One of the intriguing features about the Bible is its honesty. It records details about our ancestors’ lives that perhaps were best left relegated to the rest of the skeletons in the family closet. We learn that Abraham lied about his relationship with Sarah, that Jacob duped his father Isaac, and that as a teen, Joseph was a brat. Did we really need to record all this?
The answer, of course, is yes. These sacred stories serve as platforms and inspiration for discussion and debate. If all were recorded as exercises in moral perfection, there would be nothing to talk about—and that is no position for a Jew. This week’s haftarah, Vayehi, is a case in point. Taken from the second chapter of I Kings, we become privy to King David’s last words to his successor, the wisest of all the kings of Israel, David’s son, King Solomon. And the father, as one would expect, gives his son some loving advice—study Torah, follow the ways of God, be strong, be a man, and when it comes to my enemies—Yoav ben Tzeruyah and Shimi ben Gera—knock ‘em off, my boy. You’ll know what to do!
What was the biblical editor thinking?
That’s a difficult question to answer, the editor having died centuries ago. So let’s ask a different question. What are we thinking when we read words like those? Do we think that the Bible teaches us that revenge is ok? Such a lesson would actually violate the Torah. Do we think the narrative intends to paint David in a negative light, his vengeance prevailing over his compassion? Or do we think the narrative intends to paint David in a positive light, securing his son’s tenure by ridding him of potential enemies. Machiavelli would be so proud. Asking the questions is as engaging as attempting the answers.
I begin reading this haftarah with a sense of embarrassment. How could one of the greatest kings of Israel stoop to such a questionable action and moreover, ask his son to do his dirty work? And then, a reality check kicks in. Sometimes taking care of the enemy quietly is superior to out-and-out war. In recent times, some highly suspicious accidents have taken place in Iran—computers controlling nuclear reactors have been compromised by viruses, unexplained explosions take place in nuclear plants, and cars of nuclear technicians suddenly blow up. Lives have been lost and it would be naïve to believe that these actions were unplanned or accidental. But as the West watches a threatening and bellicose Iran go nuclear, and given the political complexities involved with a direct military attack, King David’s sentiments come to mind. Sometimes the most ethical choice is as disturbing as it is necessary.
If only we lived in a world where all the ethical dilemmas were black and white. Such dilemmas do exist—in fairy tales. But one thing the Bible is not—it’s no fairy tale.
