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by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Chukat tells of the attack of "the Canaanites, the king of Arad" against Benei Yisrael. The Midrash clarifies that in reality the aggressors were not Canaanites at all. Rather, they were Amelekites. The Torah refers to them as Canaanites because of a "military" tactic they employed during their invasion. They spoke with one another specifically in the foreign Canaanite tongue, in order that Benei Yisrael will mistake them for Canaanites and pray to God to help them defeat the Canaanites. The Amalekites figured that Benei Yisrael's prayer will thus be ineffective, insofar as the war waged was against the Amalekites. In the end, of course, this plan was foiled. Benei Yisrael alertly noted the discrepancy between their assailants' speech and dress, and therefore offered a generic prayer to the Almighty: "If You hand over to us this nation…" As we know, they emerged victorious.

Although we don't generally break our heads trying to analyze the behavior of the Amalekites, there is nevertheless room to scratch our heads in wonder at their seemingly foolish tactic. If they were trying to delude Benei Yisrael into thinking that their attackers were Canaanites, then why stop with the change in speech? Why not alter their dress, as well?

Rav Yitzchak of Vorki offers a simple answer that actually presents us with a profound lesson. The Amalakites figured - correctly - that if they changed their attire, as well, then they would actually be Canaanites! That is, once their language and dress become that of the Canaanites, than Benei Yisrael's prayer that the Almighty assist them against the Canaanites would effectively invoke God's support against their current aggressors - the Amalekites. If people imitate another culture too much, than they are no longer imitators; they actually become part of that nation.

Jewish history proves this thesis better than any experiment. Whenever the Jewish people, as a nation, adapt themselves to their foreign environment too much, when they forego on too much of their own singularity and unique mores and practices for the sake of cultural acclimation amongst the gentiles, then they ultimately dissolve into their host culture. Of course, Jews have always learned to accommodate themselves to their given surroundings, at times more successfully than others. As we know, however, when the cultural or theological lines between us and the gentiles become too thin, we eventually, to one extent or another, lose our identity.

Amalek knew this well; perhaps we have what to learn even from Amalek.

Just before hitting the rock, Moshe scolds Benei Yisrael, calling them "morim," a somewhat ambiguous term. Rashi explains the word as "fools, who instruct their instructors." It seems that Rashi combines two completely different interpretations of the word: fools, and those who arrogantly boss around their superiors. Which interpretation is the correct one? If they are both plausible, then why did Rashi not present them as two possible explanations?

The Chiddushei HaRim answers that indeed Rashi here offers only one interpretation. Quite simply, there is no greater stupidity than looking to outsmart one's mentors and leaders. This idea is succinctly captured by the Mishna in Pirkei Avot, "Who is wise - the one who learns from all people." The truly intelligent person is the one who looks to others for guidance while exercising his own discretion and wisdom to filter that incoming information. The one who presumes total knowledge and proper understanding without seeking the advice or guidance of those greater than he is the foremost fool.

This same interpretation of the word may help us understand a similar term in last week's parasha. God conducts a test by which the tribal leaders presented their staffs, in order to determine who is chosen as the high priest. Of course, Aharon's staff produces flowers, thereby demonstrating his designation for the coveted post. God tells Moshe to save the staff, as it will serve as a reminder to "benei meri," apparently referring to those who might bring themselves to claim the rights of the kehuna. Here, too, the primary issue seems to be one of self-proclaimed stature and piety, a glaring sign of foolishness. One who assumes that he possesses the qualities to serve as a kohen gadol, especially in outright defiance of Moshe's instructions in the Name of God, has proven himself a fool.

Is this not a disease from which we all, to some degree, suffer? How often do we view ourselves as the ones with all the answers, the ones who can solve all problems, the ones capable of criticizing any policy, deciding unequivocally regarding any controversial issue, and knowing what's best for everyone else? Indeed, we tend to instruct our teachers, to insist upon our own authoritative stature and qualifications, no matter who upholds an opposing position. How foolish!

Parashat Chukat includes the war waged against the nation of Arad, whom Benei Yisrael attacked and defeated after Arad had taken prisoners (or, according to Chazal, one prisoner) from Benei Yisrael. Indeed, the mitzva of "pidyon shevuyim," redeeming or freeing prisoners, is considered among the most important mitzvot in the Torah. The Rambam (Hilkhot Matenot Aniyim 8:10) goes so far as to say, "there is no greater mitzva than redeeming captives." He explains that given the harsh conditions generally suffered by captives as well as the threat to their lives, this mitzva incorporates both the mitzva of charity as well as that of saving lives. He therefore rules that when establishing the priority scale of public funds, redeeming captured prisoners takes precedence over providing money for the needy.

The Mishna in Gittin 45a rules that the Jewish community may not redeem captives from their captors for an exorbitant sum. (For a discussion of the precise cut-off point, see Pitchei Teshuva, Y.D. 252:5.) The Gemara offers two reasons for this prohibition: either so as not to encourage the enemy to take more prisoners, or to avoid financial havoc among Benei Yisrael. As Rashi points out, a practical difference between these two views would arise when a certain wealthy relative or friend offers to personally provide the entire ransom. The first concern - of boosting incentive for further kidnapping - would still apply, while the issue of decimating the Jewish economy would presumably not come into consideration, as one individual bears the entire burden. Both the Rambam and Shulchan Arukh cite the first reason, and thus even a single individual may not pay an unduly high ransom to redeem a captive.

There are, however, several exceptions to this principle. Some Rishonim claim that the captive himself - or spouse - may pay whatever it takes for the ransom. Secondly, the community may pay a high ransom for the release of a Torah scholar. This ruling notwithstanding, there was a famous incident in the thirteenth century of a renowned Torah scholar who refused to allow his followers to pay the ransom for his release, fearing the establishment of a trend of imprisoning Torah leaders for enormous sums of money. Rav Meir of Rothenberg ("Maharam M'Rutenberg"), among the latest of the Tosafists and mentor of Rabbenu Asher, was imprisoned by Emperor Rudolf in Germany in 1286. Upon hearing of the immense ransom demanded by the emperor, the Maharam outright refused to be released. Even after his death in prison, the authorities refused to give his remains to the community for proper burial until a certain philanthropist donated practically his entire fortune for the retrieval of the Maharam's remains.

Another issue surrounds a situation where the prisoner's life is clearly at stake, such as when the captors issue an ultimatum. The Pitchei Teshuva (Y.D. 252:4) cites a dispute among the authorities whether or not in such an instance the community could/pay even an exorbitant ransom for the prisoner's release. The Sedei Chemed (Alef, 129) claims that clearly when the captive's life is in danger no amount is too high for his release.

May Am Yisrael soon celebrate the return of all its captives, such that these halakhot remain only within the realm of theoretical discussion, rather than sources for practical application.

The Shibalei Haleket (263) records the custom that developed among some segments of the Western European Jewish population in the Middle Ages to observe a fast day on Erev Shabbat Parashat Chukat. This fast commemorated the dreadful public burning of twenty-four carriage-loads of sacred books, specifically texts of the Talmud and its commentaries, in Paris in 1244. The Shibalei Haleket then adds, "May its ashes serve as atonement for us like a burnt-offering on the altar, and it should be pleasant for the people of Yehuda like a meal-offering properly sacrificed." The Magen Avraham (O.C. 580) cites this custom, adding that two major Jewish communities were destroyed on that same day, Erev Shabbat Parashat Chukat, during the devastating riots of "Tach V'tat," the Chmelnitzki uprising.

In what became a famous historical artifact, Rav Hillel Ben Rabbenu Eliezer of Verona, a student of Rabbenu Yonah, wrote a letter expressing his firm conviction that the public burning of the Talmud was a direct punishment for the shameful burning of certain works of the Rambam, which occurred a mere forty days earlier with the encouragement of major rabbinic figures in Europe. Certain scholars within the Talmudic world rejected some of the material found in the Rambam's Guide to the Perplexed and "Sefer Mada," and none other than Rabbenu Yonah himself led the campaign to officially declare these works illegitimate. His student eloquently describes the deep sense of remorse felt by Rabbenu Yonah in the aftermath of the Talmud burning, to the extent that in the context of every halakha he would teach, he would mention the position of the Rambam and not dispute the ruling. It is said that Rabbenu Yonah composed "Sha'arei Teshuva," his classic work on the laws and methods of repentance, to atone for this incident.

The Torah was given only to those with reverence thereto. Recall that when the Torah was given Mount Sinai trembled from the awesome display of thunder, lightening, and fire. Chazal comment that just as the Torah was initially given to us amidst fear and awe, so must our attitude towards Torah always reflect such trepidation when dealing with the sacred Word of God. Burning the works of the Rambam perhaps constituted first and foremost a disgraceful show of disdain for the Torah. If Rav Hillel is correct, that the Talmud burning directly resulted from the burning of the Rambam, then it would seem that the message to be learned is that disrespect for the Torah is tantamount to the destruction of the Torah, Heaven forbid. When people fail to afford the honor due to the Torah and its scholars, then the Torah is taken away from them; they are deprived of the greatest privilege God gives man - the opportunity to study His law.

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