"Mishneh Torah" (Deuteronomy) - Ethics Precede Historical Narratives

 

“Deuteronomy is in essence a programme for the creation of a moral society in which righteousness is the responsibility of all.” - Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Last week’s Parashah, Deuteronomy 21:10-25:19, was Ki Teize (“When you go out to war….”). Ramba"m (Maimonides) notes that it is an extraordinarily mitzvah-rich parashah. It lists around 76 out of the 613 Torah commandments thus marking the Torah’s central practical section. It covers diverse topics including laws of war, family laws, interpersonal ethics, civil and commercial regulations as well as agricultural laws.

This week’s Parashah, Ki Tavo (“When you enter the land…”), begins with two mitzvot (Bikkurim and the declaration over tithes) that serve as culmination rituals, celebrating the conclusion of Torah life in the Land.

In his book “Deuteronomy 1-11,” the Yisraeli Biblical scholar, Moshe Weinfeld comments that both the Greek appellation of the book, deuteronomion and the Hebrew appellation "Mishneh Torah" means “repeated law” or “second law” and alludes to the fact that Deuteronomy is a (revised) repetition of a large part of the law and history of the Tetrateuch (the first four books). Unlike Genesis, Exodus, Numbers and Joshua  which narrate Yisrael’s journey and events, Deuteronomy retells history selectively. According to him, Deuteronomy is the “national constitution" defining the covenantal relationship and governing principles.

Earlier Torah books, as many of us have witnessed, chronicle events, consecutively and as they happen: the story of creation, the patriarchal stories, Exodus and Numbers, Sinai and wilderness wanderings. Though Mosaic speeches appear in them, the former are generally embedded in the larger historical narrative.

Ramba”n (1194-1270) similarly asserts that Moshe’s purpose in “Mishneh Torah” (Deuteronomy) was not to recount history but rather empahsize the laws of ethics and those laws that will be relevant once Am Yisrael settles the Land.

Abrabanel (1437-1508) agrees with Ramba"n. He stresses that unlike the earlier Torah books, Deuteronomy is Moshe’s farewell address. His purpose, therefore, is not retelling history but exhortation which is aimed at stirring the people to ethical awareness before his death. The echoing of past events such as the spies, the Golden Calf, the wars with Sihon and Og is didactic. It is not used for historical reasons. Their recitation is used as ethical lessons with the goal of teaching Am Yisrael what happens when they fail to trust G-d and what blessings follow obedience. 

A number of modern Biblical scholars such as Nahum Sarna, Daniel J. Elazar, Jeffrey Tigay and others frame Deuteronomy as closer to a “Covenantal Constitution,” a book of law, a fundamental charter for Yisrael’s political, social and religious life (and other Biblically rooted constitutional traditions) rather than a historical chronicle. In other words, they believe that Deuteronomy’s narrative is often just the framework for moral and covenantal teaching. 

Dear readers, at this point, a little confession is begging to be made. When I sat down to write this essay, the titular name was not my intended topic. The decision to approach the issue, from the angle that was introduced above, ripened when I delved deeper into the text of the last two parashot, Ki Teize and Ki Tavo, successively, beyond the mere desire to refresh my memory of the text.

On the surface, the names of these two parashot suggest that Ki Tavo (“When you enter the Land….”) should logically and chronologically come before parashat Ki Teitze (“When you go out to war…”) since one would assume that Am Yisrael must first “enter” the Land before they need to “go out to war” to defend it.

It was then that I decided to embark on the ride which produced this essay. Evidently, the sequence of these two parashot has engaged the attention of Biblical commentators.

Many of them suggest that the Torah deliberately places Ki Teize before Ki Tavo. They base it on the fact that since Ki Teize is a mitzvah-packed parashah, it was necessary to list them before Am Yisrael settles in the Land.

Rabbi Obadia Sforno (1475-1550), for instance, notes that Am Yisrael would have to face battle immediately upon entry to the Land, both defensive and offensive. The laws of war, as mentioned in Ki Teize, would be needed before the “settling rituals” of Ki Tavo. He further asserts that Ki Teize is a natural continuation from Parashat Shoftim, where the Torah describes how judges and officers must guide Yisrael’s conduct in war.

Ohr Ha'Chayim has an interesting commentary about parashat Ki Teize. According to him, the battle is not just military but a lifelong war against the yetzer hara (evil inclination).Only after the inner ethical and spiritual struggles are addressed can the people truly “enter the Land” in a covenantal sense.

Rash”i and Ramba”n point out that, in Deuteronomy, Moshe is re-telling events selectively and not necessarily in a chronological order. His emphasis is on ethical lessons, not pure history.

Midrash Tanchuma also stresses that Deuteronomy’s repeated phrasing (“Take heed,” “Remember,” “Do not forget”) shows the priority of ethics and faithfulness over historical facts.

Earlier Torah books (Genesis-Numbers), as we have learned, contain a lot of narrative: the patriarch, the Exodus, the wilderness journeys with laws interwoven into the story. Deuteronomy, on the other hand, retells history intermittently and uses it mainly as a teaching tool for forming an ethical and just society under G-d’s sovereignty. Whereas the Tetrateuch focuses on what happened in the past, Deuteronomy has its eyes on the future and emphasizes what should be done. Shabbat Shalom

Parashat Shoftim - The Pursuit of Justice

 

“Other cultures discovered order, Yisrael discovered Justice,” - Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Parashat Shoftim, this week’s Torah portion (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9) centers on structures of justice, leadership and authority in the Yisraelite society. While other portions are more narrative based or ritual centered, Shoftim lays out the framework for a just society and its insitutions.

There are four roles of leadership that are discussed in the Parashah. They are clearly defined and are aimed at ensuring the separation and preventing abuse of powers, in ancient Yisrael.

The first is the appointment of Judges and the establishment of the court system. The second is the king who exercises a limited monarchy with restrictions. The priests and the Levites  are the third. They are entrusted with spiritual and moral authority. The fourth role is the one held by the prophets who act as moral and divine authority, true vs. false prophets.

Don Yitzchak Abrabanel emphasizes that the Torah deliberately distributes authority among these four roles. Such distribution, he asserts, where each power checks the other ensures that no one branch becomes harsh or tyrannical thus creating a system that balances justice with compassion and morality. This essay focuses on the role of judges and the delivery of justice.

The Torah describes two main sources for Moshe’s education and knowledge of the court system. The first, Yitro, his father- in- law who introduced and taught him about the practice and its structure. The second, G-d who sanctioned it and commanded its authority and permanence.

 In Exodus 18:13–26), Yitro advises Moshe to “Provide from among the people men of valour, G-d-fearing, men of truth, who hate unjust gain, and appoint them as officials over thousands, hundreds, fifties, and tens.” Yitro’s guidance also introduces Moshe to the framework of a hierarchical judicial system of decentralized courts, with lower courts handling easier cases and only the most difficult cases reaching Moshe. G-d’s Divine sanction and expansion in the form of a formal mitzvah calls to appoint (by recognized authorities, which the Sifrei, a midrashic halachic commentary, defines as the leaders of the tribe, and not elected by popular vote) judges in every city with justice bound by Torah law (Deuteronomy 16:18).

The criteria for appointing judges require that they be men of valour (Deuteronomy 16:18-20), possess “wisdom,” “understanding”  and be “respected”(Deuteronomy 1:13).  Ramba”n explains that these traits mean having deep Torah knowledge, the ability to apply principles to new situations and maintaining a strong reputation among the people. Judges should display fear of G-d , honesty, impartiality and rejection of bribes (Exodus, 18:21), (Leviticus, 19:15). 

This shows that the Torah envisions a justice system based not on popularity, favouritism, but on equality as well as moral and spiritual integrity.

The justice system established by Moshe was revolutionary for its time, compared to other main Ancient Near Eastern legal practices and structures such as the Code of Hammurabi, Hittite laws and others.

Firstly, the Torah decrees that justice comes directly from G-d “For judgment is G-d’s” (Deuteronomy 1:17). This makes law sacred above human rulers. Even the kings must obey G-d’s law. Judges are commanded to act as representatives of G-d’s will. In other ancient near eastern societies, laws were issued by kings who claimed divine authority but were, themselves, above the law. Hammurabi, for instance, claimed that the gods chose him to “establish justice,” yet not judged by the law himself. 

Secondly, unlike other ancient Mesopotamian cultures where laws were often applied differently based on class and status which primarily protected the power of kings, the elites and the hegemony, the Torah commands the system to protect the vulnerable, restrain rulers, and elevate justice into a universal principle of “one law for all” (Exodus 12:49, Leviticus 24:22). This means that even the powerless, the orphan, the widow and the ger (stranger/foreigner), society’s weakest, are protected (Deuteronomy 24:17-18).

Whereas in ancient Near-Eastern societies harsh punishments were common, reflecting power and deference rather than mercy, in the Torah, while strict, justice is tempered by compassion (Exodus 22:21-23) and limits on punishment (“eye for an eye” interpreted as monetary compensation). 

Finally, in other systems, courts were ad hoc and king-centered. Moshe established a network of judges in every city (Deuteronomy 16:18) and cities of refuge to prevent blood vengeance.

In his commentary on the parashah, Rabbi Lord Sacks states, “Judaism…sees society as the arena in which specific ideals are realized: justice, compassion, the rule of law combined with respect for the sanctity of life and the dignity of the individual. The Torah is a unique attempt to create a nation governed not by the pursuit of power or the accumulation of wealth but by recognition of the worth of each person as the image of G-d. 

Moshe’s justice system certainly reflects these principles. It is not about maintaining order- it is about creating a society that manifests G-d’s justice and human dignity.

The Spirituality of Seeing

 

“Open your eyes — the Divine is right here, in front of you.” The Kotzker Rebbe

“See, I set before you today a blessing and a curse.” (Deuteronomy 11:26)

Parashat “Ekev,” of two weeks ago astressed the importance of hearing and listening,

as evidenced by the repetitive use of the verb “shema” (hear, listen). In Last week's Parashah,

“Re’eh,” (see), Moshe is urging the Yisraelites to choose between blessing and curse,

"see" the consequences of loyalty or disobedienc to G-d while emphasizing the significance

of seeing as a mode of recognizing G-d in our daily choices.

Am Yisrael, as both Rash”i and Ramba”n suggest, is called here, not just to hear but to see clearly the moral alternatives before them. Re’eh is an order to open one’s eyes, perceive clearly and choose blessing over curse. Ramba”n empahsizes that “seeing,” in this context, is not just with the eyes, but with the mind’s eye - an act of deep spiritual awareness. It emphasizes perception, awareness and a conscious choice.

Rash”i further points out that the verse begins with the singular “Re’eh” (see) but continues with the plural “lifneichem” (before you [plural]). Rash”i reads Re’eh as a deeply personal summons: “See this as if it is directed to you alone, yet know that your choices shape the fate of all Israel.” In other words, Rash”i asserts that though it teaches each individual to see and understand, the consequences apply to the whole community. It encompasses both personal and collective responsibility.

Sforno suggests that the Torah could have said “Shema” (hear), as it does in Shema Yisrael (“Hear, oh Yisrael”). Instead, it chooses the word “Re’eh” suggesting not merely passive listening but active vision without distortion - a responsibility to look ahead, recognize consequences, and internalize Torah values.

Ramba”n also offers a different interpretation for the choice of “Re’eh” rather than “Shema”.  He explains that whereas to hear something is indirect and can, thus, be doubted, to see something is direct and undeniable.

The decree “Re’eh”  brings to mind the occasion of receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. There, we are told that Am Yisrael “saw the sounds” (Exodus 20:15) which Jewish scholars found to be a most striking and paradoxical image. 

Rash”i, for instance, citing Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael explains that the People saw what is normally heard. That experience was so powerful and overwhelming that the boundaries between the senses collapsed. That, in turn, caused their spiritual perception to be elevated to the level that they could apprehend Divine communication with absolute clarity.

For Hasidic thinkers such as Sfat Emet, “seeing,” as opposed to “hearing” symbolizes the transformation of faith (emunah, usually associated with hearing) into knowledge (da’at, associated with seeing).

Lord Rabbi Sacks also addresses the theme of “hearing” vs. “seeing.” In his commentary on the Parashah, Sacks states, “On the face of it, Moshe is appealing to the eye, not the ear. However, if we examine the role of sight in Judaism, we discover something strange. Often, when the Torah seems to be using a verb or metaphor for sight, it is actually referring to something not seen at all but rather heard. To reinforce his point, Sacks cites two examples from the Tana”ch, mainly the prophets, one from Isaiah, the other from Jeremiah.

Isaiah 1:2 opens, “The vision concerning Judah and Jerusalem that Isaiah son of Amos saw during the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah: Hear, O Heavens! Listen, O earth.” As Sacks correctly states, the verse contains no visual imagery. “What Isaiah ‘sees’ is a call, sounds, speech, a proclamation, not a sight or scene or symbol.” The key verbs are “hearing” and “listening,” in the opening verses of the book of Isaiah. In Jeremiah, 1:11-12, claims Sacks, the prophet  “‘sees’ but G-d teaches him to listen.”

My article on parashat “Ekev” highlighted the importance of hearing and listening. I shared Sacks’s brilliant commentary on the motif of what he coined the “Spirituality of Listening.”  I firmly believe that it is appropriate to name one of the themes of last week’s parasha as  “The Spirituality of Seeing.” 

“Re’eh” is about cultivating a vision- personal, ethical, and divine. It extends to transcending the mundane in our lives to actively looking and seeing G-d in the world and in others, fostering a clear vision of truth and goodness, and cultivating a deeper connection to the Divine, all in order to witness the profound spiritual reality of a blessing and a curse.

The Reciprocality of the Sinai Covenant

 

In this week’s Parashah, “Ekev,” Moshe reminds Am Yisrael that obedience to G-d’s commandments, adhering to the terms and the moral code of the Covenant, entered at Sinai,   will bring blessing, security, and prosperity. Disobedience, on the other hand, will lead to hardship and loss. He reminds Am Yisrael of the ordeals and miracles that transpired in the desert, the manna, the water and G-d’s coaching and preparing them to assume nationhood.  Moshe emphasizes gratitude and humility. He warns them against arrogance whereby they attribute their prosperity to their own strength and abilities, (“My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth,” 8:17). This, he cautions, will come at the cost of losing their spirituality and faith in G-d. In other words, material abundance and depersonalization must not cause spiritual forgetfulness — Am Yisrael must remember its dependence on G-d even in times of plenty.

Moshe also reinforces the prohibition to follow the ways of other nations and the worship of foreign gods. He reproves them, again, for the sin of the “golden calf”

The name of this Parashah, “Ekev,” comes from its opening words, “Vehaya ekev tishme’un…..” “And it shall come to pass, because you will listen….” (Deuteronomy 7:12)

The word ekev, in this context, as the translation suggests, means “when it came to pass,” “because,” or “as a consequence.”  However, ekev  is derived from the Hebrew root ע,ק,ב, which, literally, means “heel.” It shares the same root as the name Ya’acov (Jacob), one of our forefathers. As many may know, in Hebrew, words that have the same root are almost always related in meaning since the root carries the core semantic idea. Who, among us, does not recall that Ya’acov was given that name when he came into the world holding onto the heel of his twin brother Esau? 

Jewish scholars, through the ages, pondered over the choice of the word “ekev” in the verse.

Rabbi Ari Kahn, for instance, asserts that “Had the Torah wished to state this wonderful result” of obeying the commandments,“in more straightforward terms, describing the ongoing relationship with G-d and the dynamic nature of His Covenant with the Jewish People, simpler words could have been employed.” Kahn further suggests that the use of the word “if” would be more appropriate since “it is the most straightforward word that connotes conditionality.”

Both Midrash Tanchuma, Parashat Ekev (section 1) and Rash”i believe that the word “ekev” was deliberately selected. They point to an additional message that is conveyed by it. According to them, it refers to commandments that people might treat lightly and thus tend to “trample them under their heels.” The “heel” metaphor, they suggest, is employed to remind us that even the simplest mitzvot, those that might be neglected or underestimated, bear significant reward. 

Or Hachaim (Chaim Ibn Attar 1696-1743) also dwells on this challenging choice of word after which the parashah is named. He believes that “ekev” hints at the end of days (“at the heels of history”) - that the ultimate blessing will come when the mitzvot are fully observed.

Rabbi Sacks highlights a different theme, a very significant one, in my view, of this parashah, one that is closely related to the titular name of this essay. His interpretation leads him to conclude that it teaches us about the “Spirituality of Listening,” principally when “the listening” is to an invisible G-d.  Sacks bases his assertion on the repetitive use of the word “shema” which appears in the opening verse of the parashah, as stated in its opening verse and which is reinforced later in the parashah (11:13).

“Shema,” tells us Sacks, “means so many things, to hear, to listen, to pay attention, to understand, to internalise, to respond, to obey.” Sacks notes that it is “ one of the motif-words of the book of Devarim [Deuteronomy] where it appears no less than 92 times.” Moshe keeps reminding Am Yisrael of the need to hear what G-d is telling us, to listen to what He wants and expects of us and what He will give us in return.

“Listening and speaking,” Sacks tells us, “are forms of engagement. They create a relationship,” and listening, remarks Sacks, is at “the heart of every relationship.” This is particularly important in Judaism, which Sacks defines as “the religion of listening” that is based on “faith in a G-d we cannot see, a G-d who cannot be represented visually.”

That is, precisely, the kind relationship G-d has with Am Yisrael, as is expressed in the Sinai Covenant. It is a Covenant of reciprocality because it is a two-way exchange where each side both gives and receives. It is reciprocal because it is built on mutual obligations and commitments between G-d and Am Yisrael, rather than being a one-sided decree. G-d’s role, in this relationship, is the promise of protection, provision, guidance, and making Am Yisrael a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:5-6). Am Yisrael’s part is the commitment to obey G-d’s commandments, including the “lightest” ones, live according to His Torah and adhere to what Sacks depicts as “life of love and love of life,” while fulfilling its role as a moral and spiritual example among the nations.

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.