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Parashat Shoftim begins with the mitzva of appointing judges and the obligation for these judges to judge fairly and honestly. Amidst this discussion, the Torah suddenly introduces a seemingly unrelated prohibition - against planting trees alongside the altar in the Temple (16:21). The commentaries (Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, Ramban and others) explain that this was a pagan practice to plant trees near the site of their ritual offerings. The question, however, arises as to how this prohibition relates to the current context - the establishment of a just judicial system. The Ibn Ezra and Chizkuni explain that the rabbinical courts' first obligation involves ridding the nation of idolatry. Indeed, several verses later the Torah discusses the punishment of an idolater. The discussion of idolatry begins with this prohibition, against planting trees near the altar, which involves Benei Yisrael's distance from pagan practices.

Chazal, however, in Masekhet Sanhedrin (7b), explain this juxtaposition as underscoring the severity of appointing unqualified judges: "Whoever appoints a dishonest judge is considered as having planted an asheira [tree used for pagan worship] next to the altar." This is derived from the textual association drawn between the appointment of judges and this prohibition.

But this, too, requires an explanation. Why do Chazal compare the appointment of dishonest judges specifically to this transgression?

An insightful answer is suggested by Rav Meir Simcha ha-Kohen of Dvinsk, in his Meshekh Chokhma. The institution of korbanot (ritual sacrifices) could perhaps lend itself to a terrible misconception: that we must feed the Almighty, God forbid. The notion of bringing meat and flour offerings to God could be heretically misinterpreted as a reflection of God's need for sustenance. In truth, of course, God has no need for our sacrifices, and the sole beneficiaries of the ritual offerings are Benei Yisrael themselves. God exists independently and relies on no one for His sustenance. He therefore commanded that no trees be planted in the vicinity of the altar. Trees exist by drawing nutrients from the ground; by distancing the altar from any trees, we proclaim that unlike trees, God exists independently and has no need to draw His sustenance from any outside source.

Herein, explains the Mesekh Chokhma, lies the connection between this prohibition and the concept of honest jurisprudence. A judge must exist in this capacity independently, without any strings attaching him to external factors. He must reach his decisions without any influence exerted on him from any force other than truth itself. A judge who will accept bribes or worries about his personal standing or fears the consequences of ruling against a prominent personage, is like a tree - he is attached to and dependent upon external forces. Like the Almighty Himself, a judge must stand on his own and rely on no one and nothing other than the truth of the Torah.

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Parashat Shoftim concludes with the description of the mitzva of egla arufa (21:1-9). Should the body of a murder victim be discovered and the culprit's identity unknown, the religious leadership of the city nearest to the crime scene must conduct the egla arufa ritual. This ceremony entailed breaking the neck of a calf and a formal declaration by the city's elders disavowing any responsibility for the crime. Kohanim participate in the ceremony as well and pray for the nation's atonement (see Rashi, 21:4).

Wherein lies the meaning, purpose and significance of this ritual?

The Rambam, in his Guide to the Perplexed (3:40), somewhat surprisingly develops a pragmatic approach to explain the obligation of egla arufa. He claims that this entire affair serves to publicize the murder. The ensuing tumult will often lead to the solving of the mystery and the killer's arrest. The Rambam points to the specific rule forbidding any subsequent agricultural activity in the valley in which the ceremony is performed. This would prompt the land's owner to exert himself to find the criminal so as to avoid the ritual and hence save his property.

The Ramban, in his commentary to our parasha, disagrees, and views the egla arufa ceremony as a form of sacrifice to atone for the crime.

Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor explains like the Rambam, that the egla arufa ritual is intended to help reveal the murderer's identity. However, he adds a further dimension in developing this approach that the Rambam did not mention. He notes that in cases such as these, the victim may have come from a distant city, and his family and community may have never learned of his tragic fate. The egla aruga ceremony brings the case to public attention both near and far; word of the murder will thus spread even to distant regions. The family of the deceased will hear that an egla arufa ceremony is taking place in such-and-such town. They will then go there and verify that indeed their loved one was the victim whose body had been found, in order to allow the wife to remarry and the estate to be distributed among the legal heirs. (The Bekhor Shor goes into a brief halakhic discussion as to how precisely we can confirm an individual's death with respect to certain halakhot.) They can then provide information as to with whom the man traveled and other pertinent details, which could help detectives find the culprit.

The Abarbanel prefers the Ramban's position, but he elaborates on the Rambam's view to explain how this mechanism works. He offers two possible explanations, which more or less amount to the same general approach. First, the severing of the calf's neck symbolizes the murder that was perpetrated. By reenacting the murder, so-to-speak, the city's elders proclaim that until the criminal's identity is discovered, the entire city is under suspicion of guilt. If only temporarily, they all bear responsibility for this crime just as they have collectively killed this calf. Everyone is viewed as potentially guilty of this crime, an accusation that could result in a more vigilant campaign to solve the case. Alternatively, the Abarbanel suggests, the "violent" ritual symbolizes the harsh punishment that threatens to befall the city as a result of this crime. This threat hovering over the city's population may also help accelerate the investigation and hopefully lead to the killer's arrest.

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Yesterday we discussed the possible reasons behind the mitzva of egla arufa, introduced by the Torah in the final verses of Parashat Shfotim. This mitzva involves a case of an unsolved murder mystery, and requires that the elders of the nearest city perform a special ritual in which they sacrifice a calf and publicly disavow their responsibility for the murder.

After citing the position of the Rambam, which we discussed yesterday, Professor Nechama Leibowtiz, in her Studies on this parasha, develops a different theory to explain the institution of egla arufa. She writes, "The rite was designed to shock all the residents of the neighboring localities with the tidings that a murdered man had been found… By this [ritual] all Israel would be made aware of what had happened and would not pass over it to continue with the agenda when innocent blood cried heavenward." The tumult stirred by the egla arufa ritual, which requires the active participation of the city's leadership and even the kohanim, serves not a pragmatic function, as the Rambam maintains, but rather an educational one. It conveys the message that a crime such as this cannot just pass without any shakeup in the city. Life cannot resume as usual "just because" an unknown person was found dead near the town.

This approach may be found in earlier sources as well. Although, as noted yesterday, Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor generally follows the Rambam's view, he nevertheless adds one line that points us in a different directio: "Additionally, we will see the significant mand immense concern that the Almighty requires we go through for a single life." The elaborate affair required by the Torah after the discovery of a single murder victim is meant to reflect the Torah's attitude toward the sanctity of human life. A generally similar approach, though with a different emphasis, is briefly suggested by the Netziv, in his Ha'amek Davar: "This affair of the egla arufa, which is done publicly with the help of the High Court which comes to measure [to the city closest to the murder scene], leads to inquiries regarding the past and enactment for the future." Recognizing the gravity of what has happened, the community will look back to identify the source of the crime and reach practical conclusions as to how this travesty could be avoided in the future.

As an example of this idea, Professor Leibowitz points to the well-known story told towards the end of Sefer Shoftim, known as "pilegesh be-giv'a." Upon hearing of the brutal rape and murder of a concubine woman, the entire nation stood as one to respond to the crime. The nation declared in unison, "We will not, any of us, go to his tent, neither will we, any of us, turn unto his house" (Shoftim 20:8). They resolutely committed themselves to the cessation of their daily routine until the crime has been avenged.

While clearly this marks an unusual and extreme instance, it reflects the important notion that perhaps underlies the mitzva of egla arufa. We cannot look upon injustice with apathetic indifference; however carefully we must choose our mode of action when confronting wrongdoing, we cannot continue "business as usual" while crime and unjustness take place all around us.

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Over the last two days we have discussed the mitzva of egla arufa, with which the Torah concludes Parashat Shoftim. Upon the discovery of a murder victim's body, whose killer is unknown, the city nearest the crime must conduct a ritual to atone for the murder. Today we will look at a halakhic issue related to egla aruga, one which relates as well to an earlier section in this parasha, the laws of ir miklat (19:1-13). One who unintentionally kills another person must flee to one of the designated "arei miklat," or cities of refuge, so as to avoid the vengeance of the victim's relatives. The killer must remain there until the death of the kohen gadol.

The question we will address is: if a city conducts an egla arufa ceremony as required, and sometime thereafter the killer is found, and it turns out that he killed unintentionally, must he flee to a city of refuge?

While the Talmud does not explicitly deal with this question, we do find in the mishna an explicit halakha concerning a very similar case. In Masekhet Sota (47a), the mishna rules that if the murderer is found after the egla arufa ceremony has been performed, he is put to death for the crime, even though an atonement ceremony has taken place in the interim. The Gemara derives this halakha from a verse in Parashat Masei (Bemidbar 35:33): "the land can have no expiation for blood that is shed on it, except by the blood of him who shed it." Whereas one may have thought that the egla arufa ritual atones for the murder, the verse implies otherwise. Only when the killer is himself put to death can the transgression be atoned.

Does this apply to the inadvertent killer, as well? At first glance, as Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv noted (as recorded by his students), this Gemara would imply that in the situation under discussion the accidental killer need not relocate in an ir miklat. Instinctively, the Gemara reasoned that the egla arufa yields atonement for the death and thus exempts the killer from the death penalty. Only the verse in Parashat Matot instructs otherwise, requiring atonement for bloodshed specifically through the execution of the killer. But this verse clearly refers only to intentional murder. Therefore, to determine the halakha when dealing with accidental death, we revert back to the Gemara's instinctive line of reasoning, by which the egla arufa atones for the killing, and no further punishment - such as exile to an ir miklat - is necessary.

Rav Elyashiv adds, however, that this would depend upon how one views the egla arufa ceremony. One could potentially argue that this ritual was never intended to apply to cases of accidental murder. True, by very virtue of the fact that this ceremony is required when the circumstances surrounding the killing are unknown, it must be performed regardless of whether the murdered was premeditated. Perhaps, though, it is performed only on the assumption that the victim was killed intentionally. Meaning, the Torah instructs the city to assume premeditated killing and conduct this atonement ritual. In truth, however, the egla arufa ceremony has no relevance if the killing occurred mistakenly.

If one accepts this approach, then clearly the inadvertent killer must move to a city of refuge even if an egla arufa ceremony took place after the killing. Since the ceremony does not at all relate to a situation of accidental murder, it has no effect on the requirement to relocate in an ir miklat.

However, since this approach cannot be easily verified, and one could argue that the egla arufa ceremony covers and atones for all cases of killing - intentional and unintentional, Rav Elyashiv is recorded as leaving this matter unresolved, in need of further inquiry.

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In Parashat Shoftim we find the laws concerning the appointment of a king over Benei Yisrael. Among the obligations of the king is that he must write "mishneh ha-Torah ha-zot," or "this Mishneh Torah" (17:18). Rashi, following the interpretation of Chazal (in Sanhedrin 21b), understands this term to mean two Torah scrolls. The word "mishneh" means "double," and hence "Misnneh Torah" refers to two Torahs. The king must write two scrolls: one that he keeps in his palace treasury and another that he takes with him wherever he goes. How are we to understand this requirement for the king to write two Sifrei Torah? (In our S.A.L.T. series to this parasha two years ago we cited one answer from the work, Chamudei Tzvi; here we will entertain a different possible explanation.)

Perhaps the answer lies in a closer look at the location of the king's private Sefer Torah. As Rashi writes, this scroll is kept in his treasury, together with the royal treasures. This may reflect the unique role served by this Sefer Torah to draw a most fundamental distinction between Benei Yisrael's monarchy and the kingship of other peoples. The royal treasury is generally seen as the symbol of the kingdom's power and stature. Usually, the king amasses the treasury less for his own, personal use (most kings could not possibly make practical use of all the wealth in their treasuries) than as a symbol of his kingdom's greatness and success. The Torah instructs the king to place his Sefer Torah in his royal treasury as a symbol of the source of his power and prestige. His kingdom, as opposed to those of other peoples, draws its strength not from its accumulation of riches, but rather from the observance of the Torah.

We may therefore suggest that the two Torahs relate to two different levels: the king as a person, and the king as representative of the kingdom, or the nation. The Sefer Torah carried with the king on all his excursions represents his personal obligation to conduct his affairs in accordance with the Torah. The second scroll, which remains in his treasury, represents the fundamental nature and essence of Am Yisrael, the basis on which the nation and its identity rest. Whereas other peoples build their countries on their natural resources and material prosperity, our identity must be formed based on our commitment to, and meticulous practice of, the Torah and its mitzvot.

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Yesterday we discussed the obligation mentioned in Parashat Shoftim that the king of Am Yisrael write a "Mishneh Torah" (17:18). We discussed the interpretation of Chazal in Masekhet Sanhedrin (21b), cited by Rashi, that the king must write two Torah scrolls. However, Rashi citesa different explanation from the Targum Onkelos, who translates the term as, "patshegen ora." Though Rashi does not elaborate on the precise meaning of the Aramaic translation, he does comment that the Targum associated the word "mishneh" with the term, "shinun," which denotes verbal review. We can perhaps gain a more precise understanding of what Rashi means here by consulting his commentary to the Aramaic word, "patshegen" found in Tanach. In his commentary to Megilat Ester (3:14), Rashi interprets the word as Aramaic for "sippur ha-ketav," which appears to mean a rough summary or review of an original document. Accordingly, Targum Onkelos understood the obligation of the king as entailing not the writing of an actual Sefer Torah, but rather an overview of sorts, a "handbook" summarizing the mitzvot and his basic obligations, or something to that effect. (See Rashbam, who disagrees with Rashi's understanding of the Targum.)

Quite possibly, this interpretation of the term "Mishneh Torah" could affect the Gemara's explanation, as well. In Masekhet Sanhedrin (21b), the Gemara writes that the second Sefer Torah of the king, which he took with him wherever he went, hung from his arm like an amulet. The Rashash (Rav Shemuel Shtrashon of Vilna) questions this description based on the halakha forbidding one from ever letting a Sefer Torah hang (as from a peg on a wall), as this is considered disrespectful (see Berakhot 24a; Taz and Magen Avraham, O.C. 40). Basing himself on this Targum Onkelos, the Rashash argues that what the king carried around with him was not, in fact, a Sefer Torah. It was rather a "patshegen," a small book summarizing or encapsulating the basic ideas and laws of the Torah. The Rashash adds that otherwise it is hard to imagine how something as large and heavy as a Sefer Torah could be hung from the king's arm wherever he went.

It thus turns out, according to the Rashash, that although, as the Gemara says, "Mishneh Torah" indeed refers to two different Torahs, one of them was not an actual Sefer Torah, but rather a "patshegen," as Onkelos translates the term.

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Towards the end of Parashat Shoftim, the Torah presents several issues concerning the procedure of warfare. As Benei Yisrael's army would approach the battlefield, the kohen accompanying them would address the soldiers, opening his remarks with words of encouragement: "Hear O Israel! You are about to join battle with your enemy. Let not your courage falter. Do not be in fear… " (20:3). The kohen's initial proclamation - "Shema Yisrael" ("Hear O Israel") - immediately triggers an association in our minds to our twice-daily recitation of the shema, which begins, of course, with those very same two words - "Shema Yisrael." Indeed, Chazal made such an association, and explained the kohen's declaration as follows: "Even if you have only the merit of the recitation of shema - you are deserving that He should save you" (Sota 42a, cited by Rashi on this verse). Why does the Gemara point specifically to the mitzva of keri'at shema as rendering the soldiers worthy of victory?

On one level, perhaps, the Gemara here may refer simply to the frequency and relative ease of this mitzva. The obligation of shema entails only a brief recitation twice every day, a relatively easy mitzva to fulfill and merit to earn. This Gemara perhaps emphasizes the significance of even those mitzvot that one simply needs to fit into his routine and do not require substantial effort or sacrifice.

On the other hand, and several writers have suggested, the Gemara likely seeks to draw an inherent association between the mitzva of shema and warfare. The Maharal of Prague explains that in keri'at shema we declare the absolute singularity of the Almighty, that there exists no other divine force in the world besides Him. Once we acknowledge God's Oneness, then naturally we can, through His power, overcome any nation that rises against us. As He is the only divine being, no one can defeat Him.

A slightly different explanation is cited in the name of the work, "Li-shmo'a Be-limudim." Our morning and nighttime recitations of shema are meant to oppose the belief in the divine powers of the celestial beings, particularly the sun and the moon. When the pagan world worships its gods - the sun in the morning, and the moon in the evening - we instead declare God's power over all forces of nature. By affirming our belief that the one God rules over the rest of the universe, including the so-called gods of other peoples, we ensure that He will deliver the followers of the false gods into the hands of His people, Benei Yisrael.

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