Timeless Torah

The rebellious son whose parents said to the city elders,“This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a profligate and a drunkard,” was stoned to death. The Torah offers this logic: Purge this evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.
The apparent harshness of the law led Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai to conclude that, “There never was nor ever will be a rebellious son,” (meaning that the conditions necessary for the law to be applied never occurred). In Rabbi Shimon’s view, this theoretical rule signaled the gravity of the case, rather than an outline of any action to be taken by the justices.
In fact, the rabbinic interpretation was so restrictive as to make it impossible for such a case to arise. The child must be within three months of attaining maturity (younger than that, he was still a minor; older, he was no longer a child). He must have stolen his parents’ money, used it to buy a specific measure of meat and wine, eaten and drunk it in one go, and so on. In other words, the conditions that had to be satisfied for the law to be applied were so stringent, the law remained purely academic.
Others, like Rabbi Yose, regarded the law as applicable. According to them, the grounds for such an unforgiving statute was: The Torah foresaw the ultimate destiny of the rebellious son. Having dissipated his father’s wealth, he would seek to satisfy his wants and unable to do so, would turn to robbery. Therefore let him die innocent rather than guilty. His death would benefit both himself and others, by forestalling further crimes and victims.
In this view, the law of the rebellious son was a form of pre-emptive punishment. He was deemed worthy of penalty not for what he had done but for what he was likely to do. This concept views law not merely as punishment, but deterrence; not only for the defiant child, but to discourage other potential criminals. As the Torah declares: “All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.”
Torah does not confine itself to legal provisions alone. It also contains narrative. One in particular has a bearing on the penalty meted out to the rebellious son; the story of Ishmael, the son of Abraham and Sarah’s handmaid Hagar. Eventually, when Sarah had a child of her own, Isaac, she saw Ishmael “metzachek-mocking” their religious life and being, “guilty of cardinal sins.” This was enough to convince Sarah that he was not fit company for her own son. Indeed, G-d Himself had already foretold that Ishmael would, “live in hostility towards all his brothers.”
So Hagar and the young Ishmael were sent out into the desert. Their water ran out, and Hagar said, “I cannot watch the boy die.” G-d then heard the boy crying, and the angel called to Hagar, “What is the matter? Do not be afraid; G-d has heard the voice of the lad where he is [at this moment].” Then G-d opened her eyes and she saw a well of water.
The midrash comments: The accusing angels said, “L-rd of the universe, will you bring up a well for an individual who will one day slay your children with thirst?” G-d replied, “At this moment he is righteous, and I judge man only as he is at the moment.”
Ishmael was the first rebellious son rejected by his parents (Abraham and step-mother Sarah) for what he might become (“a wild donkey of a man; his hand will be against everyone, and everyone’s hand against him”). Yet the Torah, as interpreted by the midrash, rejected the argument of Rabbi Yose in favor of Rabbi Shimon. Divine justice is not doled out to prevent future crimes. Beneath this principle is a deeper idea still: free choice. Even the most hardened criminal can change, and a rebellious child can grow into a responsible adult. (In fact, according to the Talmud, Ishmael repented during Abraham’s lifetime.)
Both the story in Bereishis and the law in Devarim are indispensable. Law deals in generalities. Narrative focuses on specifics: this person, that family, this time, that place. Without law, society breeds anarchy, and families raise rebellious sons But without narrative, law becomes impersonal and at times inhumane. It is one thing to discuss justice-as-deterrence in the abstract, quite another to do so with the image of the young Ishmael about to die of thirst in the barren desert.
At this time of the year (Elul), we customarily read Psalm 27 which contains a very arresting line: “Though my father and mother have forsaken me, the L-rd has taken me in.” True, this is no overt reference to the law of the rebellious son, but the association is unmistakable. This is precisely what the law envisages; parents coming to court and saying, “We can no longer control our child. We reject him.” The Psalm expresses this tragic human possibility. The relationship between parents and child can completely break down, and a child may feel rejected. Yet, says the Psalm, in the scheme of divine justice, G-d never rejects us.
We may reject Him. We may be his rebellious children, but he is our ever-accessible parent. G-d never abandons us or gives up on his juvenile delinquents, because He never ceases to believe that, whatever wrong we may have done in the past, we can mend in the future. In that knowledge we find a strength greater than ourselves; we find His faith in us.