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DEUTERONOMY — 14:29 widow

DEUT698 The atmosphere in Jerusalem [during the festivals], says Rambam [Maimonides, would encourage public–spiritedness. Food would always be plentiful, since the fruit of trees in their fourth year, the tithe of cattle, and the corn, wine, and oil of the second tithe would all have been brought there. They could not be sold and they could not be kept for the next year; therefore much would be given away in charity, especially (as the Torah specifies) to "the Levite… and the stranger, and the orphan, and the widow" [this verse]. Writing about America in the 1830s, Alexis de Tocqueville found that he had to coin a new word for the phenomenon he encountered there and saw as one of the dangers in a democratic society. The word was individualism. He defined it as "a mature and calm feeling which disposes each member of the community to sever himself from the mass of his fellows and to draw apart with his family and his friends," leaving "society at large to itself." (Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, abridged with an introduction by Thomas Bender (New York: Vintage Books, 1954), 2:104). Tocqueville believed that democracy encouraged individualism. As a result, people would leave the business of the common good entirely to the government, which would become ever more powerful, eventually threatening freedom itself. It was a brilliant insight. ... Where public–spiritedness is low, society fails to cohere and the economy fails to grow.… Loving God helps make us better citizens and more generous people, thus countering the individualism that eventually makes democracies fail.

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DEUTERONOMY — 20:19 destroy

DEUT1012 This prohibition against destroying fruit-bearing trees was known as the rule of bal tashhit, "do not destroy." On the face of it, it is highly limited in scope. It does no more than forbid a "scorched earth" policy in the conduct of war. It seems to have no peacetime application. However, the sages understood it very broadly as including any act of needless destruction. Rambam states the law thus: "Not only does this apply to trees, but also whoever breaks vessels or tears garments, destroys a building, blocks a wellspring of water, or destructively wastes food transgressors the command of bal tashhit." (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Melakhim 6:10). This is the halachic basis of an ethic of environmental responsibility.

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DEUTERONOMY — 24:5 joy

DEUT1335 Simha [joy] in the Torah is never about individuals. It is always about something we share. A newly married man does not serve in the army for a year, says the Torah, so that he can stay at home "and bring joy to the wife he has married" [this verse]. You shall bring all your offerings to the central Sanctuary, says Moses, so that "there, in the presence of the Lord your God, you and your families shall eat and rejoice in all you have put your hand to, because the Lord your God has blessed you" (Deuteronomy 12:7). The festivals as described in Deuteronomy are days of joy, precisely because they are occasions of collective celebration: "you, your sons and daughters, your male and female servants, the Levites in your towns, and the strangers, the fatherless and the widows living among you" (Deuteronomy 16:11). Simha is joy shared. It is not something we experience in solitude.

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DEUTERONOMY — 30:19 choose

DEUT1621 In the face of suffering and loss, there are two fundamentally different questions an individual or nation can ask, and they lead to quite different outcomes. The first is, "What did I, or we, do wrong?" The second is, "Who did this to us?" It is not an exaggeration to say that this is the fundamental choice governing the destinies of people. The latter leads inescapably to what is today known as the victim culture. It locates the source of evil outside oneself. Someone else is to blame. It is not I or we who are at fault, but some external cause. The attraction of this logic can be overpowering. It generates sympathy. It calls for, and often evokes, compassion. It is, however, deeply destructive. It leads people to see themselves as objects, not subjects. They are done to, not doers; passive, not active. The results are anger, resentment, rage, and a burning sense of injustice. None of these, however, ever leads to freedom, since by its very logic this mindset abdicates responsibility for the current circumstances in which one finds oneself. Blaming others is the suicide of liberty. Blaming oneself, by contrast, is difficult. It means living with constant self-criticism. It is not a route to peace of mind. Yet it is profoundly empowering. It implies that, precisely because we accept responsibility for the bad things that have happened, we also have the ability to chart a different course in the future. Within the terms set by the covenant, the outcome depends on us. That is the logical geography of hope, and it rests on the choice Moses was later to define in these words: [this verse]. One of the most profound contributions Torah made to the civilisation of the West is this: that the destiny of nations lies not in the externalities of wealth or power, fate or circumstance, but in moral responsibility – the responsibility for creating and sustaining a society that honors the image of God within each of its citizens, rich and poor, powerful or powerless alike. The politics of responsibility are not easy. The curses of Leviticus 26 are the very reverse of comforting. Yet the profound consolations with which they end are not accidental, nor are they wishful thinking. They are testimony to the power of the human spirit when summoned to the highest vocation. A nation that sees itself as responsible for the evils that befall it is also a nation that has an inextinguishable power of recovery and return.

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