Is G-D Fair? Learning To Play The Hand You Were Dealt

On a trip to India, a tourist visiting the Taj Mahal noticed the ticket price written on one of the ticket windows: INR 20 for Indians and $15 (INR 750) for foreigners.

We were standing in the queue to get in. Just ahead of us was a child, who asked his father, “Papa, ye angrejo ke liye entry fee 15 aur Indians ke liye 20 kyu hai?” Dad, why is the entry fee 15 for foreigners, but 20 for Indians?

The troll father replied: “Arre beta ye gore itni door se aate hai na, to inko thoda saste me dekhne dete hai.” Son, these people come here from so far away just to see it, so we let them in for a little less.

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One of the more sobering realities of life is that it isn’t always fair. No matter how much we try to right the wrongs in the world, life still seems unfair for someone somewhere. It may be unfortunate, but that’s just the way things are and complaining about it doesn’t do any good.

Some of us are born leaders, some of us are followers. Some of us have extraordinary talent, while some of us haven’t any unique qualifications. Some of us have great confidence and some of us are forever burdened with inferiority complex. Some of us care only what we’re thought of; others couldn’t care less.

Sometimes, no matter what we do to make things go our way, something totally beyond our control will punch us in the stomach. No matter who we are, there will be times when something unfair will occur – something that feels so unjust that our heads whirl for days. It just doesn’t seem fair, at least not from our mortal perspective. The painful truth about life is that on a human level it is not really fair. The cards we are dealt in life, are the cards we are dealt. It’s our decision how we play our hand.

When things go “Wrong;” when our balance is kicked sideways, we often become rattled, stressed, depressed and indignant. We wax philosophical and introspective as we search for meaning as to why things are not “Right;” we demand explanations. We seek answers in religion and psychology. Yet when things go right, gone are the questions; gone is the philosophy and introspection.

Let’s be honest, have you ever known someone to seek psychological perspective as a result of his good fortune; perplexed over winning the lottery or landing a seven figure job? The reason for this is because we tend to believe that success is normal; the way “Things should be.” Yet in reality, our Idea of how “Things should be,” is vastly distorted.

Somehow in our model of how things should be, winning the lottery is more “Reasonable,” then enduring pain and adversity, despite the 1 in 175 Million odds and the fact that there is a greater chance of (Heaven forbid) getting into a car accident, plane accident, struck by lightning, dying in an asteroid apocalypse or drowning in a bathtub than hitting the jackpot.

In our unrealistic perception of life, there is little room for challenge, adversity and struggle, but therein lies the mistake. Our lack of understanding, or refusal to accept the reality of our existence, is what leaves us perplexed.

Where does it say that life was meant to be smooth sailing – unhindered and unhampered by adversity or resistance? When have we been assured a particular quality of life? Have we come into this world with a contract in hand; stating that things will go smooth?

Whoever suggested that life was meant to be tranquil and challenge-free certainly did not get it from the Torah. Quite the contrary, the Torah is replete with the opposite portrait. From the tumultuous lives of our ancestors, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov, to our slavery in Egypt and the ill fated forty-year sojourn in the desert, the recurring theme is one of challenge, difficulty and failure intergraded within each triumph and victory.

Just because life doesn’t seem fair to us, it doesn’t mean that G-d is not fair, for what do we really know about life in the first place? What do we know about G-d’s plans for our existence, hence how can we know what is fair and not fair? The Torah refers to G-d as: “A faithful G-d, never unfair, righteous and moral is He”( Devarim 32:4).

When fairness seems to fly out the window, we must not allow our intelligence to go with it. Challenge and resistance is oftentimes the catalyst for greater success – spawning and spurring a path that proves better than the one we were on.

There are many examples of people who got passed over for a promotion, lost the love of their lives, or had to change their lifestyles drastically, yet found a way to move forward and turn things around. They didn’t blame others for their issues; instead they took action regardless of the circumstances. History is replete with people that, against all odds, turned disadvantage into virtue and challenge into success.

We’ve all heard this lecture before, yet sometimes we wonder whether it is really the Jewish perspective. Some would argue that it is not, as one man said to me: “Rabbi, that ideology is too harsh to be Jewish.” Well, surprise! The notion that that we have two choices, to accept our lot in life and make the best of it, or beat our heads against the wall – blaming everyone around us, including G-d – is as Jewish as Matzah balls and Gefilte fish, it is the lesson behind one of the more mysterious  narratives of this week’s Torah portion.

Tucked into the final Aliyah of our Parsha – which contains a long list of laws concerning the Priesthood, the tabernacle, and sacred festivals – is a jarring story of a blasphemer; or “M’kallel” – a man who blasphemes G-d.

Unsure of how to deal with the blasphemer, the Israelites put him into custody, waiting for G-d to render a verdict. G-d’s ruling came down that the M’kallel should be taken out of the camp and stoned by the entire community: “The son of an Israelite woman went out – and he was the son of an Egyptian man – among the Children of Israel; they fought in the camp, this son of an Israelite woman with an Israelite man. The son of the Israelite woman pronounced the Name of G-d and blasphemed, so they brought him to Moses. Now the name of his mother was Shlomis daughter of Divri of the tribe of Dan.” (Lev. 24:10-11)

The Torah is generally sparse on unnecessary details, the Rabbis hence understood the Torah’s depiction of the blasphemer’s mixed ancestry and the name of his mother, to be central to the story; an integral factor in the crime.

In interpreting the words “He went out,” Rashi asserts that he went out of Moshe’s tribunal with a guilty verdict. Rashi proceeds to share the following Midrashic background: “He had come to pitch his tent within the encampment of the tribe of Dan, but they said to him: ‘What right do you have to be here?’ the M’kallel responded: ‘I am a descendant of Dan,’ (claiming lineage through his mother, who was from the tribe of Dan). They said to him: ‘But Scripture (Num. 2:2) states: “The children of Israel shall encamp each man by his grouping according to the insignias of his father’s household,’” refuting thereby his maternal claim. He then appealed to Moshe’s tribunal, where his case was tried and found him in the wrong. He then proceeded to blaspheme.”

According to the Midrash, when this Jew who participated in the Exodus and stood with his people at Sinai comes to set up his tent with his mother’s tribe, they reject him saying that Jewish law demands that he camp with his father’s tribe. His father, of course, being an Egyptian, belonged not to a tribe. So he is, essentially told, “You don’t belong here. You are not really one of us.”

He proceeds to take his case to Moshe, certain that the law will protect him, but to his bewilderment, the law upholds the tribe’s position. When the M’kallel is told that he doesn’t belong anywhere, he experiences a deep sense of rejection and betrayal. Invoking the ineffable Divine Name, he proceeds to utter a curse. Being a Mamzer; having no legitimate place in the camp of Israel, drives him to lash out against G-d and man.

As people are often wont to do, he blames the entire “System.” He becomes  angry with the leadership, the people, and ultimately G-d Himself. In the end, he takes the most profound symbol of his Jewish identity – the secret name of G-d that he heard at Sinai – and degrades it in mock. As a result of his virulent conduct, G-d rules that the M’kallel is to be punished by death.

At first glance this story appears rather unsettling, not only because a person is sentenced to death as a result of an outburst prompted by genuine anguish, but because it appears that justice had gone awry. Given his undisputed victim status, his verdict seems overly harsh.

If, by no fault of his own, the M’kallel finds himself misplaced, despised and rejected – If, by no doing of his own, he is treated as a stranger among his own people – why does G-d; the Lord of compassion and mercy – meet out such a severe punishment. Is he not, after all a pitiful misfit that is not to blame? Can’t his angry outburst and animosity towards G-d be understood?

The difficulty is further exacerbated in face of the widespread consensus among the Midrashic authorities that his disadvantaged status went all the way back to his conception – the unfortunate circumstances by which he had entered the world.

According to the various Midrashic commentaries, the union of his parents was not the result of intermarriage, his mother, Shlomis Bas Divri, was in fact married to a Jewish man. He was rather fathered by an Egyptian taskmaster as a result of rape. In the above light the M’kallel is an even greater a victim. Why then the lack of sympathy?

The answer is that, victim or not, one does not have the right to lash out against others as a result of their misfortune, and certainly not against G-d. Not only because it is unreasonable, but because it is downright pernicious.

One whose Deity is forced to comply with human reason; who blasphemes when he doesn’t understand or agree with its actions, is not just a heretic but a dangerous rebel. It is one, albeit terrible, thing to ignore or deny the existence of G-d. It is another, to accept His authority, only to curse Him.

To accept G-d’s existence, but to deny His righteousness and authority, is to create the conditions for the worst of possibilities, as it leaves a gaping hole for the abuse of the Divine power. How interesting it is to note that a dreadful creature such as Hitler believed in G-d and claimed to behold G-d’s approval and blessing in his unthinkable acts of evil, via various signs of success in spite of the odds.

After stating that one “Who blasphemes the name of G-d shall be put to death” (24:16), the Torah relates a seemingly unrelated law, one which the Torah has stressed previously and appears to need little reinforcement: “One who takes a human life must be put to death” (24:17).

The Torah appears to be implying that murder is an inevitable byproduct of a society that can curse the Creator. Human life is a reflection of the image of G-d, and once we deny the sanctity of that image, it is easy to justify murder. It is, after all, just the destruction of a cluster of cells that make up the mass of matter we call a human being.

We must be extremely wary of the inescapable relationship between blasphemous speech and blasphemous action. It is rare for evil to flourish without being preceded by an ideology of Divine disrespect and disobedience.

The severity of blasphemy is such that it is considered one of the Sheva Mitzvos Bnei Noach, one of the seven universally binding Noachide laws, for which the penalty for violation is death.

The above notwithstanding, one cannot leave the story of the blasphemer, without recognizing the failure of communal and personal responsibility in his tragic episode. An additional lesson that we must take from this Parsha is that when a Jew, who considers himself part of the people, is turned away by his community, the results can be devastating, both for him, and for the community as a whole.

Immediately after the sin, the Torah gives the name of the blasphemer’s mother, grandfather and Tribe, as if to say, all of these people are to blame. The action of the community, or lack thereof, may have indeed prompted his anger and his sense of betrayal. Deep down, the Jewish parent, and even the Jewish grandparent and extended family, did not do enough to insure a love of G-d and a loyalty to Jewish law, in this troubled soul.

The Torah names Shlomis Bas Divri – the only woman mentioned by name in the entire book of Leviticus – to remind us that the primary responsibility lies with the Jewish parent.

Rabbi Yitzchak Karo, in his commentary Toldos Yitzchak, ponders why the laws of blasphemy are located following the series of laws of the sanctity of the priesthood, sacrifices, Shabbos and Holidays, and certain ritual items in the Mishkan?

He suggests that the blasphemer seeks to repudiate everything through his blasphemy, including the very authority of G-d – as if there is no Law and Judge. In other words, the Torah first teaches us at length about the significance of sanctity in Israelite society and then presents us with the blasphemer – the arch-desecrator of the sacred.

A society which concentrates on promoting sanctity, he asserts, will necessarily express its revulsion when that sanctity is desecrated. Such a society will certainly understand blasphemy as a most extreme form of deviance.

May we take to heart the lessons of our Parsha and accept our lot in life with love and respect for the giver of life and our particular mission in life. May we execute our critical responsibility as parents and as fellow Jews, towards all of Israel. This will of course leave no room for a “Rejected blasphemes son.” This will in turn, bring G-d’s ultimate purpose of creation to fruition with the coming of the righteous Moshiach BBA.