Shabbat Ki Tetze: Tit For Tat?

“an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.” – Variously attributed to both the Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr, but also already expressed in the legislation of the ancient rabbis of the Talmud

In this preparatory period which is the month of Elul, we are encouraged by our tradition to believe that the human species has the capacity to improve, and so to look to our moral state as individuals, as a people, and as a society.

In parashat Ki Tetze we are presented by the Book of Deuteronomy with commands that are not only about social interaction, but the morality that should undergird our acts toward each other. The very first verse of the triennial cycle reading offers the highest possible standard for us to consider:

לֹֽא־תְתַעֵ֣ב אֲדֹמִ֔י כִּ֥י אָחִ֖יךָ ה֑וּא לֹא־תְתַעֵ֣ב מִצְרִ֔י כִּי־גֵ֖ר הָיִ֥יתָ בְאַרְצֽוֹ׃ 

You shall not abhor an Edomite, for such is your kin. You shall not abhor an Egyptian, for you were a stranger in that land.  (Deut. 23.8)

Jewish ethics is derived primarily from Torah, and secondarily Tanakh, sources. The most famous is perhaps do not do to another that which you hate done to you, Hillel’s interpretation of love your neighbor as yourself (Leviticus 19.18). This is easy to quote and terribly difficult to do: contemporary U.S. cancel culture and call-out practices isolate and shun a neighbor, and are defended as justice against an abuser or another kind of person defined as wrong or bad within a social circle.

Such righteous anger is completely ruled out by Rashi: “although they cast your male children into the Nile, you shall not utterly abhor them because they were your hosts in the time of famine (during Joseph’s reign).” A modern commentator sometimes compared to Rashi explains:

“We have seen repeated laws requiring Israelites to give aliens the same protections as citizens. And apparently this is the ultimate expression of that principle (and possibly the reason for it): Israelites themselves were aliens in Egypt, and they were abhorred and mistreated, so they must now never abhor an Egyptian or mistreate any alien.” (Friedman, Commentary on the Torah, 636 n.23.8)

There are two related ethical teachings there:

1. you must not do to others that which was done to you. While psychological studies show that those who are abused as children are likely to perpetuate the cycle of abuse as adults, our Torah insists that the pattern can and must be broken. At least one recent study holds out this hope as well.
2. It is precisely forbidden to treat the person or people who hurt you in the same way. Tit for tat, in other words, is not acceptable Jewish ethics.

Jewish teachings on forgiveness recognize that it feels natural and justifiable when others suffer in the same way that they caused suffering; we might even declare that it’s karma, i.e. inevitably and poetically appropriate when it happens. But the author points out that Jewish tradition requires us to examine our motivations when we say we are seeking redress: if we are angry, if something inside of us wants someone else to suffer because we suffered, this is categorically wrong.

It is typical these days to hear the opinion that if the family of an Israeli hostage or Palestinian political prisoner is in favor of the other side’s total destruction, it’s understandable for them. Yet it is precisely from those bereaved that we hear the opposite: no one should suffer like this.

According to the ethical insights of Jewish mysticism, there are two places – in the self and in the larger aggregate self that is the community – from which mercy emerges. The lower place, we are taught, mingles with judgement and is drenched by contradictory emotional storms. That quality of mercy is confused and loses quite a bit in translation into action.

But there is a higher place; it is a place of serenity, a place of wholeness in which we have settled with our contradictions and shortcomings, and have learned the difference between what we feel and what someone else is culpable for. It is a place where no one says “I suffered, so should you.” The mystics identify it as a place that dwells with understanding and wisdom, in which mercy has risen above judgement, and is clear and certain. “No one should suffer like this.”

The higher place is not only within our grasp, it is already part of us, as we are created in the Image of G*d. When we are hurting and our vision narrows to anger, it is difficult to remember that we are also capable of a holy generosity. Yet it is the easiest place of all to reach when one learns to put down one’s burden of hate, anger, resentment, and the rest of the self-righteous complex of focusing upon how one was hurt – and instead we put that energy toward our own higher – and much better-feeling – state of being.