And their example involves a would-be conqueror with a spectacularly bad sales strategy. to Sifrei Devarim, a collection of legal midrash on the Book of Deuteronomy. In section 37, we find a fascinating little nugget about how NOT to entice someone. The text brings up Sancheriv, or Sennacherib as he’s known in English, the Assyrian king who tried to lure the Israelites away from their homeland. What was his pitch? According to II Kings 18:32, he promised to take them "to a land like your land."
Now, on the surface, that doesn't sound so bad. A similar climate, similar resources… But the rabbis saw right through it. Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai, a prominent figure known for his wisdom and often associated with the mystical tradition, wasn't impressed. "He was a fool," Rabbi Shimon declared, "who did not know how to entice!"
He uses a brilliant analogy. Imagine someone trying to woo a woman by saying, "Your father's a king, and I'm a king; your father is rich, and I am rich…" Rabbi Shimon asks, "Is that enticement?" Of course not! Where's the upgrade? Where's the compelling reason to switch?
Real enticement, he argues, would be more like: "Your father is a commoner, but I am a king; your father is poor, but I am rich; your father feeds you greens and beans, but I will feed you flesh and fish; your father leads you to the bathhouse on foot, but I will take you there in a sedan chair!" It's about offering something better, something aspirational.
The passage then makes a subtle, but powerful, point about the land of Israel, Eretz Yisrael. If even the bad guys, like Nevuchadnezzar (Nebuchadnezzar), were careful not to speak ill of the land when trying to praise their own, how much more so should we be lavish in our praise of Israel! In other words, even a backhanded comparison reveals its inherent value.
To drive the point home, the text brings up Kiryat Arba, which means "the city of four," also known as Hebron. As we find in Joshua 20:7, it was called that because four kings fought over it, each wanting it named after themselves. The a fortiori argument (kal v'chomer in Hebrew, meaning "light and heavy") is striking: if four kings battled over a small piece of land, considered almost like the "refuse" of Eretz Yisrael, how much more praiseworthy is the land itself?
So, what are we left with? It's more than just a critique of a bad sales pitch. It's a reminder to appreciate what we have and to recognize true value when we see it. It's also a subtle encouragement to think about how we present ourselves and what we offer to the world. Are we selling ourselves short? Are we highlighting what makes us truly unique and valuable? And are we, perhaps most importantly, appreciating the “lands” – both literal and metaphorical – that we already inhabit?