This week we read about one of the most troubling
commandments in the Bible. The
first paragraph talks about when a Jewish warrior encounters a beautiful female
during the conquest of an enemy city.
What follows is a kind of extended, ritualized rape. The warrior must take the woman into
his house, where she has thirty days to mourn. Afterwards he can have his way with her.
It’s one of the tougher sections to read in our central holy
text. Some responses, like the
midrashic commentary Sifre, retreat into pilpul, perhaps with the motivation of
limiting the application of the law. The Sifre asks, what if the captive is
ugly, rather than beautiful, as the Torah specifies? Do the laws still apply? It’s a question that only the Rabbis would have thought to
ask.
Classic apologetic responses note that rape is often an
inevitable part of war, and the ritual as dictated by the Torah slows down the
process to offer some protection to the woman. She has to change her clothes and let her fingernails grow,
measures to reduce her attractiveness and perhaps make consummation less
likely. The passage of time might
also reduce the likelihood of actions that seem inevitable in the heat of
battle. I don’t find this a
productive effort. Underneath all
the details, rape is inescapably ugly, and it is hard to accept it as an
inescapable part of human conduct.
Why does the Torah seem to condone it, even with reluctance and perhaps
with an attempt to indirectly legislate it out of existence? Also, I’m certain that the Israeli
military Rabbinut today would not permit anyone to actually do this, which
leaves us with seemingly useless sections of the Torah. If every word of the Torah is precious
and divine, what do we do with that, other than groan and skip over it?
Being mystically inclined, I try to read this section as a
lesson for moral growth with our individual struggles to become better
people. I wander far away from the
literal meaning of the text on this journey, but have plenty of company in doing
this among our people’s sages.
In the world we see, it is often too easy to forget our
sins. We can do damage of one sort
or another, and then just walk away from it. The spiritual world, according to Jewish tradition, is
completely different. Rabbi Chaim
Vital, as quoted by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, talks about how every bad deed
creates a malevolent spirit, called a ‘Mazik’ or ‘damager’ in Hebrew. These Mazikim are tied to their
creator, and follow the creator around.
Each of us has an unseen entourage of such creatures, who are restrained
from fulfilling their intended harm to us only by G-‘d’s kindness.
I find this image terrifying. I love the images of mercy that are present in the upcoming
holidays, and the implied access to forgiveness and a new clean slate in the New
Year. This is the opposite, a
trail of blemishes that can’t be erased or escaped. While I hesitate to take
the image of Mazikim literally, the idea has helped me put off doing one or two
things that I wouldn’t be proud of.
I think the laws of the captive woman are a parable-like
message, like this concept of the mazikim, that we need to consider the effects
of our actions. On the
battlefield, it would be all too simple for a warrior to see a captive woman as
an object of plunder. Her nation,
perhaps even her extended family, was just trying to kill you, and maybe killed
some of your comrades. While I’ve
never been in combat myself, I’ve hated people enough to want to hurt them, and
it is so easy to write off their subjectivity, their perspective and
feelings.
Taking the woman into the house, and giving her time to
mourn, opens up a possibility of change.
How can you ignore someone who is in the depths of grief and loss? It creates a doubtlessly awkward and
painful relationship with the warrior, a reminder of the captive’s
humanity. On the battlefield, a
warrior could satisfy a momentary urge and, in his eyes, be done with it. Having brought her into the house makes
the warrior confront the magnitude and lasting impact of his action. It’s similar to the idea of Mazikim
being created by sin. If you have
a continuing, even permanent, relationship with your bad deeds, it makes those
deeds less appealing. Hopefully,
incorporating such awareness into our lives can make us better people.
I bless us that, in the coming weeks and New Year, we have
the wisdom to, as Ethics of the Fathers says, ‘envision the result’ of our
actions in all its fullness. May
such expanded vision help us to do things that heal whatever damage we do, and
focus on things that heal the world.
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