A word to the wise is sufficient

Embed from Getty Images

The words of the title are the English equivalent of one of my father’s (a”h) favorite aphorisms. “Dai Lakhkima Birmiza” is an Aramaic formula of Talmudic origin meaning that when one addresses a sophisticated audience, he need not elaborate: a hint will suffice. When one feels the need to explain the message he is hoping to communicate, he runs the risk of appearing condescending and didactic. Being over explicit also denies the audience the opportunity to interpret a story or text in accordance with its own perspective and experience. This is especially true when one hopes to impart a moral lesson. A wise audience will pick up on the nuance and reach the conclusion that is appropriate to that audience.

I am about to test the theory. If I am successful, some of you will find a meaning beyond my words. The meanings each of you find might not be the same. If, however, I am unsuccessful, it’s an interesting story anyway and may send you back to the first book of Samuel.  Either way, I hope it is a rewarding experience.

In the fifteenth chapter of that book, the prophet Samuel instructs the first King of Israel, Saul, to fulfill the Biblical injunction set forth in this week’s parsha by attacking and wiping out the Amalekites. Saul succeeds in battle, but fails in his mission, leaving the Amalekite king, Agag, alive. God is displeased and sends Samuel to tell Saul that by his actions he has proven himself unworthy. Someone else must become king.

Saul descends into insanity, becoming violent and paranoid. He suspects (correctly) that the young hero, David, who had originally been summoned to calm the King’s depression with his music, has been selected as his successor and determines to kill him. David, with the help and support of his friend Jonathan, Saul’s son, escapes.  Many hair-raising adventures ensue between the fifteenth and thirtieth chapter, where we pick up the narrative. (In between, there are witches, battles, bravery, love stories, betrayals, and adventure, and I am only skipping because of time and space constraints. Read it on your own time.)

By the thirtieth chapter, David and his band of loyalists have allied themselves with the Philistine King, Achish, who provides shelter to David in exchange for military service. David has deluded the King into believing that he has become an enemy of Israel, making war against various nomadic tribes and bringing the plunder to the King, under the pretense that it has been taken from the Israelites, whom he purports to despise. The King is so grateful, and so enamored of David’s performance, that he rewards him with the city of Ziklag, in which David’s army and their families establish homes and a community.

When Achish goes to war with the Israelites, he would like David to accompany him and fight alongside him, but his officers distrust David and fear that he will side with his people against the Philistines. So Achish sends David and his men back from the front.

Upon their return to Ziklag, the men are confronted by a catastrophic disaster.  Amalekites have attacked while the men were absent, burned the homes, stolen the livestock, and kidnapped the wives and children, including David’s two wives, Abigail and Ahinoam. The people are furious at . . . David, and threaten to stone him. He, however, trusts in God, consults the priest, finds that it is a propitious time to do battle, and proceeds with 600 men to pursue the Amalekites.

[If you are wondering where so many Amalekites came from, given the fact that Saul has just been reported to have killed all of them but the King, a possible explanation is that, as set forth in Deuteronomy, whenever the Israelites engaged in battle and arrived at an enemy city, they were obligated to offer terms of peace and safe passage to anyone who surrendered and agreed to certain conditions. Rambam surprisingly suggests that this even applies to the war against the Amalekites. If so, it is not inconceivable that a significant number of Amalekites accepted the terms, surrendered, agreed to a ceasefire, and then, being Amalekites, violated their promise immediately.]

On the way to battle, 200 of David’s men become too exhausted to ford a stream and are left behind. David comes upon an Egyptian man, who had been enslaved by the Amalekites (they were apparently into human trafficking) and left to die in the wilderness by his owner because he had become ill. David’s men feed and tend to the man, and he leads them to the Amalekite camp, where David’s band finds them spread out over the land, eating, drinking, and celebrating their successful looting of the Philistines and residents of Judah.

David’s men attack and, in a day-long battle, kill all the Amalekites, except for 400 who escape on camels. They rescue everyone whom the Amalekites had taken, including David’s two wives. All of the people and property are recovered, and a significant amount of Amalekite property is also seized. The mean-spirited among the fighters want to keep all the property of the Amalekites for themselves, returning to the 200 who stayed behind only their own families and property, but David insists that the booty be shared equally among those who fought and those who stayed behind with the baggage.

David was concerned with maintaining the unity of the entire expeditionary force and would not allow dissension in the ranks. In solidarity with his people and friends, he also sent a portion of the “spoils of the enemies of God” to the elders of Judah, and Beth El, and Ramot of the South, and Yattir, and Aroer, and Sifmot, and Eshtemoa, and Rachal, and the cities of Yerachmiel, and the residents of the Kenite cities, and those in Chormah and in Kor Ashan and Attach, and Hebron, and everywhere else David and his men had traveled.

I repeat the entire list to illustrate . . . nope, I promised no interpretation, no moralizing and no message. I trust you to draw your own conclusions from this, as well as many of the other details in the narrative.

Dai lakhkima birmiza. The analysis is yours to complete. The rest is silence, as Hamlet said.