Parshat Ki Tezeh:To take heed, and not forget the terrible lessons of pure raw hatred

There is a strange little village alongside one of Israel’s borders that I came across on one of my reserve duty stints. Without detailing, for obvious reasons, its location, it was a curious place because I could not figure out how on earth it came to be in such a strange place. Any history buff who studies anthropology readily discovers that there are always historical, geographical and often economic reasons that will explain the nature of a city’s location and growth, and whenever I was on reserve duty in different corners of Israel, I always enjoyed my own secret game of sleuth, trying to uncover the mystery of how local villages came to be situated wherever they were. Sometimes it was a nearby river, or the strategic protection of the mountains, and sometimes even a nearby holy shrine that attracted tourists.

But this particular village had me stumped. It was a nothing little village, with nothing of significance nearby, stuck in the middle of a flat area of totally arid land with no water, no strategic or economic value to speak of, as witness by the fact that all the men who worked had to travel significant distances to their places of employment. It was a few days into my reserve duty before I discovered the answer, in a most unexpected way.

In the middle of the night, while on jeep patrol, we received a radio call form one of the checkpoints that a local Arab had come out to the checkpoint extremely agitated, and was demanding to see someone in charge. As we were patrolling our 5-kilometer stretch of border with our Bedouin tracker (There are many Bedouin and Druse who serve in the Israeli army as trackers; the stories of them are the stuff legends are made of.) who was the closest soldier fluent in Arabic, we drove over to see what the commotion was about.

It turned out that this man’s wife and daughter had not come home and he wanted the army’s help to find them. Now, normally, the Israeli army is not in the business of helping local Arabs solve their domestic disputes, but it transpired that this case was somewhat different.

Turns out that when the Israeli army pulled out of many of the Arab towns and villages as part of the Oslo accords, there were a great many Arabs who had been helpful to the Israelis either as suppliers of hard intelligence or other forms of gainful employment, and whose lives were now in danger.

As a result, the Israeli army set up villages overnight, to accommodate these men and their families, situating them further away from other local Arab villages for their own protection. These people lived in constant fear for their own lives and the lives of their families, and were caught between a rock and a hard place. The only way the army could hope to ensure their safety, was to set them up in their own separate villages, but of course, this marked them in the eyes of the rest of the Arab population as collaborators and made it nearly impossible for them to lead normal lives.

In this case, having seen men he did not recognize eying his home the previous day, he was now terrified something untoward had occurred, and as we were clearly out of our league, the GSS (the General Security Services, who deal with intelligence gathering operations and their consequences amongst the local Arab population) was called in to deal with it.

As it happened I was on patrol again when their bodies were found, chained to two tires and dumped alongside the village the next day. The girl could not have been more than five years old, and the obvious evidence of what had been done to them, was an education in the nature of the enemy we were fighting. It seemed, from the unavoidable look before covering their bodies that, whoever had done this, must have enjoyed it. I spent the next couple of weeks both trying to erase the sight from my mind, as well as wondering how low a regard for human life such people could have, to have done such a thing.

This week’s portion, Ki Tetzeh, seems to be focused on the realities of war, as well as the price exacted on and off the battlefield from all those who experience the realities of warfare.

It begins with the laws of the soldier who goes to battle, and it concludes with the recalling of the story of the battle with Amalek, when we left Egypt.

There is a specific commandment regarding the nation of Amalek, which seems to go against the grain of everything Judaism stands for, even given the necessities and realities of war:

“And it will be, when Hashem your G-d gives you rest from all your enemies round about, in the land which Hashem your G-d gives you as an inheritance to possess, you shall wipe out the memory of (the nation of) Amalek from under the heavens- you shall not forget!” (Devarim (Deuteronomy) 25:19)

The Jewish people here are specifically commanded to wipe out an entire people, including, it seems, men, women, and children!

Even assuming we can come up with a justification for such a strangely out of Jewish character and cruel commandment, why would the children of this nation, generations later, still be held accountable for the sins of their ancestors?

Perhaps there is something within the nature of this people that undermines the very fabric of society?

Three thousand years ago, when we were leaving Egypt, fresh from the miracle of the splitting of the sea, the Torah tells us (Shemot (Exodus) 17:8-16) that a nation came out of nowhere (ibid. 17:8) and attacked the Jewish people. In response, Joshua, at Moshe’s behest, leads the first make shift Jewish army into battle, and the Amalekites are vanquished. It seems like a simple story: just one more battle, one more victory, and one more stepping stone on the Jewish people’s journey to freedom. Yet, for some reason, G-d seems to take this one much more personally.

Indeed, the Torah does not offer any explanation as to why the Amalekites were so bent on the destruction of the Jewish people that they were willing to attack a nation that had just vanquished the entire Egyptian army in one fell swoop.

There is one phrase that may help us understand what is really at the root of this difficult mitzvah:

The Torah tells us that the Amalekite nation, in addition to having attacked our weak, and hit us from the rear, for no reason, also “did not fear G-d.” (“Velo’ yareh’ Elokim.” (Devarim 25:18).

This is a phrase that at first glance seems out of place. If Amalek attacked the Jewish people immediately after the splitting of the sea, it goes without saying that they did not fear G-d; else they would not have attacked. In fact, the Torah makes the point of telling us that unlike Amalek, the rest of the Canaanite nations were in fact filled with dread after hearing of the miracles of the Jewish people’s exodus from Egypt. (Shemot (Exodus) 15:15) Hence they, unlike Amalek, did not attack the Jewish people on their march to Canaan.

The truth is, this phrase, “velo’ yareh’ Elokim,” is one that does not appear all that often in the Torah, and seems to have a very specific meaning.

The best example of this is Abraham’s explanation to Avimelech, the Philistine king, as why he pretended Sarah was his sister (and not his wife):

“…Ki’ amarti, rak ein yir’at Elokim ba’makom ha’zeh va’haraguny al de’var ishti.”

“Because I thought: Surely, the fear of G-d is not in this place, and they will kill me for my wife’s sake. ” (Bereishit (Genesis) 20:11)

In other words, the definition of a place where there is no fear of G-d, in this instance, is that such people would kill a man without a second thought, just to take his wife. In fact, the Seforno here goes so far as to say that this does not even have to mean fear of G-d, but just fear of the law (and in fact the word Elokim can also mean a judge). Apparently a place without yirat Elokim was a lawless place, where the life of a man was worth less than the value of a cheap thrill.

Perhaps this then, is the meaning of this mitzvah to eradicate an entire people.

What does it mean to be able to take the life of a fellow human being without hesitation, and for no apparent cause? Indeed, what is the nature of any random thoughtless and especially cruel act?

It is interesting to note that the Torah does not really tell us where to find G-d, but it does say that every human being is created in the image of G-d, which means that there is a little bit of G-d in every human being. And if I cannot see G-d in the human being standing next to me, I will never find G-d anywhere else.

Which of course is why, as Rav Kook suggests, the root of all unethical behavior stems from the nature of one’s relationship with G-d.

All of which brings us back to Amalek. Can a society reach such a low level, and become so immersed in evil, that they no longer (G-d’s decision, not ours) have the possibility of contributing to building a better world? Can a culture sink to the point where the price the world pays for their existence is too great?

When one people so hates another and so despises their desire to create an ethical world, that they will nurse a blind hatred for the better part of three hundred years, and attack against all logic and beyond all reason, then something is seriously wrong.

The closest example perhaps that we can relate to was Nazi Germany. Hitler made quite clear in Mein Kampf why he was so bent on the destruction of the Jewish people. He could never forgive us for introducing to the world the concept of an objective right and wrong, and one G-d as a higher moral ethic. Hitler believed in the concept of natural evolution, survival of the fittest, and the idea that “might makes right.” And as such, he (and along with him an entire German society) hated us for no other reason than who we are. Perhaps there are moments in history where society, as in the case of Noah’s flood, sinks to such a level that the world needs to let go of them and move on.

It would be so easy to view this story of Amalek as a piece of history long since faded into the collective memory of an ancient people. But the Torah tells us this is not so.

Three thousand years later we are warned to take heed, and not forget the terrible lessons of pure raw hatred that almost saw the entire Jewish people destroyed again in Persia (Haman was the direct descendant of Amalek) in the story of Purim, and again sixty years ago in Germany.

And make no mistake about it, as long as schools can teach hatred in textbooks, and little children can learn to idolize suicide bombers and sing nursery rhymes of rolling bloody Jewish heads in the streets, we still have long way to go.

All of which bears consideration as Israel debates the merits of allowing hundreds of convicted terrorists, with blood on their hands, free in the pursuit of an ever-elusive peace, with a population that is still spending more time teaching their children to hate, than they are preparing their children for peace….

Shabbat Shalom and Ketivah Ve’Chatimah Tovah,

Best wishes for a sweet, happy and healthy new year,

Binny Freedman