Efrat, Israel – From a Torah perspective, which value is more important to the survival of society: peace or truth?

The Midrash describes how a thunderous debate broke out in heaven just as G-d was about to create the human being. Peace said yes, Truth said no – the human being, subject to whims, inconsistencies, compulsions and the need to make compromises, might learn to bring about peace but could never survive the scrupulous standards of truth. Nevertheless, G-d flings Truth to the ground and proceeds to create the human being.

Certainly, the authority and majesty of truth needs no defenders. But implicit in this Midrash is the view that in our world, more crucial than the pursuit of truth, is the achievement of peace.

The tension between these forces is at the heart of this week’s portion of Pinchas. Last week we were introduced to the lustful and lecherous behavior of the Israelites with the Moabite women immediately after Balak’s failure in getting Balaam to curse the Israelites. Despite the anger of G-d kindled against Israel, the Torah records how one man flaunts his lust by taking a Midianite woman and publicly fornicating with her.  The depravity of the situation so enraged Pinchas, the grandson of Aaron the High Priest, that without hesitation he grabbed a javelin and with one thrust killed both the man and the woman. His act, we are told, stops the plague that killed 24,000 people.

At the opening of this week’s portion, G-d expresses how Pinchas, by taking zealous action, turned G-d’s wrath away. “Behold, I give unto him My covenant of peace. And it shall be unto him, and to his seed after him, the covenant of an everlasting priesthood; because he was jealous for G-d, and made atonement for the children of Israel” (Numbers 25:12-13).

The concept of a ‘covenant of peace’ after an act of murder is a paradox we’ve explored in the past, but what I’d like to consider now is the unusual way the word “shalom” is written in the phrase “briti shalom” --My covenant of peace. If we look at an actual Torah scroll or even some printed texts, we discover that the ‘vav’ (a straight line that resembles the number one) in the word shalom is split in two. That is why our Sages refer to it as a vav ktuah, and if, for example, your printed text is the Hertz edition of the Pentateuch, it will reveal a top half and a bottom half, making this vav the most unique in the entire Torah.

With this in mind, the split vav and the flawed peace it suggests was granted to Pinchas may well be teaching us a crucial lesson concerning the relative values of truth and peace.  Interestingly enough, the Talmud deals with this question in a most creative way, in the form of a fascinating debate as to dispense the most proper justice.  According to R. Eliezer ben R. Yossi, “It is forbidden to establish arbitration of compromise (livtzoah).  Anyone who makes a compromise is a sinner, and everyone who praises the compromiser is scorned by G-d.”  Why is a compromise or arbitration a sin? According to R. Eliezer, “Justice splits the mountains,” and a compromised truth could never split a mountain.

R. Yehoshua ben Korcha argues that it is a mitzvah to make a compromise, quoting the prophets, “execute the judgment of truth and peace in your gates…” (Zachariah 8:16). And he continues, “Is it not true that wherever there is truth and justice there is not peace, (because one side wins and one side loses) and wherever there is peace, there is not truth and justice.  But what is justice that also contains peace, that is compromise.” And therefore when two people come before a judge, it’s a mitzvah for him to suggest a compromise.

My rebbe, Rav Soloveitchik, zt’l, claims that in this context the proper rendering of the Hebrew word, ‘livtzoah’ is not compromise but rather going beyond the requirements of strict justice.  In effect, he argues that true peace requires the higher justice of real truth, a truth which takes into account the entire background, the contributory factors and the ramifications which will ensue from any verdict rendered. Before ruling, the judge must understand that he is dealing not only with a legal problem but with live, flesh-and-blood people.

Now Pinchas’ law was a law of truth. When he saw two people fornicating, he had to stop immediately and permanently.  True, G-d rewards him with a covenant of peace, but the fact that the vav is split in the key word shalom indicates that there is something missing in the peace.  G-d is reminding Pinchas, and through him all subsequent generations, that only by linking peace to truth can we emerge with true peace and true truth.

Later on in our portion we find a vivid example of how the law of truth requires the muse of peace.  The daughters of Tzelafchad approach Moses with a claim that their father’s share in the land will be permanently lost because he left no male heir. Why should their father’s name be erased? The daughters of Tzelafchad plead for the right to inherit their father’s land. Moses then presents the case to G-d himself, who rules that “The daughters of Tzelafchad speak right, you shall surely give them a possession of an inheritance among their father’s brethren, and you shall cause the inheritance of their father to pass unto them” (Num. 27:7).

Is it possible that when G-d gave Moses the Torah on Sinai, He forgot to fill him in on all the laws of inheritance? Obviously this defies reason. However, we might suggest that it was part of G-d’s plan to intentionally leave this particular point out so that the claim of Tzelafchad’s daughters would demonstrate an actual case where the strict letter of the law (male inheritance) must be further interpreted in order to make sure that the land remains within the family, that daughters not be excluded from the apportionment of Israel. Law speaks eternally only when justice takes into account the interest of peace. Torah, after all, is the orchard whose “paths are paths of pleasantness and whose roads must lead to peace.”