Timeless Torah

Our weekly Biblical tale begins....right at the end. Now why a great story that contains all the correct Hollywood ingredients like murder, mayhem, and sex, should have been broken up in two portions is a mystery. Dare we suggest that the Grand Producer of all time was perhaps looking to make a sequel?
Regardless, Pinchas, who as we know had witnessed the sinful exploits of Zimri and Kozbi and had literally speared the couple, had thus saved the camp from being engulfed in a plague of revenge. The Halachic justification for such extraordinary action is found in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 81b), “One who cohabits with an idolatress, zealots may kill him.”
We should note that this is not the conventional “death penalty” carried out by a Jewish Court. Rather it is a license given to a zealot to kill the transgressor at the moment of his indiscretion. This Halacha of the Zealots contains a number of highly interesting anomalies.
First, the above mentioned Gemara rules that if one came to a Jewish Court while the sin was being committed, to take counsel as to whether he, the zealot, should kill the sinner, the judges did not instruct him to do so. Second, had Zimri ceased sinning and Pinchas were to have killed him then, Pinchas would have been brought to trial and given the death penalty for having killed the sinner. Three, had Zimri turned the tables, and succeeded in killing Pinchas, he would not be liable, because Pinchas had the halachic status of a “pursuer,” who may be killed in self-defense.
What makes the entire episode of Pinchas even more puzzling is the language employed by the Talmud. There it states that when the zealot approaches the bench for the judicial nod to go ahead, “Halacha ve-ein moirin kein.” Literally, this phrase translates as, “It is the law, but we (the Court) do not instruct people to do so.” How are we to understand this unusual concept? Aren’t laws, by definition, made to be taught, instructed, and ruled upon?
It is told that a young music student once approached Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and said, “I would like to write a concerto. Can you help m?”
“You’re too young,” the famous musician told him. “Just wait a few years.”
“But is it not true that you were composing music when you were just seven or eight?”
“All too true,” said Mozart, “but I didn’t have to ask anybody how.”
Zeal and self-sacrifice come from the heart within. It cannot be taught, and it surely cannot be commanded. The very fact that a person had the sense, and the cold, rational thought of coming first to the Jewish court to ask, is the best indication that the individual lacks true zealousness.
Thus if one looks carefully at the Midrashim that record the dialogue between Pinchas and Moses, it becomes obvious that Pinchas was not asking permission and Moses wasn’t dispensing any. Actually, all Pinchas requested was clarification to see whether his memory of the Halacha of the Zealots was correct.
Many times in life, we are faced with situations that require dedication and sacrifice beyond what anyone can teach us or reasonably expect us to do. Even more disconcerting, as we see from the treatment of Pinchas by his peers, not only do friends and neighbors not support you, they vilify you. Thus Zimri the unrepentant sinner, could have killed Pinchas, and faced no repercussions.
So the next time you’re thinking of mesirus nefesh (self-sacrifice), remember it is not about medals-of-honor and pats-on-the-back. It is a lonely journey of struggle, requiring a strong heart and a brave soul. Perhaps that is why G-d separated Pinchas’ story into two distinct episodes, with the first portion recounting his heroism and courage, while the second announced Hashem’s gratefulness and reward of “eternal priesthood.” This is to show that when you do the first part, the second should not be looked for as an immediate, or even guaranteed, consequence.