Deuteronomy: Direction and Doubt

The Book of Deuteronomy presents Moses standing before his people, delivering his final oration on their past, the nature and content of their covenant with the Creator, and how their future faithfulness will determine their peace or catastrophic abandonment to their enemies. Certain passages are recited daily in synagogues, emphasizing the importance of remembering the covenant and teaching it to children, as well as affixing a mezuzah on doorposts and wearing tefillin on the forehead and arm. The ultimate distillation of the Tradition is found in Deuteronomy 6:4–5, the Shema: Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad (“Hear, O Israel: God is our God, God is one”).

Deuteronomy also contains passages we might prefer to forget, particularly the instructions to carry out herem—the complete destruction of Canaanite communities in the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 7:1–2, 20:16–18). These idolatrous communities, the text warns, must be utterly destroyed to prevent their corrupt practices, including child sacrifice, from influencing Israel.

Thousands of years later, we reflect on times when Jewish communities were similarly annihilated—down to infants—in the name of “purifying” lands, whether under Christian, Islamic, or modern ideologies such as Nazism or communism.

The herem directives are framed within the reentry into the land of Israel. Its inheritors, the people of Israel, are instructed to inspire the world through their righteousness (Deuteronomy 4:5–8). They are not enjoined to take over territory outside of it. The land promised to Israel is small, surrounded by often more numerous and powerful neighbors. Israel is explicitly told not to dispossess nations like Edom (descendants of Esau) outside the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 2:4–5) and to negotiate peaceful transit and mutual non-interference with other nations along their journey (Deuteronomy 2:26–29). Within the Promised Land, however, certain passages mandate the complete destruction of Canaanite communities (Deuteronomy 7:1–2).

One way to approach these disturbing passages is through the lens of later rabbinic commentary, which often mitigates their severity by narrowing the concept and establishing legal barriers so formidable that it cannot be implemented. For example, the passage about the rebellious son (Deuteronomy 21:18–21), who is to be taken to the city gates for judgment and possible execution, was interpreted by the rabbis as one that was never carried out and never will be. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 71a) stipulates conditions so stringent—such as both parents denouncing the child simultaneously with identical words—that the law was turned into hyperbole. Many passages in the Torah call for the death penalty, but the legal safeguards ensured it was almost never carried out. A Sanhedrin that executed one person in seventy years was considered excessively harsh (Mishnah Makkot 1:10).

It is not only later commentators but also the original compilers of the Bible who appear troubled by the idea of killing people solely for belonging to communities with wicked beliefs. The Israelites themselves are described as the smallest of nations, chosen not for their superior power or righteousness but through a reciprocal covenant at Sinai (Deuteronomy 7:6–8). They are a model, an experiment in realizing God’s sacred order to inspire other nations by example. The Israelites are repeatedly called “stiff-necked” (resistant to authority, even God’s; Deuteronomy 9:6, 9:13), and their leaders—Aaron, Moses, and Miriam—are depicted as flawed, prone to anger or jealousy (e.g., Numbers 12:1–2, 20:10–12). The Bible does not shy away from portraying non-Israelites positively, such as Melchizedek, the priest who blesses Abraham (Genesis 14:18–20), or Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law (Exodus 18:1–12). The midwives who defied Pharaoh’s order to kill Hebrew newborns were likely Egyptians, not Israelites (Exodus 1:15–21).

Deuteronomy itself suggests a gradual conquest, “little by little,” rather than a single ferocious campaign (Deuteronomy 7:22). The story of the Gibeonites (Joshua 9:3–27) illustrates this nuance. The Gibeonites, fearing destruction, tricked the Israelites into believing they were from a distant land. Joshua and the leaders made a covenant with them, and despite the deception, the Israelites honored it, sparing the Gibeonites and integrating them as servants. This story highlights the value of keeping one’s word, even when deceived, and suggests flexibility in applying herem.

Deuteronomy justifies herem by pointing to the Canaanites’ idolatry, including practices like child sacrifice (Deuteronomy 12:31). Yet the concern over killing children for a theological cause undermines the notion that Israelites should do the same, even in a righteous cause. This opens the possibility that a community repenting of idolatry might be spared, a conclusion explicitly reached by Maimonides centuries later (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Kings and Wars 6:1–4).

Later biblical texts grapple with the morality of killing the vanquished. In 1 Samuel 15, King Saul is commanded by God through the prophet Samuel to execute herem against the Amalekites, destroying them utterly, including their king, Agag, due to their historical aggression against Israel (1 Samuel 15:2–3). Saul defeats the Amalekites but spares Agag and the best of the livestock, citing the people’s desire to offer sacrifices (1 Samuel 15:8–9, 15:15). This act of disobedience angers God, and Samuel confronts Saul, declaring that obedience is better than sacrifice (1 Samuel 15:22–23). As a result, God rejects Saul as king (1 Samuel 15:26–28).

Samuel then summons Agag, who approaches “with faltering steps,” saying, “Ah, bitter death!” (1 Samuel 15:32, JPS). This speech may reflect Agag’s fear or resignation, possibly due to his awareness of his impending fate. However, Samuel offers no mercy, declaring, “As your sword has bereaved women, so shall your mother be bereaved among women” (1 Samuel 15:33, JPS). Samuel then cuts Agag down before God. The text questions itself in its humanization of Agag. Samuel’s condemnation of him for rendering women childless is accompanied by the recognition that Agag himself has a mother.

In the Book of Jonah, the prophet is repelled by the idea of pronouncing doom on the wicked city of Nineveh (Jonah 1:1–3, 4:1–11). Jonah’s reluctance may stem from a sense that it affronts his dignity or justice to proclaim doom only for God to forgive Nineveh upon its repentance. God ultimately rebukes Jonah for his self-regard and lack of compassion for people “who do not yet know their right hand from their left” (Jonah 4:11, JPS).

Earlier in the Bible, the founder of the nation, Abraham, questions God himself about the justice of destroying the wicked cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. He cajoles God into admitting that He would spare the city if it contained even ten righteous men (Genesis 18:22–33).

Archaeological evidence does not confirm that the Israelites ever carried out herem as described. One interpretive approach is to read these extreme injunctions as literary hyperbole, intended to underscore the sacred nature of the land of Israel and the Israelites’ mission.

The modern state of Israel is faced with dilemmas to which no other nation is subjected. It is the object of annihilationist hatred from extremist elements in both old religions and new ones, including woke leftism. It has a duty to protect its own people. It cannot do so at the price of betraying the commitment to the sacredness of human life—even of its enemies—that is at its foundation. If King Agag were captured today, he would be allowed to live. In fact, while in Israeli prison for his murderous terrorism, Israel provided life-saving treatment for a modern equivalent of Agag, the despicable Yahya Sinwar. By saving him, Israel increased the danger to its own citizens. Had it failed to do so, it would have betrayed its highest ideals.

Now more than ever, Israel has to make terrible choices. Do you sacrifice the lives of young soldiers to rescue hostages? How many civilian casualties are acceptable even in the pursuit of legitimate military objectives? To save hostages and soldiers now, how many terrorists do you free—and at the cost of incentivizing how much more hostage-taking, how many more wars?

Our Tradition, our Bible, raises all the right questions, but leaves many of them unanswered—even in its own time. We know that herem cannot be right today, was probably never right; we sympathize with Agag, his mother; we wonder if Saul is more worthy of our sympathy than Samuel. Anyone with a sure sense of the right answers—about then, about now—has not been listening to the Bible itself.