It’s a question that’s plagued humanity for millennia, and believe it or not, the Torah, specifically the book of Devarim (Deuteronomy), grapples with it head-on. to a tiny corner of it, shall we?
We're looking at Sifrei Devarim, a collection of legal interpretations on the book of Deuteronomy. In chapter 20, we find laws concerning warfare. And it's fascinating – and at times, unsettling – stuff.
The verse says, "all of its spoil shall you take for yourself." So, what does that mean?
One might assume that the spoils of war are forbidden. That everything taken from the defeated enemy is off-limits. But the text continues, clarifying, "its spoil shall you take for yourself, and you shall eat the spoil of your foes." Sifrei Devarim is telling us that the spoils are indeed permitted. It's a direct allowance, a stark contrast to what one might initially believe. The Rabbis, in their wisdom, are clarifying potential misinterpretations right there in the text.
But where does this permission apply? That's where Devarim 20:15 comes into play: "Thus shall you do to all the cities that are distant." Here, we encounter a crucial distinction: distant cities versus near cities.
The "distant ones" are those not belonging to the seven nations that inhabited Canaan. The Sifrei Devarim understands that the laws of war—specifically the instruction to spare women and children—apply to these distant cities. The "near" cities, meaning those belonging to the seven nations, aren't included in this more lenient treatment.
Why the distinction? It's a tough question, and one that requires understanding the historical context and the Torah's specific mandate regarding these seven nations. Some scholars suggest it was due to unique concerns about their religious practices influencing the Israelites.
It's a complicated passage, isn't it? It raises profound questions about morality, divine directives, and the messy reality of conflict. It's a reminder that even within sacred texts, there are layers upon layers of interpretation and nuance. These ancient words challenge us to wrestle with difficult ethical dilemmas and to consider the complexities of our own moral compasses. And that wrestling? That's where real understanding begins.