That feeling isn't new. In fact, according to Midrash Tehillim 60, it goes way back. This particular midrash (a method of interpreting biblical stories beyond their literal meaning) focuses on Psalm 60 and opens with a powerful quote from Isaiah (50:8): "Who will contend with me? Let us stand up together. Who is my adversary? Let him come near to me."
The midrash suggests that God gave the Torah to Israel as a way to respond to the accusations of other nations. It then launches into a fascinating story about Joab, King David's general, who finds himself in a sticky situation during a battle with Aram.
The Arameans, you see, throw a real zinger at Joab. They accuse him of not being a true descendant of Jacob. They point to the story in Genesis (31:42) where Jacob makes a covenant with Laban, reminding Joab that Jacob himself called upon God as a witness, implying a lack of other witnesses, a weakness in the lineage. Ouch.
Joab is stunned. He doesn’t know how to respond to this challenge to his people's very identity. So, he does what any good general would do: he runs back to David. He tells the king, "This and that was said to me by the sons of Aram!"
Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. David immediately convenes the Sanhedrin, the high court of ancient Israel. The midrash poetically refers to the Sanhedrin as "Lilies," drawing a connection to the Song of Songs (7:3) where Solomon sings, "Your belly is a heap of wheat, encircled with lilies." This imagery suggests purity, beauty, and perhaps the delicate yet powerful nature of their wisdom.
The Sanhedrin, these "lilies," are tasked with figuring out how to respond to the Aramean’s accusation. The Midrash then recounts how our forefathers made covenants. We made two covenants, one with Abraham when the verse states (Genesis 21:23), 'Now swear to me here by God that you will not deal falsely with me or with my offspring or with my posterity, but according to the kindness that I have done to you, you will do to me and to the land where you have sojourned.'
The story goes that when the Philistines tried to enter the land, they were challenged using a similar argument: "You are not the seed of Abraham, and you do not observe the commandments of the covenant that Abraham made with Abimelech." But the Philistines claimed they did observe the covenant, and that was enough to allow them entry. As Deuteronomy (2:23) reminds us, even the Avvim and Caphtorim were protected by covenants.
So, what does all this mean for Joab? The Sanhedrin reminds him that Jacob himself made a covenant with Aram. They also point out that the Israelites were the first to arrive, referring to Balaam's prophecy in Numbers (22:5) where he notes, "Behold, a people came out of Egypt; behold, they cover the surface of the land, and they are dwelling opposite me."
Furthermore, the Sanhedrin reminds Joab of past transgressions, like those in the days of Cushan Rishathaim (Judges 3:8), when the Israelites were punished for their sins. The Sanhedrin tells him that they also committed two transgressions, one in the days of Balaam, and one in the days of Cushan.
Finally armed with this historical and legal knowledge, Joab returns to the Arameans. But instead of immediately attacking, he pauses. He asks himself a crucial question: "If I destroy them now, what will I do when I ascend from the war?" In other words, what will be the long-term consequences of my actions?
This midrash isn't just a historical anecdote; it's a reflection on identity, covenant, and the importance of understanding our history. It reminds us that challenges to our identity are nothing new, and that our tradition provides us with the tools to respond thoughtfully and strategically. And perhaps most importantly, it highlights the need to consider the long-term implications of our actions, even in the heat of battle. How often do we pause, like Joab, to consider the future consequences of our present choices?
Food for thought, isn't it?