Kōrakh and Collective punishment / קרח און קאָלעקטיווע שטראָף

This is a weekly series

of parsha dvarim (Tōrah commentaries) written by a frum, atheist, transsexual anarchist. It's crucial in these times that we resist the narrative that Zionism owns Judaism. Our texts are rich—sometimes opaque, but absolutely teeming with wisdom and fierce debate. It's the work of each generation to extricate meaning from our cultural and religious inheritance. I aim to offer comment which is true to the pshat (i.e. engages with the plain meaning of the text, especially when it's difficult) and uses Tōrah like a light to reflect on our modern times.

An appeal

I've been making the same appeal for weeks, and it's still needed. My friend Kamal needs help to leave Gaza. He is trying to immigrate to Greece to save his own life and to search for his missing son, who in desperation took a small and dangerous lifeboat across the Mediterranean. Please donate what you can.

Content note

Collective punishment (in the Tōrah and in the abstract); mention of war and genocide in Palestine

Power struggle against hierarchy

The parsha this week is dominated by the power struggle between brothers Mōshe Rabeynu and Ahrōn haKōhen vs. Kōrakh and his followers. Because Mōshe and Ahrōn are divinely designated as community leaders, Hashem takes offense at the attempted coup and wants to annihilate the entire community as punishment for Kōrakh's insolence. Twice, Mōshe and Ahrōn try to talk Hashem out of it, arguing against collective punishment, but they only partly succeed.

This parsha is full of beautiful/horrible magical imagery and difficult verses for those of us against hierarchies.

There are many explanations for why Kōrakh was wrong, but I'm not especially interested in that. I'm more interested in what happens to the group when we're all punished for someone else's transgression. Collective punishment is not justified, but/and it highlights the need for collective liberation. We are inextricably linked to each other, whether we like it or not.

"The ground under them burst asunder, and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up"

Kōrakh, a Leyvi supported by a band of 250, challenges the hierarchy of the Kōhanim (priesthood) and openly questions Mōshe and Ahrōn's power. He asserts that all the Jews are holy, and it's wrong for Mōshe and the Kōhanim to rule over them and treat them like runaway slaves. Mōshe rebukes him, reminding him that Leyvis already have special roles and privileges in the community. Mōshe instructs Kōrakh and the others to make incense offerings (as the Kōhanim do), promising that Hashem will choose whoever is worthy of the priesthood. The mechanism by which Hashem will demonstrate His choice is unstated.

The Israelites all gather at the entrance to the Mishkon, and Hashem tells Mōshe and Ahrōn to stand back so He can annihilate everyone. Mōshe and Ahrōn appeal to Hashem for mercy against collective punishment.

Bmidbar 16:22 (Misha Holleb)

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Mōshe has a troubled relationship with Hashem. He must constantly talk him off the ledge, reminding Him of His promises and begging Him not to kill everyone. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Hashem is a very powerful friend to have, but He's also a liability.

This time, Hashem relents and spares the group, killing Kōrakh and his immediate followers: the Earth swallows them whole, vanishing them and "all that is theirs" to Sheōl. Despite Mōshe's appeal against collective punishment, entire families are killed. Women and children (including adult children) are included as possessions of the men who challenge authority.

The 250 who offered incense as though they were Kōhanim are consumed by fire from Hashem. This is a clearer example of direct punishment for insubordination, without implicating innocent people uninvolved. Even though Hashem determined that their offering was sinful, the fire pans nonetheless became consecrated as holy objects through the offering. They are hammered into plating for the alter to serve as a warning to the rest of the community: a reminder of what happens when we step out of line.

Holy, holy, holy

Kōrakh and his band are right that the whole congregation is holy. Why is he punished for demanding greater participation in religious life and governance? Josephus (b. c.37 AD) says that Kōrach is jealous of Mōshe and believes he is entitled to a higher status because he is wealthy. Pirkey Ovōs says that Kōrakh's challenge was "not for the sake of Heaven" i.e. he was arguing in bad faith, sowing discord on purpose. Rightwing authors drash that "Kōrakh is the first socialist" and a danger to the natural and divine hierarchy (I'm not going to link to those; look it up yourselves at your peril).

Whatever explanation we pick, the pshat is painfully simple: don't challenge authority, neither Mōshe and Ahrōn's nor Hashem's. If you do, everyone will be punished.

"Remove yourselves from this community that I may annihilate them in an instant."

Mōshe and Ahrōn are blamed for the deaths of Kōrakh and his band. As the people gather against them, Mōshe and Ahrōn go toward the Mishkon where Hashem once again tells them to remove themselves from the community so He can kill everyone.

Mōshe tells Ahrōn to make an offering on behalf of the people for their sins, and to do it quickly because a plague of wrath has already begun. Ahrōn does, but still 14,700 die of plague.

There is even greater ambiguity now on the connection between those who rebelled and those who were punished. With Kōrakh and the 250 who died by fire, they were all at least directly connected to the budding rebellion. Of course, one could argue that direct involvement is not the only way to be culpable for harm: if 10 people are sitting at a table talking to a Nazi, you have 10 Nazis. Silence and respectability are no excuse.

But I think the plague reveals a more difficult truth: we are often judged collectively, and it's not fair. But this is also why we say "my liberation is bound up in yours" and "an injury to one is an injury to all". We are linked whether we like it or not.

Furthermore, we are responsible for each other. We cannot separate ourselves from those sowing discord or making mistakes. It's not enough to say "Jews Say No To Genocide." Jews must do something. We must materially support Palestine, and we must make our co-religionists see reason and stop killing. We can't cut abandon each other because that would mean abandoning ourselves. This isn't to say you must keep every individual toxic asshole in your life: don't. But we can't cut off entire swathes of our communities. We need each other.

"The staff of the candidate whom I choose shall sprout, and I will rid Myself of the incessant mutterings of the Israelites against you."

Hashem does another miracle to prove the holiness and chosenness of the Kōhanim, putting the issue to rest and quieting the murmurs of rebellion. He instructs Mōshe to gather staves from one chieftain of each tribe, inscribed with their names (with the addition of Ahrōn's name to the Leyvi staff) and to put them in the Ōhel Mōed (Tent of Meeting). The one which "buds" will indicate who Hashem chooses for the priesthood. The next day, the Leyvi-Ahrōn staff boasts sprouts with blossoms and almonds.

Upon witnessing this miracle, the people despair that they are to die if they go anywhere near the Mishkon. They conclude that they are not chosen, and therefore vulnerable. Hashem answers this fear with instruction for the Leyvis and Kōhanim: they bear exclusive responsibility for any guilt connected with the Mishkon and the priesthood, and have exclusive right to the gift offerings from the people, but no portion of land. The parsha finishes with details of the tithe system to pay the Kōhanim.

We are thus reassured that the "common" people will not die for the Mishkon—unless of course, Hashem decides that they will, like He just did and like He will again.

The Jewish people as a whole are understandably terrified of Hashem and the Mishkon which represents His dwelling place among them. This parsha is another example of the abusive relationship between Hashem and the Jews: we are powerless and coerced, forced to play by unclear rules and shifting goalposts. Sometimes our pleas for mercy are received. Sometimes 14,700 innocent people are killed.

Jewish tradition marks Mōshe Reneynu as a singular figure in our history/mythology. No one else ever has, or ever will have, such a close relationship with Hashem. The rest of us, even the Kōhanim and Leyvis, are treated as a collective: the Jews. Or, to zoom out: the people.

Many of the goyim treat all Jews as Zionists because Zionists have the most money, the loudest voices, and the bombs. We are all held responsible for a foreign government, and it's rightly called out as antisemitism.

But I believe that the antisemites are right: all Jews are responsible for the actions of the state of Israel and the IDF and the Zionists who support them, even if we don't personally know anyone pulling the trigger. We are collectively responsible for each other because that's what it means to share an identity. More than that: we are all responsible for each other because that's what it means to share a humanity.

It's not enough to distance ourselves from Zionists. We can (and should) take clear political positions of dissent against what is wrong. But we can't rest on being right in principle—we must act righteously. We must redeem our collective humanity.