Trump's Shabbat Proclamation and America's Founding Promise
6 min read
Your worst nightmare. The body of your victim lies before you, limp, lifeless, dead. What now? What will become of your life? And what about the victim's family? Will they seek revenge? Will you get a fair trial? "It was an accident!" You think to yourself. But you know the consequences...
No one wants to face this possibility, but these tragic accidents remain a horrible yet real fact of life.
This week’s Torah portion reveals its revolutionary treatment of involuntary manslaughter. As we’ll see, this system demonstrates the Torah's profound understanding of human nature and justice—revolutionary principles for their time and a gold standard far surpassing modern judicial systems today. But perhaps most significantly, they teach a crucial lesson about the fundamental interconnectedness of the Jewish Nation - a nation that takes care of each individual, no matter how low he or she has fallen.
In its treatment of involuntary manslaughter, the Torah establishes five pillars to its justice process. In each, we see divine ingenuity, especially when compared to the existing legal systems of its time, and even as compared to our current systems today.
The Torah draws clear distinctions between intentional murder, unintentional killing, and completely unavoidable death. Beyond guaranteeing a fair trial, it commands judges to seek every possible reason to acquit the accused of intentional murder. This system revolutionized justice 3,500 years ago, laying groundwork for modern legal institutions.
After conviction, the Torah commands killers to flee to designated “Cities of Refuge”, which also house the Levites - the nation's spiritual leaders. This placement surrounded offenders with teachers who could guide them through reflection, repentance, and growth.
The Torah commands that the killer shall "flee there and live."1 According to the Talmud2, these extra words, “and live”, tell the nation to provide all elements of a dignified life to the killers: markets, employment, infrastructure, and free housing. But perhaps most telling of all, the law mandates continued access to Torah study to the point where a Rabbi must go into exile with his student!3
I glimpsed the opposite approach during 22 hours in DeKalb County Prison—wrongfully jailed due to a clerical error that suspended my license despite payment. Though a judge later apologized in court, that experience revealed our 'justice' system's harsh reality. Instead of Levites, I found myself amongst dangerous criminals,4 a situation that could easily reinforce negative behaviors and perpetuate crime, rather than facilitate growth. Even worse, the guards stripped away dignity, threatening and intimidating with every interaction. Calling such a place a "Correctional Facility" mocks its true nature. The Torah's approach doesn't just improve on this system - it presents us with the ideal vision of justice.
While emphasizing compassion, the Torah realistically addresses the crime's gravity and the victim's family's pain. The family of the victim appoints a "redeemer of blood" authorized to take the killer's life if they leave the City of Refuge. This channels the family's natural rage into law enforcement, ensuring separation from society until rehabilitation completes.
The Torah commands that the killer “shall remain [in the city of refuge] until the death of the High Priest.”5 What relationship does the High Priest have to these unintentional killers? The Talmud6 explains: “He failed to ask for mercy for his generation.”7 This profound connection reveals a core truth - even our highest spiritual leader bears responsibility when a member of the nation falls. No tragedy occurs in isolation; every sin reflects a gap in our collective spiritual level.
All these laws share a common foundation: communal responsibility. The Torah holds the High Priest accountable for the sins of the careless killer. The Levites and other residents must fill the cities, guiding rehabilitation. The victim’s family takes part in law enforcement. The Rabbi goes into exile with his student. Judges attempt to exonerate. When one person commits a terrible crime, we all take responsibility for his recuperation. Torah's blueprint for Jewish society: no man left behind.
During the Mendel Beilis trial in Czarist Russia, prosecutors weaponized a Talmudic passage against Rabbi Meir Shapiro: 'You are called Adam (mankind), but the nations of the world are not called Adam.' They demanded he explain what appeared to be a claim that Jews alone were truly human. He responded:
"The Torah clearly states all humanity bears God's image. The Talmud teaches something else: When authorities falsely accuse a Jew of murder, the entire nation rises in prayer, feeling his pain. That's why we're called 'Adam' - just as Adam was one being, the Jewish Nation functions as a single entity. We suffer together. We celebrate together. We bear responsibility for one another."
The lesson of collective responsibility demands honest self-reflection: have we written off someone because of their serious sins? While Leviticus teaches "With righteousness you shall judge your fellow" (19:16), the Cities of Refuge push us further. Beyond fair and even favorable judgment, we must actively encourage, assist, and care for those who have fallen. We must show them they remain integral to their community and nation.
When someone in your synagogue falls—caught in an affair, business scandal, or serious personal failing—what's your instinct? Do you cross the street to avoid them, whisper with others about their shame, or do you reach out with an offer to help? The Cities of Refuge demand we choose rehabilitation over reputation, connection over comfort.
The nightmare scenario that opened our discussion could happen to anyone. The Torah's response challenges us to build communities where rehabilitation trumps revenge, where dignity survives disaster, and where every individual's fate intertwines with the collective soul of the nation.
Shabbat shalom!
Avraham
