The ancient rabbis grappled with this very feeling, this sense that some groups seem to get away with things that others don't. And they found surprising answers in the stories of our past.
Our text from Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Song of Songs, dives right into this complex question. Rabbi Yudan and Rabbi Azarya paint a picture of the congregation of Israel pleading with God. They say, "Master of the universe, because You acted with my neighbors with the attribute of justice, and with me with the attribute of mercy, I will run after You." It's a powerful statement about the relationship between justice, mercy, and our devotion to the Divine.
But what does it really mean? Rabbi Berekhya, in the name of Rabbi Elazar, brings up a fascinating comparison: the Generation of the Flood and the Ten Tribes of Israel. He points out a critical difference. Regarding the Generation of the Flood, the Torah says, “Only evil the entire day” (Genesis 6:5). But concerning the Ten Tribes, it's written, “Woe, the devisers of iniquity who perform evil on their beds!” (Micah 2:1). So they sin at night, but what about the morning? "In the morning light they perform it, for it is in their power" (Micah 2:1).
Think about it: The Generation of the Flood only sinned during the day and were completely wiped out. The Ten Tribes, who sinned both night and day, still had a remnant that survived. Why? What was the difference?
Rabbi Yitzchak offers a beautiful interpretation. He draws on a verse from Ezekiel (14:22): “behold a remnant remained in it, [who are brought forth].” Notice it doesn’t say "who bring forth," but "who are brought forth." Rabbi Yitzchak sees this as a sign that a remnant remained in the merit of the righteous men and women, the prophets and prophetesses, who would emerge from them. The potential for good, even in the midst of darkness, provided a lifeline.
And it doesn't stop there. Rabbi Ḥanina highlights something unique about the coastal cities. A statement was made about them that wasn't made about the Generation of the Flood: “Woe to the inhabitants of the seacoast, the nation of the Keretim” (Zephaniah 2:5)— a nation, he says, that is liable to be punished with karet, spiritual excision. So how were they rescued? Because, says Rabbi Hanina, they produced one God-fearing person each year. That single spark of righteousness was enough.
Rabbi Levi takes it a step further, interpreting Keretim not as "liable to karet" but as "established [karat] a covenant." He alludes to the idea that some members of this nation converted and fulfilled the covenant of circumcision, as it says, "He established [vekharot] a covenant with him" (Nehemiah 9:8). The act of joining the covenant, of committing to a life of meaning and purpose, offered protection.
The rabbis don't shy away from difficult comparisons. Rabbi Yehoshua bar Nehemiah, quoting Rabbi Aḥa, points out that the tribes of Judah and Benjamin were held to a higher standard than even the Sodomites. Regarding the Sodomites, it's written, “Their sin is very weighty” (Genesis 18:20). But regarding Judah and Benjamin, it says, “The iniquity of the house of Israel and Judah is very very great” (Ezekiel 9:9).
Rabbi Tanḥuma adds another layer, citing Lamentations 4:6: “The iniquity of the daughter of my people exceeded [the sin of Sodom, which was overthrown in a moment, and no hands seized it].” Why were the tribes of Judah and Benjamin judged more harshly? Rabbi Tanḥuma explains that the Sodomites didn't extend their hands to help one another or perform mitzvot, good deeds. But the tribes of Judah and Benjamin did.
He then offers a poignant interpretation of another verse from Lamentations (4:10): “The hands of merciful women [cooked their children, they were food for them].” He understands this not literally, but as an allegory. These women were so dedicated to helping others that they deprived their own children of food to comfort those who had lost loved ones. Their acts of kindness, even in the face of unimaginable suffering, highlighted the potential for good that existed within them.
So, what does all of this mean for us? Maybe it's a reminder that we are all held to different standards, based on our potential and our capacity for good. The greater our potential, the greater our responsibility. But it's also a message of hope. Even in the darkest of times, a single act of kindness, a commitment to a higher purpose, can make all the difference. It can be the spark that saves us, and perhaps even the world.