Let’s try a thought experiment—an easy one, actually—because it invites us into a moment in which we all have found ourselves many, many times.
Picture yourself in a situation where you have complete agency over the decision you are about to make (though in so many situations, the ones we think are the former turn out to be the latter, and vice versa). It may be a momentous one or it may be something trivial. What matters here is less the choice you face than the fulcrum upon which you hang that choice — the question that helps you decide which way to go. And for pretty much everyone, that question is the same: “What is the right thing to do, and what is the wrong thing to do?”
In this case, how we determine right and wrong are irrelevant. Some of us search our hearts and follow an intuition. Others pursue a more cerebral or logic-based approach. Some appeal to a sacred text or to a received tradition that tells them what is right. The list is vast. But whatever decision we make, and whatever path we follow to reach it, we can be certain of one thing: it’s not enough simply to determine the right thing to do.
To do so would be quite incomplete–not only because we may be wrong, but because there also may be a cost. And appreciating the cost of what we do, even when — perhaps especially when — it is the right thing, is the heart of ethical living. That, and also knowing who pays that cost. That’s when things get really interesting, as we can see in the transition between last week’s Torah reading and this week’s.
At the end of last week’s reading, we learn the story of Pinchas, the son of Elazar, who arose and took the lives of two people on his own initiative. He actually impaled two people who were having sex at the entrance of the Tabernacle — the sacred center of the Israelite camp — “in the sight of Moses and the whole Israelite community” (Numbers 25:6). Immediately following this act of vigilante violence, the Torah tells us (Numbers 25:8) that “the plague against the Israelites [brought by God for their worship of a particularly odious form of idolatry] ended, with those who had already perished in the plague numbering 24,000.”
So, did Pinchas do the right thing or the wrong thing? Was he a bold actor whose singular, if deadly, action pleased God and ended a plague? Or was he a dangerous zealot who needed to be protected from himself and others? It turns out that it was probably both, as we see when we turn into the continuation of the story this week.
“The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, Pinchas, the son of Elazar, son of Aaron, the priest, has turned back my wrath from the Israelites by displaying among them his zeal [fanaticism] for Me, so that I did not wipe out the Israelite people in my zeal [fanaticism]. Say, therefore, ‘I grant him My pact of shalom. It shall be for him and his descendants after him a pact of priesthood for all time, because he took zealous [fanatical] action for his God, thus making expiation for Israel”.
We see that Pinchas is praised and blessed by God for his actions. His violence is credited with turning back God’s anger, saving lives in his community, and atoning for their sins. All are indicators that he did the right thing.
However, we also see that the blessing Pinchas is given is that of “shalom,” usually translated as “peace.” Since one is typically blessed by God with that of which they are in need, this is a pretty interesting blessing — one that suggests that whatever good he accomplished, Pinchas was a man at war, a tormented soul, who needed to be gifted the peace that was missing in his life. In fact, the word “shalom” comes from the same Hebrew root for the word wholeness, suggesting that Pinchas was literally an incomplete man or even a broken man.
His blessing also assures him of his role as a priest, which would have already been assumed given that priesthood was hereditary. This suggests that something more is being shared here. The Tabernacle, and later the Temple, are places that maintain rules quite different from the rest of the world, insisting on a reality that is all its own. Perhaps this blessing is also God’s way of telling Pinchas (and us) that while his zeal may have accomplished some good things, it may be a zeal that needs to be restricted to the Temple.
So, did Pinchas do the right thing or the wrong thing? The story really suggests the answer to that question is, “yes,” which returns us to the insufficiency of that question, as important as it is to ask. The story of Pinchas highlights that even when we do the right thing, there can be terrible costs. Even when we do the right thing, it may be coming from a bad or broken place, which demands our attention long after our action. The story of Pinchas reminds us that even when we have accomplished great good for some, it might have come at a (too?) high price for others. Does that mean we should not have taken the action we took? Not necessarily. It simply means that we need to think about the sources, the implications, and the costs of our actions, and not simply whether we are right or wrong to have acted as we did. In that sense, we are all Pinchas each and every day.
Listed for many years in Newsweek as one of America’s “50 Most Influential Rabbis” and recognized as one of our nation’s leading “Preachers and Teachers,” by Beliefnet.com, Rabbi Brad Hirschfield serves as the President of Clal–The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership, a training institute, think tank, and resource center nurturing religious and intellectual pluralism within the Jewish community, and the wider world, preparing people to meet the biggest challenges we face in our increasingly polarized world.
An ordained Orthodox rabbi who studied for his PhD and taught at The Jewish Theological Seminary, he has also taught the University of Pennsylvania, where he directs an ongoing seminar, and American Jewish University. Rabbi Brad regularly teaches and consults for the US Army and United States Department of Defense, religious organizations — Jewish and Christian — including United Seminary (Methodist), Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (Modern Orthodox) Luther Seminary (Lutheran), and The Jewish Theological Seminary (Conservative) — civic organizations including No Labels, Odyssey Impact, and The Aspen Institute, numerous Jewish Federations, and a variety of communal and family foundations.
Hirschfield is the author and editor of numerous books, including You Don’t Have To Be Wrong For Me To Be Right: Finding Faith Without Fanaticism, writes a column for Religion News Service, and appears regularly on TV and radio in outlets ranging from The Washington Post to Fox News Channel. He is also the founder of the Stand and See Fellowship, which brings hundreds of Christian religious leaders to Israel, preparing them to address the increasing polarization around Middle East issues — and really all currently polarizing issues at home and abroad — with six words, “It’s more complicated than we know.”