“If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season, so that the earth shall yield its produce and the trees of the field their fruit. Your threshing shall overtake the vintage, and your vintage shall overtake the sowing; you shall eat your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land. I will grant peace in the land, and you shall lie down untroubled by anyone; I will give the land respite from vicious beasts, and no sword shall cross your land.” (Leviticus 26:3-6)
These are the opening verses from this week’s Torah portion, Bechukotai, the last one in the book of Leviticus. The rabbis of the Talmud debated whether one should take such verses literally. Is it true that if we follow the mitzvot rain will come in its time so that our crops will flourish? Is it true that if we follow the law there will be peace in the land? Is it that simple?
Sadly, we need not look far to see examples of how a literal reading of these opening verses falls flat. The last eight months have proven this to us again and again. We read stories of the fallen – those who were brutally murdered on October 7 as well as those who have fallen bravely in battle – and we try to make sense of this in the context of a verse from our Torah that promises that “no sword shall cross your land.” Our hearts break when we read the painful news of the tragic deaths of dozens of Palestinian civilians in Rafah this past week. Of course we know that but for Hamas none of this horror would be happening, but still we wonder how a just God could permit such things to occur.
It is certainly not that simple–not now, and probably not then. Verses like this introduce us to perhaps the most difficult of theological–and lived–questions that we confront: why is there famine, illness, and bloodshed in this world? Why so often do the innocent suffer? The consensus view of the rabbis is that these verses do not describe human experience in this world where God’s justice is not immediate. Sometimes the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer. But in the world to come, they argue, God’s justice will be absolute.
Additionally they argue that God has granted us free will; it is, in fact, a source of human dignity. In order for our actions to have meaning, we have to have agency. We are not conditioned to respond as a well-trained animal would. We are free to choose the good or the bad. And despite what these verses from Leviticus might suggest, our tradition believes that God wants us to choose the good not because of a reward or Divine “treat” that will be granted, whether immediately or in the future, but because the action is in and of itself desirable.
I find the interpretation of the rabbis to be very helpful. I want to believe in a world of justice, a world where – ultimately – the righteous prosper and the wicked suffer. But too often, it does not seem to be the world in which we live. Maybe because of the very fact of free will, this “simple” justice eludes us in this world. Perhaps this is simply a condition of human existence that cannot be denied, ignored, or willed away. But this doesn’t mean that “peace in the land” is a mere fantasy that we can never hope to realize. We can, through sustained effort and perseverance in partnership with other people of good will, make progress towards that vision. We can, in time, lessen human suffering. And despite the ever-present reality of violence and war, human suffering has been mitigated tremendously over the centuries. In time, perhaps, the vision of those opening verses of Bechukotai will seem less and less fantastical.
There’s another interpretation worth considering, and what makes it all the more inspiring is the life experience of its author, Rabbi Don Isaac ben Judah Abravanel. Abravanel was born in Lisbon in 1437 and rose to the highest ranks imaginable to a Jew in such a time. He became a rabbi and then advisor to the crown, ultimately serving as the treasurer for King Alfonso V. But, as in the time of our ancestors in Egypt, a new king arose in Portugal, one who decided to oppress the Jewish community. Abravanel was forced to flee to Spain and then, for obvious reasons, a few years later, in 1492, he left again, this time for Italy. He lost his fortune and witnessed the terrible suffering of his community. He knew all too well how unjust, unfair, and unkind this world could be.
And he’s the great scholar who taught that those verses in chapter 26 of Leviticus should be read spiritually and not literally. When we choose the good and fulfill our responsibilities to others with fidelity, our spiritual lives will be blessed. Our souls will be nourished. We will be able to look at ourselves in the mirror without shame or regret. We will be blessed to live lives of meaning and purpose. There are real, tangible rewards that we receive when we behave with integrity and honor, when we treat others with dignity and fairness.
This world, at least for now, is still one where sometimes we must raise the sword in defense of those we love and values we cherish. In an imperfect world, sometimes that terrible duty results in tragic, painful consequences. But in time, through our efforts and perhaps God’s grace, we will no longer be required to do such hard things. I want to believe (this is my faith) that in the fullness of time, in this world or the world to come, the physical world or perhaps the world of the spirit, there will at last be “peace in the land.” In that time, as the prophet Micah would have it, every creature “shall sit under its own vine and fig tree with no one to disturb them.”
May that day soon come for us all.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi