Critical Conversations
Parshat Shoftim - 5779
It was a busy
Friday afternoon two weeks ago at the “Sharonim” mall in Hod HaSharon, Israel.
A young man named Yisrael Hirsch[1]
was minding his own business and complete his pre-Shabbos shopping, when he
claims a woman began harassing him verbally. It didn’t stop there; in a video
that has since gone viral, Hirsch described what happened.
“Something like this has never
happened to me before. Apparently, because I am dressed as a Chareidi, someone
permitted herself to nearly run me over with her vehicle and scream at me,
‘draft dodger, leave our country!’”
The irony is that
this alleged attacker picked on the wrong person! Yisrael Hirsch is one of
the growing numbers of Chareidim who
enlist in the IDF annually. He served served a full tour of duty as a
paratrooper and is now a commander in the elite Charuv Reconnaissance Unit,
serving as an Army Rabbi. I can’t help but wonder whether the alleged assailant
would have done the same thing to supermodel Bar Refaeli, one of the most
famous and unapologetic of the Israeli draft dodgers. In an interview in 2007,
Refaeli said,
I'm
not against the army and I really wanted to serve, but I do not regret that I
did not enlist, because this decision has paid off big time...What does it
matter, Uganda
or Israel? For me, it does not matter. Why is it good to die for our country?
Isn't it better to live in New York? For what reason do children aged 18 need
to sacrifice their lives? It makes no sense that people should die so that I
can live in Israel.
While
this cultural chasm is nothing new to us- even as we watch from the sidelines-
it seems that the Jewish people have long contended with the issue of draft
exemptions. Indeed, in this week’s parsha, the Torah describes not one, but
four types of sanctioned draft dodgers.
מִֽי־הָאִ֞ישׁ
אֲשֶׁ֨ר בָּנָ֤ה
בַֽיִת־חָדָשׁ֙
וְלֹ֣א חֲנָכ֔וֹ יֵלֵ֖ךְ וְיָשֹׁ֣ב
לְבֵית֑וֹ
פֶּן־יָמוּת֙ בַּמִּלְחָמָ֔ה וְאִ֥ישׁ אַחֵ֖ר
יַחְנְכֶֽנּוּ׃
“Is
there anyone who has built a new house but has not dedicated it? Let him go
back to his home, lest he die in battle and another dedicate it.
וּמִֽי־הָאִ֞ישׁ אֲשֶׁר־נָטַ֥ע
כֶּ֙רֶם֙
וְלֹ֣א חִלְּל֔וֹ יֵלֵ֖ךְ וְיָשֹׁ֣ב
לְבֵית֑וֹ
פֶּן־יָמוּת֙ בַּמִּלְחָמָ֔ה וְאִ֥ישׁ אַחֵ֖ר
יְחַלְּלֶֽנּוּ׃
Is
there anyone who has planted a vineyard but has never harvested it? Let him go
back to his home, lest he die in battle and another harvest it.
וּמִֽי־הָאִ֞ישׁ אֲשֶׁר־אֵרַ֤שׂ אִשָּׁה֙ וְלֹ֣א
לְקָחָ֔הּ
יֵלֵ֖ךְ וְיָשֹׁ֣ב לְבֵית֑וֹ פֶּן־יָמוּת֙ בַּמִּלְחָמָ֔ה
וְאִ֥ישׁ
אַחֵ֖ר יִקָּחֶֽנָּה׃
Is
there anyone who has paid the bride-price for a wife, but who has not yet
married her? Let him go back to his home, lest he die in battle and another
marry her.”
If you grant all
of these exemptions, who will be left to fight?
In 2007, Ehud Barak caused an uproar when he characterized the IDF as the
army, which is supposed to be the צבא
לכל
העם-
the army for the entire nation, as the צבא
לחצי העם-
the army for half the nation. But that is exactly what would happen here. Between the vineyard
planters, the new homeowners, the newlyweds and the coward, everyone would go
home!
Perhaps we can
suggest that Torah is most concerned about soldiers entering battle while still
having unfinished business to settle. In each of these areas, the Torah wants us to engage in honest and
difficult conversations. A soldier who has
built a new home should be thinking about what kind of home he would
like to create when he inhabits it. This entails talking about spirituality,
about values, about the kind of conversations we’d like to have in it, about
how we will welcome guests and use it for chessed- and what boundaries we will
establish for what is not
welcome. These are not easy
conversations to conduct, but one thing is certain: by not having these
conversations, we leave the results to entropy or momentum, leading to
spiritual decay and physical chaos.
Next, there is
the vineyard, which is also a place that requires a deliberate plan of action,
and serious conversation. Who was the
first person ever to plant a vineyard? That’s right- it was Noach.
וַיָּ֥חֶל
נֹ֖חַ אִ֣ישׁ
הָֽאֲדָמָ֑ה וַיִּטַּ֖ע
כָּֽרֶם׃
Noah, the tiller
of the soil, was the first to plant a vineyard.
Sadly, for Noach,
the vineyard proved to be a source of much shame and sorrow. It tore the family apart, it broke the bond
between parent and child as well as siblings, and led the debasement of a once
righteous man.
The vineyard is a
double edged sword. On the one hand, it
is the source of parnassa in an
agrarian society, and even today. Indeed, its chief product, wine, is a source
of joy. It is the very instrument whereby we sanctify the Shabbos and Yom Tov,
conduct our Seder, name our sons at their bris and bless a union under the
chuppah. On the other hand, we cannot forget about the dark side of alcohol, as
a source of a lack of moderation and addiction. We have these substances in our
shuls, and in our homes. This is another difficult conversation we need to
have, especially as our children are getting older, and watching. Is alcohol an
occasional indulgence, or a social cornerstone? Is shul a place we go to daven,
or the place that boasts the highest concentration of potential drinking
buddies? It’s not just alcohol; there are so many other addiction triggers-
gambling, illicit internet use, drugs, eating, and the list goes on and
on. Most frighteningly, we are a few
months away from legalization of marijuana in Illinois. How will this impact
our children? Without firm policies, it
is clear that we will be attending shalom
zachors with edibles featured prominently alongside the drumettes and
chickpeas! Have we ever spoken about how we will tend the vineyard in our
lives? How will we reconcile its grave dangers with its wonderful benefits? Our
sages tell us that a true hero, a person of might, is someone who is כובש
את
יצרו-
someone who overcomes his evil inclination. If I may, our generation’s charge
is not even to overcome our demons, but simply to be brave enough to
acknowledge that those demons exist. Will those among us who struggle with any of these issues
receive love, support and a
non-judgmental attitude from us? The soldier who never had this conversation,
or never received assistance, was sent home to settle his vineyard.
Thirdly, there is
the newlywed. Here, too, the Torah wanted important conversations to take place
prior to engaging in battle. This doesn't just mean that he hasn’t lived as a
married man, but rather that he hasn’t addressed
the uncomfortable yet necessary challenges facing every couple- marital
intimacy issues, communication (and the two are so closely related), finances,
family and overall spiritual and religious goals they have as a couple. It also
means speaking with young couples who are dating or engaged about the critical
importance of signing the Halachic Prenuptial Agreement, the one method that
preemptively prevents agunah
situations with 100% effectively. This agreement prevents men from holding
women hostage to a Get, and women and men alike holding each other hostage in a
marriage for financial gain or
retribution. None of this is healthy, and much of it arises because we don’t
have this conversation when we get engaged- we just run off to battle. Another
essential conversation is about the importance of genetic testing, to ensure
the health of our future children, and the Jewish people. These are
uncomfortable subjects to discuss; they are much easier and less awkward to
avoid in the moment, and much more costly to defer or avoid in the long term.
The Torah urges us to be open with these conversations, because running to war
may appear heroic to the rest of the world, while in fact it may serve as an
avoidance tactic. A soldier should not
run to save the world without having the conversations to save his marriage.
Finally, the
soldier who is simply afraid is the one who fears death. Rabbeinu Bachya
describes this as a dual fear- the fear of killing others, and the fear of
dying at their hands. Conversations about the end of life may be among the most
unpleasant to contemplate, but are also among the most important. Have we ever
spoken about death with our children or with ourselves? Because children do
think about death, even if we prefer they didn’t, and even if they’ve been
blessed never to confront it directly.
Most of us are afraid to talk to them about it. There’s a poignant moment in Chaim Potok’s
“My Name is Asher Lev” in which this
terrifying conversation about mortality is given voice. Asher is looking at a dead bird when he asks:
"Is
it dead, Papa?" I was six and could not bring myself to look at it.
"Yes,"
I heard him say in a sad and distant way.
"Why
did it die?"
"Everything
that lives must die."
"Everything?"
"Yes."
"You,
too, Papa? And Mama?"
"Yes."
"And
me?"
"Yes,"
he said. Then he added in Yiddish, "But may it be only after you live a
long and good life, my Asher."
I
couldn't grasp it. I forced myself to look at the bird. Everything alive would
one day be as still as that bird?
"Why?"
I asked.
"That
the way [God] made His world, Asher."
"Why?"
"So
life would be precious, Asher. Something that is yours forever is never
precious."
If only we were
as honest and brave as young Asher’s father.
Beyond the
conversation with children, how many of us have made and periodically updated a
will or prepared a halachic health care proxy? Have we made our intentions
known regarding our burial, or our funerals? Are we positioning our descendants
to unite after our passing, or to descend into rancor and recrimination? Saying
that we just want our children to get along without having a conversation about
how to make that happen is dangerous wishful thinking. In death, as in life,
failure to prepare is preparing to fail.
The exemptions
from war represent four categories of people who believe that there will always
be another opportunity to worry about critical issues. Whether it is the ruchniyus of the home, dangerous addictions, warning signs in a
marriage and end of life preparations, people who fail to address these issues
are fundamentally unfit for battle. How
can they fight to preserve the sanctity of life if they are too timid or too
lazy to experience real life themselves?
How can we expect a show of bravery in theater of battle from a soldier
who is in actuality a coward?
According to the
Sfas Emes, venturing out to battle is not a narrative about a soldier- it’s a
metaphor for the soul, and the battles we face in the coming weeks and months.
It is no accident that this parsha and next week’s, both of which describe
battlefield situations, are always read in the month of Elul. Many of us would
rather have a root canal without anesthesia than engage in the kind of
introspection and conversation this month demands. What a shame! Elul is a
gift, as it puts us in the proper frame of mind to address the challenges that
are part of life. I cannot think of a more perfect moment to engage in the
necessary yet uncomfortable conversations in our lives.
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