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The Nations Confessed Why Israel Could Not Be Defeated

After every failed campaign the surrounding kings gave their analysis of Israel's survival. Their conclusion was not strategic. It was theological.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Intelligence Assessment
  2. The Condition They Identified
  3. The Record They Had Watched
  4. The Pattern and Its Limitation
  5. What the Confession Admitted

The Intelligence Assessment

They had watched for centuries. They had watched Israel win campaigns it had no military reason to win, survive disasters that should have ended it, and collapse only when something internal had shifted in a direction no outside observer could easily observe or replicate. After enough of this pattern had accumulated, the surrounding kings sat down and tried to understand what they were dealing with.

What they produced was not a military analysis. It was a theological one. And the tradition preserves it as though it were a foreign intelligence document, precise and honest, written by people who had been professionally trying to defeat Israel and had reached conclusions they would rather not have had to reach.

The Condition They Identified

Their God helps them, the assessment stated, but only as long as they observe his law. The moment they keep his commandments, none can prevail against them.

This was not admiration. It was strategic frustration. An enemy whose strength is conditional on its own internal behavior cannot be defeated through military superiority, better equipment, larger armies, or more favorable geography. You would have to corrupt them from within, or wait for them to corrupt themselves. External force, applied from outside the covenant structure, did not reach the source of what you were trying to extinguish.

The nations had not arrived at this conclusion abstractly. They had traced it through specific examples.

The Record They Had Watched

Balaam had gone out against Israel carrying the most powerful prophetic weapon the nations had ever possessed. He had been commissioned by Balak of Moab to curse them and had returned instead blessing them three times, the words in his mouth refusing to cooperate with the intention in his heart. The nations had deployed their finest theological resource against Israel and watched it reverse itself without any intervention by the Israelites themselves.

Sihon and Og had commanded the strongest armies in the region east of the Jordan and had been destroyed when they moved against Israel in the wilderness. Sihon, king of the Amorites, whose territory had been impassable to every previous traveler. Og of Bashan, whose iron bed measured thirteen feet by six, whose physical scale alone was supposed to make him invincible. Both destroyed. Neither military analysis nor strategic preparation had helped them. They had moved against Israel and the condition the nations were now describing had operated against them.

The Pattern and Its Limitation

The assessment the nations produced was accurate but incomplete in a specific way. They understood the condition. They did not fully understand the God who set the condition, or what it meant that the condition could be met by a people who were, generation by generation, frequently failing to meet it and then returning to it. The nations read the condition as a permanent military fact: Israel keeps the covenant, therefore Israel cannot be defeated. What they could not quite grasp was that the covenant relationship included the possibility of return, that the failures that made Israel temporarily vulnerable were not permanent breaks in the connection but temporary disruptions of something that kept reasserting itself.

They saw the pattern clearly enough to know that direct military assault was not reliable. They did not see it clearly enough to understand that the corruption strategy, which had occasionally worked, was itself unstable in the end, because the thing they were trying to corrupt kept producing prophets and judges and leaders who brought the people back to the condition that made them invincible.

What the Confession Admitted

The nations' assessment, preserved in the rabbinic tradition, is notable for its honesty. These were not friendly analysts. They were Israel's enemies giving a frank account of why their professional efforts kept failing. The intellectual honesty required to produce that assessment, to look at the record and reach the theological conclusion it pointed toward rather than the military conclusion that would have been more comfortable, was itself a form of testimony.

They could not defeat Israel by force. They could not defeat Israel by corruption as long as Israel returned to the covenant. The only available window was the moment of internal failure, and the window kept closing. The assessment describes a strategic impossibility. You cannot reliably destroy something that keeps coming back. The nations knew this. The confession survived.


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From the tradition

Sources

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Legends of the Jews 12:141Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Balaam and the King.

Well, some ancient texts give us a clue. Imagine a conversation around a crackling fire, maybe a worried counsel of kings, discussing this strange and powerful tribe that kept popping up on their borders. They might have said something like this:

"Their God helps them..as long as they observe His law, so that none can prevail against them." It's an admission of awe, grudging respect, and maybe even a little fear. They recognized the source of Israel's strength wasn't just military might, but something deeper, something…divine. This perspective comes to us through various midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, compiled and retold by Louis Ginzberg in his monumental work, Legends of the Jews. It’s a fascinating glimpse into how Israel was perceived by the outside world.

The speaker goes on, listing Israel's victories. "Balaam, the only prophet we heathens ever had, they slew with the sword, as they did unto Sihon and Og, the powerful kings of Canaan, whose land they took after killing them."

Balaam! Remember him? The non-Jewish prophet hired to curse Israel but who, instead, ended up blessing them (Numbers 22-24)? Even his death is a evidence of Israel’s power. And then the swift defeat of Sihon and Og, legendary kings known for their strength and stature. These weren't just skirmishes; they were decisive victories that reshaped the landscape of the ancient Near East.

"Likewise they brought ruin upon Amalek, the great and glorious ruler they, and Saul their king, and Samuel their prophet."

Amalek. That name sends shivers down the spines of Jewish people to this day. Amalek represents the ultimate, unprovoked hatred of the Jewish people (Deuteronomy 25:17-19). The command to remember what Amalek did is a constant reminder of the eternal struggle against those who seek to destroy Israel. And the mention of Saul and Samuel highlights the pivotal moment when Israel transitioned to a monarchy, a turning point in their history.

The speaker continues, "Later they had an unmerciful king, David by name, who smote the Philistines, the Ammonites, and the Moabites, and not one of them could discomfit him."

David. The warrior king, the poet, the flawed but ultimately devoted servant of God. His victories established Israel as a regional power, a force to be reckoned with.

"Solomon, the son of this king, being wise and sagacious, built them a house of worship in Jerusalem, that they might not scatter to all parts of the world."

And then came Solomon, the wise king who built the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. The Temple was meant to be a unifying force, a central point of worship that would keep the Jewish people together. But did it work?

The speaker concludes with a note of grim satisfaction: "But after they had been guilty of many crimes against their God, He delivered them into the hand of King Nebuchadnezzar, who deported them to Babylonia."

The Babylonian exile. A stark reminder that even divine favor is conditional. The destruction of the Temple and the exile to Babylon was a traumatic event that shook the Jewish people to their core. It forced them to confront their failings and to reaffirm their covenant with God.

So, what does this outside perspective tell us? It tells us that the nations around Israel recognized their unique relationship with the Divine. They saw their victories, their defeats, and their internal struggles. They understood that Israel's fate was intertwined with their adherence to God's law. And perhaps, most importantly, it reminds us that our actions have consequences, not only for ourselves but for how the world perceives us.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 19:3Bamidbar Rabbah

The Book of Ecclesiastes puts it perfectly: “All this I attempted with wisdom; I said: I will become wise, but it is distant from me” (Ecclesiastes 7:23). This feeling, this yearning, is at the heart of a fascinating passage in Bamidbar Rabbah 19, a section of the great Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) collection, Bamidbar Rabbah (Numbers Rabbah).

The passage kicks off by talking about Solomon, the wisest of all men. The text reminds us that “God granted wisdom to Solomon…[like the sand that is on the seashore]” (I Kings 5:9). What does the sand have to do with it? Well, the Rabbis offer a beautiful explanation: Solomon’s wisdom was like the sand, encompassing the wisdom of all of Israel, whose numbers were also likened to the sand of the sea (Hosea 2:1). Rabbi Levi adds another layer, suggesting that just as sand acts as a barrier for the sea, so too, wisdom was contained within Solomon.

Even Solomon's legendary wisdom had its limits. As the passage points out, “Solomon’s wisdom exceeded the wisdom of all the people of the east” (I (Kings 5:1)0). What was the wisdom of these "people of the east"? Apparently, they were experts in divination by bird calls. Intriguing. Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel even praises some of their customs: they kissed on the hand instead of the mouth, cut with knives instead of biting, and sought counsel in open spaces.

Then there's the wisdom of Egypt, which Solomon also surpassed. The Midrash tells a story of Solomon seeking craftsmen from Pharaoh Nekho to build the Temple. Pharaoh, in a sly move, sends him workers destined to die within the year. Solomon, through Divine insight, knows their fate and sends them back with shrouds. A rather morbid mic drop, wouldn’t you say?

But hold on, the text doesn't stop with Solomon. It goes even further back, comparing Solomon’s wisdom to that of Adam, the first man. Remember how God consulted the angels before creating Adam? The angels questioned the point of creating humankind. To demonstrate humanity's potential, God paraded all the animals before them. The angels couldn't name them, but Adam could. “This one it is fitting to call bull, this one lion, this one horse…” (Genesis 2:20). Even more profound, Adam named God Himself, recognizing Him as “Lord” (Isaiah 42:8).

The passage continues, drawing parallels between Solomon and other wise figures: Abraham, Moses, and Joseph. The story of Joseph is particularly fascinating. The Egyptians, begrudgingly acknowledging his wisdom, tested him by presenting him with tablets written in seventy languages. Joseph, through Divine assistance, was able to read them all, even mastering the sacred tongue (Psalms 81:6).

We then get a glimpse into Solomon's understanding of the natural world. The text asks, rhetorically, how could Solomon speak to trees, animals, and fish? The answer is that he understood the symbolic meaning behind them. For example, he pondered why a leper is purified with both cedar and hyssop. The answer? Because the leper’s pride was as towering as the cedar, and his healing comes through humility, as small as the hyssop.

The passage ends with a powerful statement: Even with all his vast knowledge, Solomon confessed that some things were simply beyond his grasp. He investigated, he asked, he searched, but the mystery of the red heifer (parah adumah), a ritual sacrifice described in Numbers 19, remained elusive. "I said: I will become wise, but it is distant from me" (Ecclesiastes 7:23).

What does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that the pursuit of wisdom is a lifelong journey. That even the wisest among us encounter mysteries that defy understanding. And that humility, like the hyssop, is an essential ingredient in the quest for knowledge. Maybe the point isn't to know everything, but to keep striving, to keep asking, and to accept that some things will always remain just beyond our reach. The beauty, perhaps, lies in the reaching itself.

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