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A priest-soldier's duty
Torah Study
RABBI SHLOMO RISKIN
V'Ethanan/Deuteronomy 3:23 - 7:11
The Bible provides for the contingency of warfare. Had we not justified wars fought in self-defense, we could never have maintained our state of Israel during these past five decades. In contrast to the Greco-Roman culture, which gloried in military victories - witness the opening line of Virgil's Aeneid: "Of arms and military courage do I sing" - Jewish tradition never idealizes the soldier. We envision the millennium as a period when "nation will not lift up sword against nation; and no one will learn war anymore" (Isaiah 2:4).
An illustration of Jewish tradition's profound reverence for life, and the ambiguity associated even with necessary wars of self-defense, concerns the status of a kohen (priest) who has been to the battlefront and killed an enemy in the line of duty. Halacha (Jewish law) forbids a kohen with blood on his hands from participating in the priestly blessings. How can hands once employed to end a human life now be used to bless life? "The accuser cannot become the defender" is a well-known Talmudic adage. King David, involved in obligatory wars to conquer the Land of Israel, was disqualified by God from building the Holy Temple.
What is the ruling regarding kohanim in our wars of self-defense in Israel? Harav Ben Zion Ouziel, an early chief rabbi of Israel, ruled that a kohen who has shed blood, even in an obligatory war, cannot recite the priestly blessing. Rav Yisachar Ber Eilenburg determined that "any kohen with blood on his hands, even if it comes from one of the obligatory wars of self defense, shall not bless the people."
Others hold that it would be difficult to tell a young soldier who happens to be a kohen that his commitment unto death on the army front will disallow him from bestowing the priestly benediction in his local synagogue. HaRav Ovadiah Yosef argues forcefully that soldiers who fought in Israel's wars against Egypt, Jordan and Syria must be allowed to bless: "There is no doubt they are fit and worthy, and they must participate in the priestly benediction."
The opening verses of this week's portion, V'Ethanan, reads: "I pleaded with God, saying, '... Please let me go over and see the good land across the Jordan, the good mountain and the Lebanon.' But God ... said to me, 'Enough. Do not speak to me any more about this' " (Deut. 3:23-27). It is difficult for Moses to accept the punishment prohibiting his entry into Israel. The Midrash teaches: "God says to Moses, 'You seek life, but as for you yourself, did I ever command you to kill the Egyptian (taskmaster)?' " Are we to assume that Moses committed a transgression by slaying the Egyptian taskmaster? That act of selfless commitment, which meant abdicating his position in Pharaoh's palace as Prince of Egypt and identifying with a beleaguered slave people, propelled this greatest of all prophets onto the center stage of Jewish history. Moreover, the Egyptian was mistreating a Hebrew. Had Moses done nothing, he would have violated the prohibition, "neither shall you stand idly by the blood of your brother" (Lev. 19:16).
The midrash apparently teaches that although Moses acted properly in killing the Egyptian, the blood on his hands defiles him as far as his entry into the Holy Land. This midrash would most probably support the position that a kohen who killed in a necessary obligatory war cannot rise to bestow the priestly benediction of peace upon the congregation.
I once was walking with a beloved friend, Yehuda Noiman of Kibbutz Ein Zurim. A few yards from the outskirts of the kibbutz, he stopped dead in his tracks with a pained expression on his face. "It was after the War of Independence, when I was freed from Jordanian captivity," he told me. "I had guard duty. About 4 a.m., I heard a strange noise coming from the trees, right where we are standing now. I sensed strange footsteps and ordered the individual to reveal himself with raised hands. I could hear the footsteps running toward me, the stranger taking pains to remain hidden from view. I had no choice but to shoot. It was a weapon-bearing Arab, and he is buried underneath us. Whenever I pass this spot, I hear his final "aiyee" and death throttle, which 49 years later, still causes my heart to constrict and the tears to well up in my eyes."
Rabbi Shlomo Riskin is the spiritual leader of the Jewish community in Efrat, Israel.
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