begins way earlier than we might think ...

The Targum's Answer

Those who know me are aware that I tend to prioritize pshat over drash. It is for this reason that I love Targum Onkelos, the authoritative Aramaic translation of the Chumash, whom I consider to be the most "minimalistic" commentary. Unfortunately, there is no Targum Onkelos on Megilas Esther. Instead, we have a different Targum - one that freely weaves drash into the pshat. The authenticity of this Targum and its incorporated midrashim is vouched for by none other than Rav Hai Gaon, who wrote: "Here in Bavel there are several Targums of Esther which differ from one another. One has many additions and midrashim, and the other has none" (L. Ginzberg (ed.), Ginzei Schechter 86). All citations of the Targum in this blog post refer to the former. My love of Targum in general is what led me to explore this midrashic Targum, despite the differences from my usual preferred commentaries, and that exploration led me to a new answer to our question.

Before we take a look at the Targum's "translation" (quotation marks are necessary because his midrashic embellishment makes it more of a commentary than an actual translation), let's review the original pasuk which talks about Haman's reaction:

[However,] it was despicable in his eyes to send [his] hand against Mordechai alone, for they had told him the people of Mordechai. So Haman sought to destroy all the Jews, who were throughout the entire kingdom of Achashveirosh - the people of Mordechai.

Compare that to the Targum:

[However,] it was despicable before him to send his hand to kill Mordechai alone, because they informed him that Mordechai descended from Yaakov, who took the birthright and the blessing from Eisav - the ancestor (lit. "grandfather") of Haman -  and the Jews are the people of Mordechai, and Haman sought to destroy all of the Jews who were throughout the entire kingdom of Achashveirosh - the people of Mordechai. 

According to the Targum, Haman sought to avenge Eisav, his ancestor, by annihilating the descendants of Yaakov, who "stole" Eisav's birthright and blessing. That is why Haman wasn't content with sending forth his hand against Mordechai alone. To him, this wasn't about Mordechai. It was about all the descendants of Yaakov.

The Targum follows this theory consistently throughout his "translation" of the Megilah. For example, Chapter 4 recounts the dialogue between Mordechai and Esther, via Hasach (a.k.a. Daniel, according to the midrash, as accepted by the Targum). The pasuk reads:

(9) Hasach came and told Esther the words of Mordechai. (10) Then Esther told Hasach, and ordered him [to return] to Mordechai, [saying]: (11) "All the king's servants and the people of the king's provinces know that any man or woman who approaches the king in the inner court etc.

Check out how the Targum "translates" the seemingly content-free Esther 4:10:

(10) Esther told Hasach to go and speak to Mordechai, and commanded him regarding the matter of Mordechai [saying] that he should not incite the conflict with Haman regarding the grudge [Haman] held between Yaakov and Eisav.

Esther 5:1 tells of Esther's appearance before the king. The Targum inserts a lengthy prayer that Esther recited before she made her entrance. Her prayer concludes with the following request:

Have mercy on Your people, and do not give over the descendants of Yaakov into the hands of Haman son of Hamdasa son of Ada son of Biznai son of Aflitus son of Dyosos son of Peros son of Chamdan son of Talyon son of Asnisomus son of Charum son of Charsum son of Shegar son of Genar son of Parmashta son of Vayzasa son of Agag son of Sumkar son of Amalek son of Eliphaz son of the wicked Eisav.

According to the Targum, Esther viewed the entire conflict between Mordechai and Haman as a conflict between the descendants of Yaakov and the descendants of Eisav. The Targum even goes so far as to trace Haman's genealogy past Agag, where the megilah itself stops, all the way back to Eisav. (Parenthetically, this genealogy appears to be literal from Haman to Agag, but not from Agag to Amalek, since the latter two were separated by over 500 years.)

That, so far as I can tell, is all the material that the Targum gave us to work with. However, if we take the Targum's lead, I believe we can expand upon his theory, and in doing so, attain a deeper understanding of Haman's motives.

Support for the Targum's Claim

According to the Targum, Haman was enraged by the fact that Yaakov took the birthright and the blessing from his ancestor, Eisav. On the surface, this might sound like an outrageously unrealistic (and stereotypically midrashic) claim - but if we think about it, it's not as far-fetched as it initially appears. 

Haman was the descendant of Agag. Though some take this non-literally, it would appear from the detailed genealogy cited above that the Targum took it at face value. He maintained that Agag, the king of Amalek, was the great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather of Haman. We know what happened with Agag. Over 500 years prior to the events of Purim, Shaul the Benjaminite waged war with Agag the Amalekite, and even though Shaul erred by having pity on Agag himself, he did kill all of Agag's people (i.e. his extended tribal family). This episode most certainly bequeathed to Agag's descendants a legacy of anti-Jewish hatred - particularly, against the offspring of Binyamin.

And Agag, himself, was the bearer of a legacy of anti-Jewish animosity on account of the war between Bnei Yisrael and Amalek that occurred shortly after Yetzias Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt), which took place several hundred years before the battle between Shaul and Agag. Bnei Yisrael were on their way to receive the Torah at Sinai when they were ambushed from behind by the nation of Amalek, who, undeterred by the display of Divine might in Egypt, nevertheless set its heart on the total annihilation of Israel. There, too, Amalek was decimated to the brink of extinction, and driven back into the hills from whence they came. 

And what motivated the nation of Amalek to attack Bnei Yisrael so soon after Yetzias Mitzrayim? According to a midrash in Yalkut Shimoni (Parashas Chukas), it was none other than the desire to avenge Eisav, their ancestor - the same yearning for vengeance that the Targum ascribes to Haman. The midrash expresses this in the form of a dialogue between Eisav and the nation of Amalek:

Eisav said to Amalek: "O how much I have toiled to kill Yaakov, and he has not been given over into my hands! Apply yourself to take revenge on my behalf!" Amalek said to Eisav: "How will I be able to vanquish him?" He replied: "Let this mesorah (oral tradition) be in your hand: when you see [Yaakov's descendants] stumble [in sin,] pounce upon them!"

The midrash then goes on to enumerate several instances in which Amalek utilized this strategy. But we see from here that there was a living mesorah, passed down from Eisav to Amalek, charging the latter with the mission of taking revenge for the "theft" of the birthright and the blessing. Indeed, the Ralbag (end of Beshalach) explains that this is the reason why Amalek chose to strike Bnei Yisrael at this point in time:

The Amalekites were the descendants of Eisav, and knew about the matter of the blessings - that Yitzchak blessed Yaakov, thereby making the descendants of Eisav servants to the descendants of Yaakov. 

It was also known [to Amalek] what Yitzchak said to Eisav in his blessing to him, that "[he] will live by [his] sword," and that when the circumstances were such that [Eisav] had the upper hand, it would be possible for him to cast off the yoke of the descendants of Yaakov from upon his neck. 

Thus, Amalek strategically went to war with Israel at a time when they were naturally poised to defeat Israel, for the descendants of Eisav were successful in matters of the sword and warfare, as Yitzchak blessed them, and Bnei Yisrael had a lowly psychological disposition at that time, and were not trained in warfare, and - based on [Amalek's] knowledge - they were in the wilderness without bread and food, and were tired and weary. For this reason, [Amalek] hastened to do this to them (i.e. to ambush them) before Israel reached its success, which would result in the descendants of Eisav becoming servants to them.

According to the Ralbag - who, generally speaking, tries to avoid midrashim and sticks to the pshat - the mesorah of Yitzchak's blessings to Yaakov and Eisv was alive and well in the nation of Amalek. They may not have been God-fearing, but they certainly believed in God, and in the reality of the blessings. It is for this reason that they sought to take advantage of this rare moment when they had the upper hand against the descendants of Yaakov. If they could manage to wipe out Bnei Yisrael now, before they got the Torah and established themselves as a sovereign nation in Israel, then they would be able to permanently free themselves from the yoke of servitude to the Bnei Yaakov. Thus, in a sense, they would have restored the blessing and the birthright to Eisav, their ancestor and (in their eyes) the rightful heir.

It is reasonable to assume that this mesorah of vengeance was passed from Eisav to Amalek, from Amalek to Agag, and from Agag to Haman. I was delighted to find this theory corroborated in the 19th century Megilas Esther commentary of Rav Y.S. Reggio, who explains how the history of Amalek's conflicts with Bnei Yisrael fueled Haman's hatred of Mordechai and his people: 

First you need to know and understand that the cause of Haman's hatred against the Jews was not only on account of Mordechai's refusal to bow before him, but aside from this, and even before this, great enmity had taken root in [Haman's] heart, which he inherited from his ancestors, the Agagites, who were offspring of Amalek. 

It was known how Amalek tormented the nation that left Egypt and struck the weaklings from behind. The pasuk testifies about the wickedness of Amalek, saying: "[Amalek] did not fear God" (Devarim 25:18). It is also possible that word had reached [Haman's] ears of God's statement: "a war of Hashem against Amalek from generation to generation" (Shemos 17:16), and Israel's commandment to "wipe out the memory of Amalek" (Devarim 25:19), just as [Haman] remembered without a doubt the harsh war between Shaul and [Haman's] ancestors, and the execution of Agag at the hands of Shmuel. All of this strengthened Haman's hatred and [the hatred of] the members of his household against the Jews.  

And now the author of the megilah explains this to us in the statement: "[However,] it was despicable in his eyes to send [his] hand against Mordechai alone, for they had told him the people of Mordechai etc." Behold - if Mordechai were from another nation, it would have been enough [for Haman] to take revenge against that man alone, but once he heard that this was a Jew, this preexisting hatred against the entire people was awakened, and he thought that it would be beneath his dignity to send forth his hand against that lone member of this abominable offspring. Therefore, he sought to annihilate them all.

Some might wonder why Haman didn't take action against the Jews at an earlier point in time. Why did Mordechai's refusal to bow set into motion the revenge-plot against the Bnei Yaakov?

I have a theory based on the content of blessings. Let's look at the wording of the blessing that Yaakov was given by Yitzchak, which he "stole" from Eisav (Bereishis 27:28-29):

May God give you of the dew of the heavens and of the fatness of the earth, and abundant grain and wine. Peoples will serve you, and regimes will prostrate themselves to you; be a lord to your brethren, and your mother's sons will prostrate themselves to you; cursed be those who curse you, and blessed be those who bless you.

The berachah, which was passed down in Amalek's mesorah, specifically mentions bowing! According to the berachah, the indicator of who is ascendant - Yaakov or Eisav - is who bows to whom. With that in mind, let us attempt to paint a new picture of what Haman saw when he encountered Mordechai, which I will indent for dramatic effect:

As far as Haman is concerned, the blessing to Eisav has reached its fulfillment in him. Bnei Yisrael are defeated and exiled from their homeland and from their destroyed Temple, subjugated to a foreign king, with no hope of ever returning. He is the de facto ruler. Haman is second in command to the king of the largest empire the world has seen. The king has given Haman so much power that he is literally able to make his own laws, as he sees fit. Moreover, the king has commanded everyone to bow down to Haman in a demonstration of absolute subservience. What's more, if he plays his cards right, then he might actually succeed in maneuvering his way into the kingship itself.

Then Haman sees Mordechai - the Jew, the Benjaminite, the descendant of Yaakov - refusing to bow.

To Haman, this is not merely a personal affront. It is a beckoning call from his ancestors, charging him with the mission they could not complete: revenge. Agag faced the Benjaminite descendant of Yaakov, and was vanquished. Amalek faced the nation of Bnei Yisrael, and was vanquished. Eisav faced Yaakov himself, and was vanquished.

And here stands Haman, at the end of his bloodline, in a position of power unparalleled by any of his forebears, with only one person standing in his way: Mordechai, the Benjaminite descendant of Yaakov. Haman has the ability to succeed where his ancestors failed. He has the opportunity to reclaim for his grandfather Eisav the blessing and the birthright which are rightfully his. And there is only one way to do it: kill all of the Bnei Yaakov, just as Amalek attempted to do prior to Bnei Yisrael receiving the Torah.

"... and Haman sought to destroy all of the Jews who were throughout the entire kingdom of Achashveirosh - the people of Mordechai."

Icing on the Cake

I hope that I have made a convincing case for the Targum's explanation of Haman's motive. Having said all of that, there is one more point I would like to mention. I do not want to call it "evidence" because I do not believe it to be on par with the evidence I have just presented. Instead, consider it to be "icing on the cake." And if you find this icing to be too cloying, just scrape it off and focus on the cake.

It has become fashionable in certain Jewish academic circles to seek out literary allusions in the text of Tanach. Although I am sometimes skeptical of making too much out of such findings, there are some that just seem too spot-on to be coincidental. Let's take another look at how the Megilah describes Haman's reaction upon considering Mordechai's actions:

[However,] it was despicable in his eyes (va'yeebez b'einav) to send [his] hand against Mordechai alone etc.

Curiously enough, this form of the word "despised" (va'yeebez) occurs in exactly one other place in all of Tanach: Eisav's reaction upon considering the birthright that he sold to Yaakov (Bereishis 25:34):

Yaakov gave Eisav bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, got up and left, and Eisav despised (va'yeebez) the birthright.

Upon noticing this linguistic parallel, I wondered: Is this a sign that the Targum's theory is correct, or am I reading too much into the pesukim? I then consulted the midrashim on this pasuk in Esther Rabbah. Lo and behold, Chazal make the same observation in Esther Rabbah 7:10:

"and it was despicable in his eyes to send [his] hand against Mordechai alone" - [Haman] was a despicable person who was a descendant of a despicable person (bazui ben bazui). Elsewhere it is written: "and Eisav despised (va'yeebez) the birthright," and here it is written: "and it was despicable (va'yeebez) in his eyes ... and Haman sought to destroy all of the Jews."

There you have it: Chazal explicitly link Haman's genocidal decree with Eisav's feelings about selling his birthright - just as the Targum explained. It would appear that this literary allusion was, indeed, intentional.

Concluding Thoughts

What is the take-away from all of this? The Targum's explanation certainly changes our reading of the Megilah, but what of it?

I believe the answer lies in understanding what Amalek and Haman were attempting to do. According to the Targum - and Ralbag and Rav Reggio - Amalek wasn't an antisemite in the way that many people think of antisemites today. Amalek didn't simply hate the Jews, nor did Amalek deny that the Jews are "the chosen people." To the contrary - Amalek acknowledged our "chosenness," as determined by Yitzchak's bestowal of the superior blessing on Yaakov instead of Eisav.

What was Amalek's evil? Amalek's evil consisted in the fact that they acknowledged the reality of hashgachas Hashem (Divine providence), and nevertheless sought to undermine it for the sake of dominance and power. When Amalek attacked Bnei Yisrael on their way out of Egypt, they knew that Hashem had redeemed them "with a strong hand and an outstretched arm" and they knew He was leading them through the Wilderness en route to claim their inheritance in the Land of Israel, as He promised to the Avos (forefathers) on numerous occasions. And yet, Amalek saw that it had the upper hand, and sought to annihilate Bnei Yisrael in order to reclaim and establish their dominion, contrary to God's plan.

I do not mean to downplay the evil of the Nazis, the white supremacists, certain factions of Americans and Europeans, and many other antisemitic groups. The evil and antisemitism of these wicked people and groups is very real and very dangerous. However, it is of a fundamentally different nature than that of Amalek. The antisemitism of these groups stems from bigotry, nationalism, xenophobia, and a host of other psychological causes. In contrast, the antisemitism of Amalek stems from a genuine recognition of the truth and reality of Hashem and His plan, and a conscious effort to overturn it to satisfy their own lust for greatness.

That, I believe, is what makes Amalek so dangerous. A fool who is blinded to reality by his own emotions still has hope: if you can enable him to see reality, there's a chance that he might change his mind. But a rasha (evil person) who recognizes reality and nevertheless chooses to go against it? There is no hope for such a rasha, nor is there a limit to what that rasha will do in his efforts to achieve his megalomaniacal vision.

This is the difference between Haman and Mordechai. Haman recognized the truth and reality of Hashem and His plan for the Jews and humanity, but nevertheless sought to thwart His will in a misguided effort to achieve god-like supremacy. In contrast, Mordechai maintained his allegiance to the truth and reality of Hashem and His will, even when this meant putting himself and his people at the risk of retaliation by the enemies of Israel. The story of the megilah is the story of which approach is destined to fail, and which will succeed.

Yitzchak's blessing to Yaakov ends with the words: "cursed be those who curse you, and blessed be those who bless you." Today, on Purim, we emphasize the theme: "Accursed is Haman!" "Blessed is Mordechai!"

May we all merit to know the difference between the blessedness of Mordechai, and the accursedness of Haman, and thereby merit the ultimate redemption. 

A New Strategy for Tefilah (Prayer)

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Artwork: Call to Mind, by Terese Nielsen

A New Strategy for Tefilah (Prayer)

Flashes of insight can come from the most unexpected of places. A couple of weeks ago I randomly decided to watch a YouTube montage of every movie that has won the Academy Award for "Best Picture" from 1927-2018. The video featured a 5-10 second clip from each movie. 

I wasn't even really watching this video. I just had it on for background noise while I prepared for the upcoming school year. Suddenly, my ears perked up upon hearing what immediately struck me as a profound truth. I paused the video and rewound it so I could listen again with full attention. 

The movie was the 1941 winner of "Best Picture," and was called How Green Was My Valley. I know nothing about the plot of the movie or the broader context of this line, other than the fact that the main character's name is "Huw." Here's the quotation from the movie in its immediate context (thanks to a copy of the script I found online):

“For so God has given you a chance to make spirit within yourself. And as your father cleans his lamp to have good light, so keep clean your spirit, Huw.” 

“How, sir?" 

“By prayer, Huw. And by prayer, I don't mean shouting, mumbling, and wallowing like a hog in religious sentiment. Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking. When you pray, think. Think well what you're saying. Make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that way, your prayer will have strength, and that strength will become a part of you: body, mind, and spirit.”

When I heard this, I couldn't help but note how closely this idea of prayer resembles Judaism's definition of tefilah (prayer). I wrote about this in a very short post entitled Jewish Prayer (and Jury Duty). Here is the relevant excerpt in which I presented my understanding of what tefilah is:

The English word "pray" comes from the Latin "precari" which (according to Google) means "to ask earnestly" or "to beg." In stark contrast, the root of tefilah (תפילה) is P.L.L. (פ.ל.ל.) which means "to judge" or "to evaluate." When we speak of prayer as a verb, in Judaism we use the reflexive form "le'hitpalel" (להתפלל) which means "to self-judge" or "self-evaluate." [Note: from this point on I will use the Yiddish verb "daven" in reference to tefilah in order to avoid confusing it with the non-Jewish concept of prayer.]

On the surface, it would seem to be a contradiction to say "le'hitpalel to God." How can we use a reflexive verb to describe an action directed to a subject which is not the self (i.e. God)?

The answer to this question cuts to the core of what tefilah is. According to my understanding, is that le'hitpalel means "to judge oneself in God's framework" - that is to say, to evaluate who we are, what we need, and what we have been given, all in the framework of objective reality (i.e. through "the eyes" of God).

Tefilah can be thought of as the ultimate "reality check," in which we attempt to bring our subjective wants in line with our objective needs, and in line with the objective reality of God's will. In assessing our needs and thinking about how to obtain them, we are forced to confront our own limitations - which factors are in our control, and which are not, and how dependent we are on God's righteousness, justice, and mercy. From this position of humble recognition, we ask God to assist us in those areas which are outside of our control.

This last point brings us to another significant difference between tefilah and prayer. We ask for Divine assistance because we believe in the possibility of Divine intervention. However, getting our tefilos answered is not the main reason why we daven. The essential value of davening lies in the personal growth and understanding we gain from the act of self-reflection in the framework of objective reality. 

To be clear: the definition of prayer in How Green Was My Valley is not synonymous with Judaism's definition of tefilah. We certainly do not hold that tefilah "is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking." There is much more to tefilah than that, both in terms of our involvement and God's involvement. Moreover, in the era after the Anshei Knesses ha'Gedolah (Men of the Great Assembly), our activity of "self-reflection/self-judgment in God's framework" is aided by the nusach ha'tefilah - the set text of Jewish liturgy. In other words, the thinking we do in our tefilah is "aided" or "guided" by the text that was established by the Anshei Knesses ha'Gedolah.

Nevertheless, we do maintain that tefilah, at its core, is "good, clean, direct thinking." We acknowledge this at the end of every tefilah by saying: "yihiyu l'ratzon imrei fi v'hegyon libi lefanecha, Hashem, Tzuri v'Goali - May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of my mind find favor before You, Hashem, my Rock and my Redeemer" (Tehilim 19:15) - thereby characterizing tefilah as an activity of articulated thinking before God. 

This is also reflected in the Rambam's psak that although one is obligated to verbally enunciate his tefilah, he nevertheless fulfills his obligation if he didn't verbalize anything, but merely went over the words in his mind. This shows that even from a halachic standpoint, tefilah is essentially a cognitive act - not an act of recitation. 

And yet, how many of us actually relate to the activity of tefilah as an activity of thinking? When we stand up to daven shacharis, minchah, and maariv, do we frame what we are about to do by telling ourselves: "Okay - time for five minutes of good, clean, direct thinking"? Or do we frame tefilah as an activity of "reading from a sidur" or "reciting a text" or "fulfilling an obligation" or some other type of thing? 

Compare our tefilah mentality to our talmud Torah (Torah study) mentality. When we sit down to learn Torah, we definitely frame it as an activity of "good, clean, direct thinking," and we mentally prepare ourselves to engage in concentrated thinking. Our approach to tefilah should feel the same way. Indeed, this is why Chazal classify both tefilah and talmud Torah as "avodah she'ba'lev" (service of the mind), in contrast to "avodah she'ba'guf" (service of the body) - but how many of us really feel that we are doing the same type of thing when davening as we do when learning? 

There is, however, an important distinction between these two acts of avodah she'ba'lev. It is this distinction which is the basis of the "new strategy for tefilah" that I am about to propose. The distinction is expressed in the second half of the quotation from How Green Was My Valley: 

“And by prayer, I don't mean shouting, mumbling, and wallowing like a hog in religious sentiment. Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking. When you pray, think. Think well what you're saying. Make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that way, your prayer will have strength, and that strength will become a part of you: body, mind, and spirit.”

Although the ultimate goal of talmud Torah is to put into practice what we learn, this isn't part of the act itself. Learning, as an activity, is pure thinking. In contrast, tefilah is a specific method of guided thinking which culminates in self-transformation and self-actualization. Our tefilah is successful insofar as it "makes our thoughts into things that are solid" and "becomes part of ourselves in body, mind, and spirit." 

In this sense, tefilah can be thought of as a form of metaphysically grounded self-guided psychotherapy. And just as psychotherapy cannot be deemed a success unless it produces real change in the way we live, so too, tefilah (textually aided self-reflection/self-judgment in God's framework) cannot be deemed successful unless it leads to a real transformation of the self. The Radak on the phrase "hegyon libi - thoughts of my mind" (Tehilim 19:15) explains that "hegyon" refers specifically to "machshavah," which the Rambam defines as "actionable thought." 

Of course, this requires that we actually understand what we are saying when we daven - not only the words and the ideas, but how to internalize these ideas in an actionable manner. This is no simple feat. It requires a lot of thinking and learning outside of tefilah. 

The prospect of devoting time and effort to learning the meaning of the liturgy might be daunting for some, but if you really want to get the most out of your tefilah, then you've gotta start somewhere. My suggestion is to begin with the English translation. Approach it like you would approach anything else you learn (e.g. Mishlei or Tehilim). Ask questions. Raise problems. Try to think of answers. Focus on getting the main idea rather than getting bogged down in the details. Take it one line or one paragraph at a time. Your goal should be to get to the point at which, when you encounter these words in tefilah, you can think them rather than merely recite them. 

Let us conclude by summarizing this new strategy for tefilah - which, truth be told, is really more of a new perspective on tefilah than a specific method:

"Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking." Recognize what tefilah is: it is an activity of thinking (i.e. self-reflection/self-judgment in God's framework, guided by the text established by the Anshei Knesses ha'Gedolah). 

"When you pray, think. Think well what you're saying." It's not enough to merely recognize that tefilah is thinking. You actually have to think your tefilah! In order to do this, you will need at least a minimal level of comprehension of the words. To the extent that you understand the ideas behind those words, you will find it more natural to think them when you say them.

"Make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that way, your prayer will have strength, and that strength will become a part of you: body, mind, and spirit." Lastly, remember that tefilah is not theoretical thinking, but practical thinking. Carry through with those thoughts into considering how you will think, feel, and act differently as a result of your tefilah than you previously did. 

I realize that this is easier said than done, but I hope that by saying it, the doing part will become more within reach. 

Parashas Shoftim: The Eleven Nations of America and the Seven Nations of Canaan

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Woodard's map of the 11 Nations of America

Parashas Shoftim: The Eleven Nations of America and the Seven Nations of Canaan

Woodard's Theory of Eleven American Nations

I've been hooked on a book called American Nations: A History of the Eleven Rival Regional Cultures of North America (2011), by Colin Woodard. The author states his thesis in his introduction:

America's most essential and abiding divisions are not between red states and blue states, conservatives and liberals, capital and labor, blacks and whites, the faithful and the secular. Rather, our divisions stem from this fact: the United States is a federation comprised of the whole or part of eleven regional nations, some of which truly do not see eye to eye with one another. These nations respect neither state nor international boundaries, bleeding over the U.S. frontiers with Canada and Mexico as readily as they divide California, Texas, Illinois, or Pennsylvania. Six joined together to liberate themselves from British rule. Four were conquered but not vanquished by English-speaking rivals. Two more were founded in the West by a mix of American frontiersmen in the second half of the nineteenth century. Some are defined by cultural pluralism, others by their French, Spanish, or "Anglo-Saxon" heritage. Few have shown any indication that they are melting into some sort of unified American culture. On the contrary, since 1960 the fault lines between these nations have been growing wider, fueling culture wars, constitutional struggles, and ever more frequent pleas for unity.

Woodard then clarifies what he means by "nation":

I have very consciously used the term nations to describe these regional cultures, for by the time they agreed to share a federated state, each had long exhibited the characteristics of nationhood. Americans - because of this particular historical circumstance - often confuse the terms state and nation, and are the only people in the world who use statehood and nationhood interchangeably. A state is a sovereign political entity like the United Kingdom, Kenya, Panama, or New Zealand, eligible for membership in the United Nations and inclusion on the maps produced by Rand McNally or the National Geographic Society. A nation is a group of people who share - or believe they share - a common culture, ethnic origin, language, historical experience, artifacts, and symbols. Some nations are presently stateless - the Kurdish, Palestinian, or Quebecois nations, for instance. Some control and dominate their own nation-state, which they typically name for themselves, as in France, Germany, Japan, or Turkey. Conversely, there are plenty of states - some of them federated - that aren't dominated by a single nation, like Belgium, Switzerland, Malaysia, Canada and, indeed, the United States. North America's eleven nations are all stateless, though at least two currently aspire to change that, and most of the others have tried to at one time or another.

In order to appreciate the author's thesis on even a basic level (which, I should mention, is essential for understanding this blog post) read or skim this article, which the author recommends as an overview of his theory. At the very least, scroll down through the descriptions of the eleven nations provided there to get a sense of what he means by "nation" and how these nations continue to persist and shape the cultural and political landscape of our country today.

The quality and quantity of evidence the author provides in his book is staggering. I will never view American history or American politics the same way again. Although the particular claims he makes are subject to disagreement, Woodard's paradigm is compelling to the point where I wonder how people can think otherwise.

I'm not even finished with the book yet and it's already having far-reaching implications for my Torah learning. I'd like to share one example from this week's parashah. 

Annihilating the Seven Nations of Canaan

One of the most controversial mitzvos is the commandment to annihilate the seven nations indigenous to the Land of Canaan. This is actually a pair of mitzvos: the mitzvas aseh (positive mitzvah) to exterminate the seven nations is from Vaeschanan, and the mitzvas lo taaseh (negative mitzvah) to not allow them to live is from Shoftim. Here is the Sefer ha'Chinuch's summary of the mitzvas aseh:

Vaeschanan: Mitzvah #425 - the Mitzvah of Annihilating the Seven Nations 

[We are commanded] to put to death the seven nations that held our land before we captured it from them - these being the Canaanite, Amorite, Hittite, Hivite, Perizzite, and Jebusite [and the Girgashite] - and to eliminate them from wherever we may find them, for it is stated about them: "you shall utterly destroy them" (Devarim 7:2); and the mitzvah was reiterated in Sidrah Shoftim, as it is stated there: "for you shall utterly destroy them - the Hittite and the Amorite, etc." (ibid. 20:17). 

At the root of this mitzvah lies the reason that these seven nations are the ones that started to perform all kinds of avodah zarah (idolatry), and every abomination of Hashem, which He detests. Therefore, since they were a principal root of avodah zarah and its first foundation, we were commanded about them to extirpate and eliminate them from under the heavens, that they may not be remembered or recalled in the land of the living. And in this mitzvah of ours about them, to destroy them, a benefit will result for us: we will eliminate their remembrance from the world, and [thus] we will not learn from their actions. It is, moreover, for us to learn a moral lesson from this - that we should not turn towards avodah zarah, for when we pursue every man in this evil family [of nations] to kill him, because they occupied themselves with idolatry, the thought will not arise in the heart of any man to do acts like theirs under any circumstances. [1]

Before we move on, let me be clear about the scope of this post. Our aim here is not to analyze how it is morally justifiable to eradicate another nation. That is a far more difficult question, which requires its own analysis. Likewise, we will not address the question of the status of these nations in the present day, nor the question of whether we would or wouldn't implement this mitzvah in the present time.

Having said that, working on the premise that the extermination of the seven nations is morally justifiable, my question is: Why was it necessary to eradicate every member of the Seven Nations? In other milchamos (wars), whether a milchemes mitzvah (obligatory war) or a milchemes ha'reshus (optional war), if the opposing nation refuses to make peace with us, we only kill the adult males, but we spare the women and children. Only in the cases of the Seven Nations and Amalek do we kill every individual - that is, in the event that these nations don't accept our overtures to peace [2] - as it says in Shoftim: "do not allow any soul to live" (Devarim 20:16). Why can't we allow women and children of the Seven Nations to live, as we do with other enemy nations?

The Sefer ha'Chinuch cited above addressed this question, saying: "a benefit will result for us: we will eliminate their remembrance from the world, and [thus] we will not learn from their actions." This answer wasn't innovated by him, but is openly stated in the pesukim:

But from the cities of these peoples that Hashem, your God, gives you as an inheritance, you shall not allow any soul to live. Rather you shall utterly destroy them - the Hittite, the Amorite, the Canaanite, the Perizzite, the Hivvite, and the Jebusite - as Hashem, your God, has commanded you, so that they will not teach you to act according to all their abominations that they performed for their gods, so that you will sin to Hashem, your God. (ibid. 20:16-18)

I've known that this is the Torah's reasoning for quite a while, but it hasn't sat well with me. Is it really necessary to exterminate every person in order to achieve this goal? Even the women and children?

Woodard's Answer

It wasn't until I read Woodard's American Nations that I found the answer stated in the pesukim to be satisfying. Woodard raises an objection to his own theory, and his answer to that objection also answers our question:

Any argument that claims to identify a series of discrete nations on the North American continent must address the obvious objection: can nations founded centuries ago really have maintained their distinct identities to the present day? We’re a continent of immigrants and internal migrants, after all, and those tens of millions of newcomers representing every possible culture, race, and creed surely must have diluted and dissipated those old cultures. Is it not the height of fancy to suggest New York City’s distinctive culture is a heritage of having been founded by the Dutch, given that people of Dutch ancestry now account for just 0.2 percent of its population? In Massachusetts and Connecticut – those most Yankee of states – the largest ethnic groups are the Irish and Italians respectively. One might naturally assume that the continent’s nations must have long since melted into one another, creating a rich, pluralistic stew. But, as we shall see, the expected course of events isn’t what actually happened. North American life has been immeasurably enriched by the myriad cultures and peoples who settled there. I personally celebrate our continent’s diversity, but I also know that my great-great grandfather’s people in western Iowa – Lutheran farmers from the island of Funen in Denmark – assimilated into the dominant culture of the Midland Midwest, even as they contributed to its evolution. My Irish Catholic great-grandparents worked the iron and copper mines of the interior West, but their children grew up to be Far Westerners. My great-great-great-grandmother's family fled from the same part of Ireland as their future cousins-in-law, but the mines they found work in happened to be in Quebec, so their descendants grew up speaking French and traveling on aboriginal snowshoes. All of them undoubtedly altered the places to which they emigrated - for the better, I hope - but over the generations they assimilated into the culture around them, not the other way around. They may have embraced or rejected the dominant culture, but they didn't replace it. And it wasn't an "American" or "Canadian" culture they confronted and negotiated with or against; it was one of the respective "national" cultures identified earlier.

Cultural geographers came to similar conclusions decades ago. Wilbur Zelinsky of Pennsylvania State University formulated the key theory in 1973, which he called the Doctrine of First Effective Settlement. “Whenever an empty territory undergoes settlement, or an earlier population is dislodged by invaders, the specific characteristics of the first group able to effect a viable, self-perpetuating society are of crucial significance for the later social and cultural geography of the area, no matter how tiny the initial band of settlers may have been," Zelinsky wrote. "Thus, in terms of lasting impact, the activities of a few hundred, or even a few score, initial colonizers can mean much more for the cultural geography of a place than the contributions of tens of thousands of new immigrants a few generations later." The colonial Atlantic seaboard, he noted, was a prime example. The Dutch may be all but extinct in the lower Hudson Valley - and landed aristocracy may have lost control of the Chesapeake country - but their influence carries on all the same.

The Seven Nations had inhabited the Land of Canaan for hundreds of years prior to the conquest of the land by Israel. The Torah repeatedly emphasizes the depraved culture of Canaan: "do not act in accordance with the actions of the Land of Canaan to which I bring you, and do not follow their practices" (Vayikra 18:3). This corrupt culture started long ago, with the progenitor of Canaan:

Noach, the man of the earth, debased himself and planted a vineyard. He drank of the wine and became drunk, and he uncovered himself within his tent. Cham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness [which, according to Midrash Tanchuma, is a euphemistic way of saying that he either sodomized his father or castrated him] ... Noach awoke from his wine and realized what his small son had done to him. And he said: "Cursed is Canaan; a slave of slaves he shall be to his brothers. (Bereishis 7:20-25)

By the time the Avos arrived on the scene, Canaan had already become a nation with a reputation of degeneracy. Avraham made Eliezer swear "that you not take a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell" (ibid. 24:3). Before Yitzchak bid Yaakov farewell, he warned him: "Do not take a wife from the Canaanite women" (ibid. 28:1). Even the wicked Eisav recognized how his father regarded the culture of Canaan, as the Torah states: "then Eisav perceived that the daughters of Canaan were evil in the eyes of Yitzchak, his father" (ibid. 28:8) - though that didn't stop him from marrying Canaanite women, as the Torah later recounts (ibid. 36:2)

According to Zelinksy's "Doctrine of First Effective Settlement," it was necessary to annihilate every member of the Seven Nations in order to ensure the complete eradication of of their culture from the Land of Israel, in order to be able to establish a new "First Effective Settlement" on Torah ideas and values. Anything short of complete eradication would have left open the possibility that the Canaanite culture and its abominations would persist, and infect the new Jewish society.

Of course, this doesn't mean we regard every single Canaanite as a cultural cancer cell, which would grow out of control if left unchecked. Rather, the halacha must be formulated categorically, and in the laws of waging war, there are only two options: either the women and children civilian population is spared, or it is annihilated. It would be ineffective and impossible to independently assess each and every Canaanite to determine who poses a threat to the new nation. 

Woodard's numerous examples of this dynamic are what sold me on this answer, especially his example about the Dutch settlers of New Amsterdam, and the present-day culture of New York City. As Woodard observed, "people of Dutch ancestry now account for just 0.2 percent of its population" - and yet, the Dutch values of diversity, tolerance, and mercantile ambition continue to set New York City apart from much of the rest of the state. But seriously - read the book and you'll find hundreds of examples.

This is yet another example of how the Divine perspective has a much longer-term range than the limited perspective of man.

[1] I'm going to quote the rest of the Sefer ha'Chinuch's explanation down here in a footnote because it's not really relevant to the question at hand, but is still important enough to cite:

Now, it should not be asked at all: Why were these evil nations created, since ultimately they were to be completely removed from the world? For we have previously known [learned] that free choice is given to man to be good or evil, and Hashem will not impel a man toward either one of them. And since it is so, we have to say that these seven peoples corrupted their ways of action and turned wicked, until they all incurred the fate of elimination and death, although at the beginning of Creation they were fit also for goodness. Now, to this reason we would [also] ascribe the mitzvah of extirpating Amalek in Sidrah Ki Teitzei, the last of the mitzvos aseh in the sidrah (#604).  

If we like, we could further say that perhaps they had at some certain time a brief period of worthiness, and because of that brief period they merited to be created. Or perhaps we could say that from among them all, one worthy person emerged; and for his sake they all merited to be created - in keeping with what we find that the Sages of blessed memory said, that there was one man among the descendants of Amalek, namely Antoninus. It is not out of the question for the Creator to produce any number of persons for the sake of one: for He (blessed is He) experiences no wearisome effort in whatever He desires to do. As His desire is established, whatever He wishes is done; and He (blessed is He), Who comprehends all our actions, knows what need there is for others because of the one particular person, so that all should be created for his sake.

[2] Whenever I teach these topics in school, I make sure to emphasize this point: we always offer peace to every nation - even to the Seven Nations and Amalek - and if they accept peace under the halachically specified conditions, then we do not annihilate them. See Rabbeinu Moshe ben Maimon (Rambam / Maimonides), Mishneh Torah: Sefer Shoftim, Hilchos Melachim u'Milchamos Chapter 6 for details. Likewise, I emphasize that we accept converts even from the Seven Nations and Amalek. See Rabbeinu Shlomo ben Yitzchak (Rashi) on Devarim 20:18, and Rambam, Mishneh Torah: Sefer Kedushah, Hilchos Issurei Biah Chapter 12.

Announcement: Dialing Back the Daily Blogging

Dear Readers and Friends, 

For the past couple of summers I've kept up my blogging schedule until mid/late-August. Unfortunately, it looks like I'm going to need to get an early start on my school prep for the upcoming year. If I could do preparation while keeping up my blogging schedule, I'd do it, but each blog post takes anywhere from 6 to 20 hours to write, and I simply don't have enough time and mental energy to juggle both. 

I still plan on writing an occasional post about Mishlei and Tehilim, and I hope I'm able to continue with the Friday dvar Torah. I just can't keep up the daily grind. 

I hope you've enjoyed what you've read this summer, and that you'll periodically check back (or follow Facebook updates) to read whatever I end up writing for the rest of the summer!

Thank you for your support!

- Kol ha'Seridim