It turns out, even ancient texts grapple with these questions, offering surprising insights into universal ethics.

Let's dive into Bamidbar Rabbah, specifically section 8. This isn't your typical dry, theological treatise. It’s a vibrant conversation about divine justice, the importance of ethical behavior, and the surprising way even non-believers can recognize truth.

The passage opens with a quote from Psalms: "All the kings of the earth will praise You, Lord, as they heard the words of Your mouth" (Psalms 138:4). Rabbi Pinḥas suggests that the kings of the world – the non-Jewish world – actually stood up from their thrones and praised God upon hearing certain commandments. Why?

Think about it. When God said, "I am the Lord your God" (Exodus 20:2), the kings thought, "Well, that's what a king would say." Makes sense, right? And when God commanded, "You shall have no other gods" (Exodus 20:3), they figured, "No king wants rivals!" Similarly, "You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain" (Exodus 20:7) seemed like a king protecting his reputation, and "Remember the Shabbat day" (Exodus 20:8) resonated as a ruler wanting his day of rest honored.

But then came "Honor your father and your mother" (Exodus 20:12). Suddenly, the kings were stunned. "Wait," they thought, "according to our protocols, when you swear allegiance to the king, you renounce your parents! But this God commands the opposite?" That's when they rose and praised Him. The Bamidbar Rabbah argues that they were even more impressed by prohibitions against murder, adultery, stealing, lying, and coveting. Basic human decency, elevated to divine command.

And it gets even more interesting. When God declared, "For what he misappropriated from the sacred he shall pay" (Leviticus 5:16), the kings were again surprised. According to their customs, stealing from the emperor meant a far harsher punishment than stealing from a commoner. Yet, God’s law treated both offenses with a similar level of seriousness. In some ways, sins against a commoner were even more serious! As we find in Leviticus (5:15, 5:21), the Torah emphasizes the trespass against the commoner, almost suggesting it's intentional, even when it's unwitting.

This section of Bamidbar Rabbah isn't just about ancient history; it’s about the essence of morality. It suggests that true justice isn’t about power or privilege, but about fairness and compassion for all.

The text then shifts to a story about King David and a famine that plagued the land. The famine, David learns through consulting the Urim ve-Tumim (a sort of ancient oracle), was a consequence of Saul's actions against the Gibeonites – descendants of converts to Judaism.

The story unfolds, revealing a complex tapestry of justice, compassion, and the importance of treating even marginalized members of society with respect. David learns a powerful lesson: that mistreating those who are "distant" from the community can ultimately lead to the alienation of those who are "near." It's a stark reminder that inclusivity and fairness are not just ideals, but essential pillars of a just society.

The narrative highlights the actions of Ritzpa, daughter of Aya, who tirelessly protected the bodies of Saul’s descendants from scavengers. Her dedication impressed David so much that he finally gave Saul and his sons a proper burial. This act, in turn, appeased God and brought an end to the famine. This, according to Rabbi Aha bar Zevina in the name of Rabbi Hoshaya the Great, demonstrates that sanctifying God’s name is greater than avoiding its desecration. Even though Jewish law dictates that a body shouldn’t remain unburied overnight (Deuteronomy 21:23), allowing the bodies to hang for an extended period ultimately sanctified God’s name because it led to widespread repentance and conversion.

The Bamidbar Rabbah emphasizes that God "draws the distant near," valuing converts and outsiders. This idea is beautifully summarized at the end: "Peace, peace, for the distant and the near" (Isaiah 57:19). It's a call for radical inclusivity, a reminder that everyone deserves respect and compassion, regardless of their background or origin.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder to examine our own values, to ask ourselves if we truly treat everyone with fairness and compassion. Are we creating a society where justice prevails, not just for the powerful, but for the marginalized? The ancient rabbis of Bamidbar Rabbah challenge us to do better, to strive for a world where even the "kings of the earth" would stand up and praise the principles of justice and compassion.