It's a wild ride through sin, repentance, and the surprising grace that might just be waiting on the other side.
Our first stop is the story of Achan. Remember him? He's the guy in the Book of Joshua who messed everything up by taking forbidden spoils after the battle of Jericho (Joshua 7). A serious no-no. Because of his actions, the Israelites suffered defeat. But here's the twist: because Achan confessed his sin before God, Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer tells us, he earns a share in the World to Come. Wait, what?
It seems counterintuitive, right? He messed up big time! But the verse quoted, "Why hast thou troubled us? The Lord shall trouble thee this day" (Joshua 7:25), gets a fascinating interpretation. "This day" thou art troubled, the text implies, but not in the future world. His punishment was limited to his earthly life. Confession, even after the deed, held immense power. It's a powerful reminder that even in the face of severe transgression, repentance offers a path toward redemption.
But now, the story pivots to something even more complex: the power of the cherem (חֵרֶם), the ban. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer wants us to understand just how potent this communal declaration could be.
To illustrate, we're whisked away to the story of the tribe of Benjamin found in the Book of Judges (Judges 19-21). This is a dark and disturbing narrative. The other tribes of Israel were furious because of a horrific act of immorality committed in the territory of the tribe of Benjamin. They were ready to wage war against them.
But here’s the stinging rebuke: the Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: "Ye are zealous because of the immorality, and ye are not zealous because of the image of Micah." There was an idol being worshipped, too, and that was being ignored! It's a powerful challenge to our priorities: are we focusing on the right things? Are we seeing the whole picture?
As a result, the Benjamites initially prevailed in battle. The other tribes suffered heavy losses, not once, but several times. Eventually, they realized something had to change. They went before the Ark of the Covenant, seeking forgiveness and guidance. And, eventually, they were forgiven.
The tribes then decreed that all of Israel should make peace with the Benjamites. It was a collective act of repentance, young and old participating. The text quotes, "For they made a great oath concerning him that came not up unto the Lord to Mizpah" (Judges 21:5), and then asks a crucial question: did all of Israel actually take an oath?
The answer, implicitly, is no. The cherem, the ban, acted as the oath. It bound the community together. It was a declaration with far-reaching consequences, uniting the people in purpose and action. It was as binding as an oath, even for those who didn't explicitly swear it.
So, what does this all mean?
These stories from Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer paint a picture of a world where words – confessions, vows, and communal declarations – carry immense weight. They can condemn, but they can also redeem. They can divide, but they can also unite. The power lies not just in the words themselves, but in the intentions behind them and the actions that follow.
It leaves you wondering: What kinds of vows are we making, explicitly or implicitly, in our own lives? And how are we using the power of our words to build up, rather than tear down, the world around us?