Thursday, 24 July 2025

Cities of Refuge





“You shall designate cities for yourselves; they shall be Cities of Refuge for you, and a murderer who killed a person unintentionally shall flee there” Bamidbar  (Numbers) 35:11



As Am Yisrael is about to enter the Promised Land, Moshe is instructed to designate six “cities of refuge,” three on each side of the Jordan river, to which anyone who accidentally kills a person can escape.  The purpose of such cities is to provide refuge, where the killer will be safe from being killed by a blood relative of the dead.

 

The vengeance of blood (or blood revenge) was a central concept in justice systems across the Ancient Near East. It refers to the right or duty of a family member to avenge the killing of a relative—usually through killing the murderer. This practice shaped legal codes, tribal customs, and religious thought in many ancient cultures. 

The Code of Hammurabi (18th century BCE), for instance, includes provisions for blood vengeance. In case someone kills another, the victim’s family could put that person to death. Retribution, in this Code, was based on lex talionis, “an eye for an eye.” Blood vengeance was also present in Hittite, Ugarit and Canaanite as well as in the ancient Hebrew laws.

However, as Lord Rabbi Sacks explains, in early societies, where blood vengeance was practiced, “there was a concern that people would take the law into their own hands,” which “would begin a cycle of vengeance and retaliation,” where, “one revenge-killing leading to another and another, until the community had been decimated.” 

In order to prevent unjust violence, it was, therefore, important to distinguish between murder, a deliberate killing and manslaughter, unintentional death. 

Over time, Ancient Near Eastern Societies, such as those mentioned above, moved toward a centralized legal system which distinguished between these two forms of killings. It gradually restricted blood vengeance as well as allowing kings and temples to assume more authority in criminal justice. Additionally, legal codes ( e.g.,Hammurabi, Mosaic law) attempted to channel vengeance through regulated procedures or sanctuary laws and permitted compensation in the form of monetary payment in place of blood revenge. 

While the notion of sanctuary or places of refuge which are one of the themes in this week’s Parasha, Masei, also existed in Mesopotamian societies, these were mostly confined to religious sites. The formalized, legalistic system of the Mosaic Cities of Refuge, though, is a distinct development. They did not have solely religious and legal importance; they also had moral and symbolic significance. 

Firstly, these cities did not only provide protection from vengeance, mostly for the accidental killer from the blood avenger who could seek retribution. They also prevented further bloodshed and more killings. 

Secondly, legally, the Mosaic concept provided due process. Although the main purpose of cities of refuge was to protect the accidental killer, in practice, murderers who killed intentionally went there as well (Talmud, Makkot 9b and 12a). Upon arriving in the City of Refuge, the court sent messengers to escort that person while, also, acting as his bodyguards and bring him in for a hearing. If the judges decreed that the murder was intentional, the verdict would be accordingly. However, if the judges ruled that his act of killing was unintentional, the messengers would accompany him back to the city of refuge for a mandatory stay. So long as the killers remained within the city limits, they were protected by law. They had to remain there until the death of the High Priest.

The mandatory stay in the City of Refuge is aimed at teaching a symbolic and spiritual lesson. The symbolic exile to a City of Refuge suggests a form of penance and moral reflection. It is aimed to tell us that even unintentional death is serious and requires atonement and rehabilitation. According to Ramba”n, it is a means to carry out Divine justice.Taking a life, he suggests, whether intentional or not, upsets the moral balance of the world.

The spirtual lesson relates to the revered status of the High Priest who represented the collective soul of the People. His death, which provided communal atonement and allowed the killer to leave the city, stressed the High Priest’s spiritual role for the nation. 

Midrash takes the importance of the role of the City of Refuge even one step higher. It explicitly compares the City of Refuge to Torah. “Just as the Cities of Refuge save lives, so, too, does Torah.”Midrash Tanhuma Buber (Appendix to Va’Etchanan,4).  In other words, just as someone, who accidentally killed someone, could find safety in a City of Refuge, engaging with Torah provides spiritual refuge, protection and healing.

It is noteworthy to mention that to ensure the clear and open access to justice, Talmud stresses the importance of precise and well marked signage to cities of refuge. “The roads to the Cities of Refuge were to be well-maintained and signposted….” (Makkot, 9b-10a). Likewise, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Rotzeach u’Shmirat Nefesh (law of Murder and Protection of Life) where Ramba”m codifies the laws of the cities of refuge, he writes: “The court must prepare and repair the roads leading to the Cities of Refuge…They must build bridges, remove obstacles, and post signs: ‘Miklat (refuge)! Miklat!’ so that no one errs on the way. (Hilchot Rotzeach 8:5).

The sanctity of life is of utmost importance in the Torah and Jewish tradition. The Cities of Refuge reflect this value. They highlight the Torah’s underlying view of justice, combining accountability, compassion and restorative principles. They offer a deeply humane approach to dealing with bloodshed, tragedy, moral responsibility, spiritual growth and societal healing.

Thursday, 17 July 2025

Judaism and Some Women's Rights

 







                          "Why should our father’s name be eliminated from his family because he had no son?" - Numbers 27:4


One of the themes of this week's Torah portion, Pinchas, concerns women's rights to inheritance and ownership of property in Jewish Law.

Modern - day Women's Rights movements, as we know, have argued, over time, for social, political, and economic equality of the sexes. Ancient Judaism, as history shows, arose, as a religion, in the cradle of the patriarchal world of the Ancient Near Eastern cultures and, similarly, did not set women’s rights as its mission.  

These patriarchal societies, as the name suggests, were highly male dominated where men held primary power, with authority in political leadership, moral authority, social privilege and ownership of property. It meant that male heads of households controlled family structures, inheritance law and religious life, among other spheres of influence. 

Though in some cultures (notably Mesopotamia), women had legal rights to own property, manage businesses, initiate divorce or even hold spiritual roles, these were exceptions and reserved mostly to the elite class.  Even the Hammurabi Code (a legal code dating back to Babylonia, circa 1754 BCE), which provided wives and widows with some protective regulations, considered progressive for the time, still treated women as some form of possession.

Despite the restrictions on women in ancient Jewish law, Judaism specified some rights and valued roles that stood out when set side by side with other contemporaneous ancient societies. It is safe to argue that Judaism contains some proto - feminist elements in comparison to other archaic Near Eastern religions.

One can spot such elements already in the story of creation, recounted in the book of Bre’esheet. There, Torah tells us that “G-d created humankind in His image, male and female He created them” (1:27). In a world such as the Ancient Near East, where myths demean women, the notion that a woman is created in G-d’s image was considered radical.

Another example pointing at some egalitarian overtones in the Eden setting, can be found in Bre’esheet 2:24 where it states, “Therefore, a man shall leave his father and his mother, and cleave to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” This decree which goes counter to the practice of patrilocality, exercised in other societies, at that time, where wives moved to their husbands' family home suggesting deep union, was revolutionary.

This week’s Parashah takes the titular theme one step further. It is a landmark Torah episode that addresses inheritance rights and highlights women’s role in shaping Jewish law.

The Parashah informs us that prior to entering the Promised Land, G-d instructs Moshe to partition the Land according to tribes, more precisely to the males in each tribe. In the case of death, only the sons will receive their father’s inheritance, thus ensuring that it remains in the family.

One family in the tribe of Menashe, the Zelophehad family, had only daughters. Their father died in the desert. The five daughters are concerned that they will not be entitled to land. They turn to Moshe to request their share.

Since patrilineality, the practice whereby descent and inheritance pass through the male line was the convention, at that time, it was an eventuality unexpected by Moshe. He, therefore, turns to G-d. G-d sides with the daughters, upholds their righteous claim and orders Moshe to grant them their request. This, naturally, is remarkable, especially in a tribal society where land was passed only through males. What is even more momentous is that the Torah adjusts the inheritance law in response to women’s advocacy, challenging existing norms.

There was, however, one condition to granting their request. They must marry men from their own tribe.  Rabbi Sacks sums this episode very succinctly, “The daughters did not lose their rights to the land,” he states, “but they did lose some freedom in choosing their marriage partner.”

Many Jewish scholars claim that it is the wisdom of Zelophehad’s daughters which brought about that outstanding achievement. Here is an overview of what some Jewish sources consider wise about them.

Midrash Sifrei (Numbers 133) states, “The daughters of Zelphehad were wise, they were interpreters of the Torah.” They understood that the purpose of the inheritance laws was to preserve each family’s stake in the land. By requesting an inheritance, they upheld the underlying value of the law, not just its letter.

Rash”i believes that it was their right approach which was respectful and sound that convinced G-d to respond favourably. “The daughters of Zelophehad speak rightly,” says G-d (Numbers 27:7). “Fortunate is the person,” claims Rash”i, in his commentary on this verse, “whose words the Holy One, blessed be He, agrees with.”

Midrash Tanchuma (Pinchas 9) asserts that their wisdom is reflected in their love for the Land which signals their deep faith in the promise of the Land of Yisrael.

The Babylonian Talmud (Baba Batra 119b) praises them for bringing a question whose answer was included in the Torah but had not yet been explicated. “They saw what Moshe did not see,” it states. Their question created a new legal precedent.

Zelophehad’s daughters have become an enduring model of righteous, intelligent and effective contributors to women’s rights within the Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern context. They turned their personal grievances into a lasting legal reform which made them pioneering figures of moral courage and legal influence at challenging and critical times in Jewish history.

Shabbat Shalom, dear Am Yisrael and fellow Jews and a peaceful weekend to all.

Wednesday, 2 July 2025

The Balance Sheet of Moshe's Sin and Its Punishment

 






“.........therefore, you will not bring this congregation into the land that I have given them.” Numbers 20:12



Over three decades ago, I visited Jordan for the first time. One of the points of our tour was the site of the Biblical Mount Nevo, part of the Abarim mountain range. As I was standing there, inhaling the breathtaking view of “The Promised Land,” I could not help but think of Moshe, the greatest leader of Am Yisrael. The words of G-d’s decree to him, as expressed in Deuteronomy 32:52, “For from afar you will see the land, but you will not come there, to the land I am giving the children of Yisrael” were echoing against my Jewish essence and aching my heart. In my mind’s eye, I could picture Moshe standing there seeing his life’s goal his dissolving into dust. G-d delivered the punishment He had decreed, as stated in the verse above from this week’s Parasha, Chukat.

Many Jewish scholars have deliberated and discussed the incident related to the verse above. There are two questions concerning Moshe’s action and its ensuing punishment that I would like to address here.

The first focuses on the sin itself. The Parasha tells us that Bnei Yisrael are thirsty. G-d commands Moshe and Aharon to speak to the rock so that water will come forth. Instead, Moshe hits the rock, twice. The question that is begging to be asked is, if the directive given by G-d mentions speaking to the rock, why would hitting it turn Moshe's act from what might be regarded a minor form of disobedience into a sin, especially in light of past experience where G-d orders him to hit a rock, at Horev, in order to draw water (Exodus 17:1-7)?  

Rash”i bases his answer on Midrash. He believes that speaking would have been a greater Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G-d’s name), indicating that even a rock obeys G-d’s word.

Ramba”m suggests that Moshe’s sin was losing his temper and calling the people “rebels.” It was a failure of leadership by displaying anger thus setting a poor example.

I would like to take Ramba"m’s interpretation one step further, one that is not a traditional theological one. I would suggest a psychological perspective where the act of hitting the rock might be perceived as “projection.” In psychoanalytical terms, “projection” is a defense mechanism where  internal frustration, anger or impatience, in this case with Am Yisrael, manifests itself physically by hitting the rock instead of speaking to it.

The second question has, likewise, been preoccupying our sages over time. It centers on balancing between the sin and its punishment.

Jewish tradition emphasizes that sin has consequences. The Babylonian Talmud clarifies that punishment should be proportionate. It was Rabbi Shmuel Bar Nachmani, speaking for Rabbi Yonatan, who coined the Hebrew phrase, “Mida Keneged Mida” meaning “measure for measure.” (Sanhedrin, p.90, column a). The phrase refers to the concept of Divine retribution, where deeds are met with a corresponding consequence, negative or positive, suggesting that G-d’s judgment is not arbitrary but rather reflects the nature of the action performed.

Moreover, the Talmud clarifies that warnings are necessary before melting out punitive action. “Ein onshin elah im kein mazhirim” is a Talmudic dictum which means that a punitive action is not meted out for the transgression of a prohibition unless there is a prior scriptural warning. (Makkot 17b).

It is obvious that Moshe was not forewarned about any consequences that his actions might carry. However, the more important part of this question, as crystallized by Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, is what "offence could warrant so great a punishment as not to be privileged to see the conclusion of the mission he had been set by G-d?" A just question. Sacks is not the only one who addresses the disproportionality between Moshe's sin and its punishment.

The commentaries and debates on this issue are as numerous as those who dwelled on it in search of an answer.

In his commentary on the Torah, Rabbi Don Isaac Abravanel (15th-century Spanish-Portuguese commentator) suggests that Moshe's and Aaron's punishment for not entering the Promised Land was not solely due to the incident of striking the rock instead of speaking to it.  Abravanel proposes that their actions were the proximate cause and not the sole cause for their exclusion. 

According to Abravanel, their punishment is the result of past transgressions. Moshe's punishment was connected to his role in the Sin of the Spies, resulting in forty years of wandering. Aaron's punishment, on the other hand, was attributed, by Abravanel, to his participation in the Golden Calf incident. 

Abravanel argues that to protect their honour, these previous sins were not explicitly stated as the reason for their punishment in the biblical text. Their failure to enter the Promised Land was not the consequence of that single mishap but rather a culmination of earlier transgressions. It merely served as the trigger, allowing G-d to administer the punishment for those earlier, more significant sins (Perush Abravanel al HaTorah)

Today, thirty-some years after my visit to Mount Nevo, my heart still throbs at the recollection of the experience. Perhaps G-d held him to a stricter standard, I often wander and he was, therefore, decreed to die in the wilderness, I keep repeating to myself. 

There is no doubt, though, that Moshe was a great leader and a supreme teacher. If not for his great leadership, we would have never left Egypt. His leadership, as we know, was short-lived. His legacy as a teacher, on the other hand, has lasted for over several millennia, and will forever continue to light the path not only for our Jewish People but for humanity as a whole.