PINCHAS THE ZEALOT: A MORAL PROBLEM
(Numbers 25:10-30:1)
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Whether it applies to social and political relations or to religion, our global society currently needs to take a sharp direction away from zealotry. The horrors that occur when gullible people – whether individuals or angry crowds – are manipulated by powerful zealots for their own ends sadly fill our television and internet screens these days. It’s not new. It has happened over and over again in history, going right back to biblical times and even before. Often God – or the zealot’s misguided understanding of a deity’s transfer of power – is used as an excuse.
In the book of Numbers in the Holy Bible, Pinchas (a grandson of Aaron the priest) is rewarded for using his spear – on his own authority — to pierce through a Jewish man and his Moabite paramour (Zimri and Cozbi, daughter of Zur) in the privacy of the Jewish offender’s tent. True, the tent is in the middle of the Jewish camp, so it seems like an intentional provocation by the couple. Also, in the first few verses (1-9) of Numbers 25, which precede where the Pinchas portion actually starts in verse 10, we get the bigger picture of the Moabite women whoring with the Israelite men and subsequently enticing them to make sacrifices to their pagan god, Baal-peor.
Remember that, for the Israelites in ancient times, idolatry was one of the three capital crimes; the other two were murder and adultery. Remember also that when Pinchas kills both participants in the midst of their infamous sex act in the Jewish camp’s tent, he is taking the law into his own hands. It is murder. The coupling is a moral problem in more ways than one.
And yet the biblical account excuses Pinchas’ passionate act: God’s wrath is thus deflected from the Israelites’ licentious behavior with the enticing women, and therefore, God does not completely wipe them out with a plague (24,000 have already been killed). In God’s eyes, according to the Bible, the impassioned, zealous act of Pinchas has expiated the sin of the Israelites. That’s why he is rewarded with the covenant of peace (which suggests that Pinchas will have to keep the peace too! Nor do Cozbi’s relatives go after Pinchas in revenge.) And Pinchas and his descendants will remain priests for all time.
In my view, God made a mistake by glorifying Pinchas’ zealotry. Earlier in the Bible, Abraham argues with God when he thinks God’s decision is wrong; Moses also argues with God; and in each case God changes his actions. One may reflect that even God is still learning about human beings and their strange behavior in early biblical times. Several thousands years later, all kinds of experts in human behavior are still trying to do that.
The reason that I think excusing Pinchas from murder charges because of his noble intent is mistaken is this: Throughout the following centuries right up to today, impassioned people who believed they were the good guys, and that their cause was right, have massacred those who prayed to a different god – or even thought differently. I don’t think Pinchas deserved to keep his priestly stature after he committed an impulsive act of murder. Yet, in view of his passion for God, Pinchas is given a “pact of friendship (v.12).”
“What exactly is this pact of friendship that the Holy One gave to Phineas [his Egyptian name]?”asks the medieval rabbinic authority, Abarbanel. The commentators of the Middle Ages note, however, that in the telling of Pinchas’ story, the Hebrew letter vav (representing “and”) that connects peace and friendship is written with a break in the middle (Michael Carasik, “Numbers,” The Commentators Bible: The Rubin JPS Miqra’ot Gedolot, NY: JPS, 193.) It is worthy of note that in Jewish biblical law, a priest who has killed someone was not permitted to give the priestly benediction. The Torah is subtle in its disapproval.
The whole story would make some great episodes on “Law and Order.”
Interestingly, there is some controversy among the medieval rabbis as to whether the biblical story applies to the Midianites or the Moabites. While the Jewish Publication Society translation refers to the Moabite women, medieval commentators tend to refer to the same women as Midianites. So, which pagan tribe is it? If indeed the immoral women were Moabites, we should remember Ruth, who (later in the Bible) was so loyal and kind to Naomi, who put aside her own beliefs, who was the ancestress of King David – Ruth also came from Moab. She is considered Judaism’s first convert.
So perhaps another ending was possible for the murdered couple fornicating in the tent.
* * * *
Fortunately, as I see it, this Torah portion is redeemed by the inspiring story of the daughters of Zelophehad, from the tribe of Manassah, which also appears in this portion. Their names, which should be honored, are Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They made their argument forthrightly, not to God, but to Moses, their acknowledged leader. They pointed out that their recently deceased and honorable father was not one of the rebellious Korach’s faction. Unfortunately, though, their father died without sons. According to biblical custom at that time, his five daughters could not inherit his property.
Speaking jointly, respectfully, and logically to Moses – this episode shortly follows the Korach rebellion in the chronology of the Bible – the five daughters made an excellent case for their father’s property being transferred to them even though they were women. They explained that otherwise the continuance of their father’s name would be lost to his clan, who would absorb the property. Blotting out someone’s name was a serious turn of events in biblical times.
Moses was impressed both by their argument and their intelligent demeanor. Long before the Women of the Wall clamoring for equality in modern Israel, the five daughters of Zelophehad were effective feminists – and in turn, Moses brought the case to God for judgment.
As the Bible portrays it, God also thought the case of the five daughters was just. It was right that they should get the hereditary holding among their father’s kinsmen. “Transfer their father’s share to them,” God is quoted as ruling in the Bible (Numbers 27:6-11). “Further, speak to the Israelite people as follows: ‘If a man dies without leaving a son, you shall transfer his property to his daughter.’ ” And God’s word became the law of the land. In my view, God made a much better decision in this instance than in the case of Pinchas. Maybe that’s why both cases are in the same parsha. If you make a mistake, it’s always possible to redeem yourself.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Long ago, when I was a star-struck teenager in Montreal, I would attend matinees on Wednesday afternoons. On these theatrical expeditions, I was accompanied by my mother who considered it “cultural enrichment” (her notes to my teachers on Thursday mornings always attributed my absences to a cold). Usually we would go to “His Majesty’s Theatre” (when Queen Elizabeth ascended to the throne, it became “Her Majesty’s Theatre”). Since we were frequent attendees, and my mother’s budget was small, we sat in the top balcony (many aspiring actors were there too). In order to see the players’ features clearly, what were then called “opera glasses” (although these plays weren’t opera, they were often “musicals”) were a boon.
So one of my first purchases, once I became a teenage radio actress actually earning a paycheck, was a pair of elegant opera glasses. Not any old opera glasses; these were black mother-of-pearl, delicately shaped and gold rimmed. They had their own silk cord so the opera glasses could rest around my neck, as well as a silk pouch to house them. They were mine for many years until a house robbery made them the illicit property of someone else. I missed them. They were a happy memory of my youth.
Not until I glimpsed the architectural marvel of the Opera House in Sydney, Australia, not until we toured these magically-conceived premises, did I re-experience the excitement of the curtain going up at His/Her Majesty’s Theatre. The dramatic sections of the Opera House,
like the winged shells of a concrete sea creature, rise from the sea, occupying all of Bennelong Point at Sydney Harbor. In 2007, the Operal House was declared a World Heritage Site.
The Sydney Opera House, which finally opened in 1973 after a lengthy gestation period beginning with an architectural competition in 1957, was designed by Danish architect Jorn Utzon. As a distinctive, multi-purpose, performing arts venue, it was declared a World Heritage Site in 2007. I consider it to be one of the wonders of the world.
And there, in the lobby, I found the replacement for my long-lost opera glasses. No matter that they were amber-colored, not pearl. They were delicately-shaped; they had a gold rim and cord. I would cherish them as a forever remembrance of Australia.
Although I purchase better seating when I go to the theatre today and don’t really need opera glasses, they symbolize a part of who I am. They recall a time when I was young and in love with the theatre, when life held great artistic momentum; they were an inspirational part of my route to eventually becoming a rabbi. They also symbolize the beauty, elegance, and sophistication of Sydney itself. A city to cherish and revisit, marked by engaging architecture; arched, fashionable shopping malls; quality food and merchandise. It was also full of tourists, and costs for food and shelter were staggeringly high. Many people who “live in Sydney” today actually live in the suburbs, which we couldn’t get to explore in the time we had at our disposal. We were told that the suburbs are beautiful too. And also expensive. If you visit Sydney, it will cost you, especially the hotels.
My new opera glasses were certainly a cut above the room we, my daughter and I, had reserved for our stay there. When we were choosing our hotel from Los Angeles, with the help of a reputable travel agent, we asked to keep our costs “reasonable”; he suggested that we might enjoy the vibrancy of the Chinese section of Sydney. “The hotel is modest,” he said, “but it’s an exciting part of town. Lots of great restaurants. Interesting art. Diversity.” All of that proved to be true, but he had never been there. What he didn’t know was that the “basic” hotel he booked for us stood right next to one that boasted a large sign: “Rooms by the hour.” And there were others quite similar. How basic can you get?
Actually, it proved to be great fun to walk around savoring the sights and sounds of “Chinatown.” In a sense, it was familiar territory. In Canada, Montreal, Toronto, and Vancouver each have a Chinatown. Many U.S. big cities have them: San Francisco, Los Angeles. And so on. Although most people of Chinese background don’t live there anymore, the tourist attractions, the food, the businesses remain. Actually, our hotel proved to be a moderately lengthy but pleasant walk to the harbor, where our activities for the day – and the Opera House – were located. It’s easy to spend an entire day at the harbor. If you have the physical energy, as many athletic visitors do, you can climb the walking path of the bridge high enough to gain an amazing view. Half-way up, there is a small museum. My daughter climbed. I watched.
Now that we had our bearings in Sydney (we gauged distance from the harbor), I checked out the location of the historical Old Synagogue and the times when we could visit. Along with the Jewish Museum, a much newer edifice, that would be my destination for the next day. Even if you don’t visit a religious establishment, a trip to Australia brings you close to God.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Who would have thought that politically correct terminology would extend to the little penguins of Phillip Island, Victoria province, just a couple of hours driving time from the city of Melbourne? In Australia, where my daughter and I were spending a few precious tourist days, these little penguins were formerly called “fairy penguins” because of their small size. The smallest species of penguin (Eudyptula minor), about 13 inches in height and 17 inches in length, they can be found on the coastlines of Southern Australia and New Zealand. Phillip Island is said to be home to about 33,000 breeding adults, its one remaining penguin colony.
To me, a “fairy” conjures up the delicate creatures with gossamer wings that populated my story books when I was a child. Or the cartoon fairies in Walt Disney movies. But, owing to sensitivity to the LGBTQ movement, in recent years the “fairy” penguins are referenced in public documents as “little penguins.” Their Maori name is korora.
In any case, they are much, much smaller than the Emperor penguins of the Antarctic, whose lifestyles were captured in “The March of the Penguins,” an awe-inspiring 2005 documentary that caught the popular imagination. The Emperor Penguins sported black and white feathers, but these little penguins in Australia are blue and white – blue-feathered, to camouflage them from land-predators by blending into the deep blue sea where they spend 80 percent of their time foraging for food for their babies; and white-bellied to protect them from predators swimming below them in the sea. They are the only penguins in the world with blue and white outer feathers, which they keep waterproof by preening (and adding a drop of oil onto every feather from a special gland above the tail). Their feathers adapt into flippers for swimming.
Realizing how unique these penguins are, Penguin Island officials provide a way for interested tourists to watch the nightly parade of little penguins emerging from the sea – a ritual that occurs only at sunset and always at sunset, every day. Visitors must order tickets in advance that allow them to sit on benches set not too close to the sea in order not to scare the penguins but still close enough to see them well. As visitors, my daughter and I had to arrive and be seated early for the same reason.
Oh, it is so cold and windy out there on the beach. The sea is freezing cold too. The penguins like it that way. My daughter and I huddled up close to one another in jackets and hats and blankets, but the sea mist and the wind cut right through. Our fingers and toes froze. Only a few hours earlier we had been in warm and welcoming Melbourne. But we had come too far to retreat to the bus.
It was well worth it though, the experience of a true natural marvel as we watched the little penguins become partly visible, almost separating themselves from the waves one at a time, looking around to see if other penguins had arrived yet, and then ducking back into the sea to wait for the safety of additional penguin company before they braved the land.
There was reason to be fearful. Predators in the form of large land birds – sometimes there are feral dogs or cats as well — were already circling the shore in anticipation of the penguins’ sunset arrival. So the little penguins waited. There would be safety in numbers. You couldn’t help but marvel at the wonders of God’s world as more and more penguins appeared in ones and twos and threes. Finally there were enough to get into formation.
Instinctively they formed a little, single-file army, one brave penguin leading. One after another, they marched, following the penguin ahead in a straight line, no penguin diverging, and, once back in the grasses that lined the shore, they hurried directly to their individual burrows (little Australian penguins live in burrows). The land birds did not have the temerity to attack such a formidable-appearing force, even if individually each penguin was only a little over a foot tall.
How did the little penguins know where to go once they crossed the beach to the grasses that lined the shore? They were directed by the cries of their babies. To our human ears, all of them seemed to be crying out to their mothers together in one huge cacophony of wails. But just as a human mother somehow recognizes the cry of her own baby, so the penguins could identify the sound of their own. And they went straight to where their male partners were still guarding the babies. It was a moment not to be missed.
How do you tell the girls from the boys? The males have a little extra hook on their beaks. They are the ones that guard the babies in their burrows while the females are in the sea for long days, gorging themselves on seafood so that they will able to feed their babies. It’s an interesting feeding mechanism, kind of like an internal blender with a spout. They simply regurgitate the food from their beaks into their baby penguins’ hungry mouths. Economical and efficient. The wails on Phillip Island ceased.
Little penguins don’t necessarily mate for life; it depends on the breeding success of the couples in producing eggs. (Divorce rates may run up to 50 percent.) Normally, the females lay two eggs (about the size of chicken eggs), with an incubation period of 35 days. Yes, both parents take turns in incubating their eggs. Then the little ones head out to sea when they are between 7 to 11 weeks old. And they know what to do! As if they were touched by a fairy wand!
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
Naturally my daughter and I couldn’t “see” all of Australia in the brief eight days we were touring there. Or to know it beyond a few choice locales. It would be like claiming familiarity in a week with the vast but disparate territories that make up the U.S. or Canada. But there were certainly many unforgettable moments, enough to make us want to return for more.
Who could forget sailing into Sydney harbor at sunrise? We rose at 5 AM in order not to miss the sunrise, and, as we stepped onto the ship’s top deck, already crowded with passengers who didn’t want to miss it either, we gasped at the first sight of perhaps the most beautiful harbor in the world, yet strangely reminiscent in its early morning, ethereal beauty of Vancouver’s equally breath-taking harbor in Canada. As a matter of fact, I thought fondly of Canada throughout my visit to Australia. Both countries were historically colonies of Great Britain in the time of its proud, great Empire. Both are now independent countries, of course; yet, as a Canadian-born person, I felt an almost automatic kinship to Australians, both of us retaining more than a little bit of Brit “keep your chin up” in us.
It was not such a happy entry into Australia for England’s Esther Abrahams, in 1787. But she did keep her chin up, despite her disastrous early history. Her story is so well known in Australia that her portrait looks down at visitors today at the Jewish Museum in Sydney. Tourist brochures mention her. Internet sites record her story. At the age of 15, unmarried and recently pregnant, she was convicted at London’s infamous Old Bailey courtroom of stealing 24 yards of silk lace and sentenced to seven years transportation to Australia, where she would work as a convict. She sailed there on Lady Penrhyn, one the First Fleet’s sixships of convicts, certainly not in the luxurious comfort my daughter and I experienced on our cruise ship, but below the waterline with the portholes bleakly boarded up, and along with 262 other convicts, 15 of them Jewish. Of the 582 convicts aboard the first six ships, 193 were women. And, of all the convicts shipped to Australia in the years transportation as a sentence was in force, an estimated 7 % of them were Jewish. Some of them were part of Australia’s first police force, which was made up largely of convicts.
It would have been a sad entry for Esther Abrahams into the hardships – rape, among other things – that female convicts faced in colonial Australia if she had not encountered a young marine lieutenant, the well-born George Johnson, aboard the ship; his duties took him down below to keep order. Since she was a most attractive young lady, with curly, black hair, an oval face, a rather long nose, and a rosebud mouth, and he was 23, he promptly fell in love with her. He even purchased a nanny goat at one of the stops so that Esther’s newborn, Roseanna, could have milk. She was to become his “de facto” wife when they landed, and — since she had plenty of brains as well as beauty – they accumulated large financial holdings, He finally married her some 25 years later. In the interim, they had seven children together.
Although Johnson was later court-martialed for his part in the mutiny against the colony’s infamous governor, William Bligh, he was cleared of most of the charges. For six months, in fact, he served as the acting Governor of the colony in Bligh’s stead. And that is how, Esther Abrahams, former Jewish felon, became the “First Lady” of Australia for a short time. It is said that she wisely kept herself in the background.
After Johnson died, he left his extensive property to Esther; after her death, it was to go to his children. Unfortunately, her eldest son couldn’t wait for that eventuality, and it resulted in unsavory litigation; he tried to declare her senile. She spent her last years living quietly in the home of her youngest son, David. Some of her descendants became influential leaders in Australia.
by Rabbi Corinne Copnick
It was on a middle-sized Cruise Ship that I realized how much I had absorbed from my six years of rabbinic education. Like the medical doctor of an earlier time who made house calls with a medical bag in tow, I had taken a small suitcase of books with me, as well as the short sermons and other material I had pre-prepared in file folders before boarding the ship in Vancouver, Canada for the High Holy Days. We were headed for the South Pacific. I knew that I would have very limited access to the Internet for supplementary material, so I had taken the precaution of bringing a dozen copies of specific services and — since plants or fruit could not be brought onto the ship — of preparing a bubble-wrapped lulav with artificial leaves representing the palm, myrtle, and willow for Succoth services. These were my materials. The rest was in my head and my heart. In addition, as Guest Staff Rabbi on the Cruise Ship, I would have to adapt to the different rooms and schedules assigned for religious services. They would be empty rooms until I used my then newly-minted rabbinic capabilities to make them into Makoms, into sacred spaces, and the diverse people who would come to fill them into a temporary community.
Well into the cruise, a woman with slightly greying hair, Bernadine, hugged me to her joyfully in the corridor outside the room where I had just conducted an Erev Shabbat prayer service. Our ship was a mere dot on the vast Pacific ocean at the time, voyaging between Vancouver, Canada and Sydney, Australia. On the way we had already visited some of the many groups of Pacific islands: Hawaii (Honolulu), American Samoa (a U.S. territory where the indigenous people are intent on preserving their culture, yet there are many churches of various denominations, with the Mormon Church predominating); Fiji (only 133 of 300 plus islands are inhabited); Vana’atu (Mystery Island, an uninhabited island, where some episodes of “The Survivor” were filmed); and New Caledonia (formerly a French colony, where American troops were stationed during WW II). But at that moment of our cruise hug, all we could see through the ship’s many large windows were sky and sea melting into one another. A time and place to marvel at the works of the Divine, indeed.
“I have the courage now,” Bernardine cried, happy tears escaping down her cheeks. “I thought I was too old, but you inspired me.” She had been working with seniors for years and had long yearned for but hesitated to enter a degree program in gerontology. “I’m going to take the plunge,” she confided. With his arm around her shoulders, her husband nodded his own encouragement. They were both devout Catholics. We had first met when I was invited to “preach” at one of the Catholic masses held daily on the ship. On another occasion, I was asked to read a passage from the Old Testament. In return, the priest (a retiree) attended most of our Jewish services — where I honored him in a similar fashion.
In a meaningful interfaith service at the Arizona Memorial in Oahu, all the on-board clergy (the priest, the Protestant minister, and myself as rabbi) participated jointly in memorializing the men who died at sea at Pearl Harbor — the infamous attack that caused the U.S. to declare war on Japan. After that deeply felt occasion, we three clergy enjoyed having several lunches together. We discussed religious similarities and differences between our respective faiths. Their congregational concerns were very much like those we face in Jewish life today: declining membership and attendance; making religion relevant to a new generation; intensified focus on educating youth; attending to the changing needs of a growing elderly population more likely now to stay in their homes than opt for costly assisted-living residences; interference in (or fear of) speaking from the pulpit about public issues that needed to be addressed; and, yes, we talked honestly about Israel.
So did a number of people (both Jews and non-Jews) who would approach me from time to time on the ship to ask challenging questions, things they were too reticent to ask in more formal settings. Some were evangelical Christians who wanted me to know that they were definitely “pro-Israel.” One person asked me if sacrifices still figure in Judaism today, and if the blood libel had any truth to it. Another man quoted chapter and verse from the Book of Daniel and wanted to know why, in the light of these prophecies, Jews still would not accept Jesus as their Messiah. Fortunately, my pluralistic rabbinic training at AJRCA had prepared me to field questions such as these. I always had to be “on” as a rabbi.
My tour of duty also included Sh’mini Atzeret (it was fun to pray for rain with water, water all around us!) and a joyful Simchat Torah. Our little Jewish “community” all took turns reading from the Plaut Torah (in book form since we didn’t have a Torah scroll) in English. Other than an Israeli couple (and an American who lived half the year in Eilat) who made up my regular minyan of ten or 12 people—a good turnout considering the small proportion of Jews on the ship — none of my “congregants” could read Hebrew.
It was satisfying to shape such disparate people — from Canada, Australia, England, America, Mexico, and Israel — into a little community that gleefully took the two loaves of challah and two bottles of ritual wine provided for us for the festivals and Sabbath eves into the dining room for Friday night dinner together. They even approached several “Jews who don’t go” on the ship and encouraged them to join our Friday nights.
One couple who live in Mexico asked if I would be willing to travel there to lead services in their small, artistic community’s synagogue. Their lay rabbi had left for a bigger synagogue in another town. “We can’t pay you,” she said, “but you’d have a nice vacation and a place to stay. We could probably pay your airfare.” A very nice offer, but unfortunately, I still have to pay back my student loans.
However, my experiences as Guest Staff Rabbi (this was only my second cruise; I’ve since had five more) can’t be measured in dollars and cents. Being a Cruise Rabbi demands adjustment to the personalities and prayer expectations of people who may be from conservative, reform, non-practicing orthodox, and even alternative backgrounds. In my conversations with some Israelis on the ship, they defined themselves as secular Jews, yet they consider the orthodox way the only “right” way to be Jews.
That’s why Arik — who “goes to shul only once a year and that’s enough!” — couldn’t bring himself to accept an artificial lulav, electric candles (because we were not allowed to light real ones on the ship), and a lemon from the ship’s kitchen instead of an etrog (the fourth species, a member of the citrus family) for Succoth, the Jewish harvest celebration in the autumn. “A lemon is not an etrog,” he said excitedly. He is right. It’s not. But where do you get a fresh etrog in the middle of the South Pacific ocean on a 25-day cruise? At least we had dinner together in a temporary shelter (okay, not a branch-covered hut, but at least an Ark of sorts). On the first night of Succoth, we waved the artificial lulav in every direction (which way was east?), thanked God that we had survived to this season, and invited imaginary guests to join us. When we stepped outside on deck, looked at the stars, and inhaled the cresting waves, we were a community, joyful and hopeful for the future.
Later, when we explored Isle des Pins (Island of Pines), one of the New Caledonian islands, we climbed about 150 rough-hewn, slippery stone steps to reach a tiny church that was several hundred years old and still in use. Originally built by Catholic missionaries using indigenous artisans who put into play their imaginative woodcarving, it was perched high on a mountain top. At the rear of the church, overlooking the sea, stood a tall Catholic memorial carved in stone. At its top, a saintly stone figure held a cross aloft, Statue of Liberty style. The memorial was dedicated to the men of the island who had served France in two World Wars. And circling the memorial stone were native totems, tall ones to recognize those who had been high chiefs, as was the native custom. In between the tall totems were symmetrically interspersed, shorter totems to signify lower orders in the indigenous hierarchy. Here, in this beautiful, natural setting with abundant flowers, traditional Catholicism was mixed with native culture — a phenomenon we call “syncretism” today — to honor the men who had given their lives for freedom.
One might say, comparatively speaking, that this memorial was not exactly an oval-shaped, bumpy-skinned etrog in its adherence to strict religious belief, but in its combined purpose of respect paid and beauty intended to elevate and comfort, it was like a fresh lemon, golden yellow and round. It was both touching and reverent. As this blended memorial etched itself into the camera of my memory, it supported my belief as a young-old rabbi that the spirit of religion often trumps the letter of the law.
*This article by Rabbi Corinne Copnick was originally published in 2015 on the AJRCA website.