In times of war, individuals may experience distractions that impede their ability to concentrate on the battle before them. While the observant Jew understands that Hashem is the Supreme General and that the war will play itself out in accordance with His will, the soldier must still endeavor to execute his mission and not undermine the battle plan. He must maintain his focus on the dangers ahead. His weakness affects not only him, but all the members of the battalion. The Torah recognizes three types of individuals whose circumstances may cause them to divert their attention from the battlefield.
One who has recently married is preoccupied with his spouse’s safety, the future of their relationship and his responsibilities vis-à-vis his new family. The emotional investment can engender fear and anxiety, potentially impacting his ability to concentrate fully on his duties as a soldier.
Acquiring a new house involves a significant financial and emotional investment. Thus, the individual who is a new homeowner might possibly be focusing his thoughts on settling his new home, making it secure and ensuring that his loved ones are safe and shielded from any unwanted assaults. The worry that accompanies such feeling can be all-consuming, leading to such distraction that he, too, will be unable to carry out his duties as a soldier.
Last is the individual who has just planted a vineyard and has yet to see and enjoy the fruits of his labors. His anticipation for a successful harvest and the material benefits he will reap can be a powerful distraction.
These distractions represent significant life events and responsibilities that can understandably weigh heavily on a person’s mind, especially during periods of adversity, such as war. These distractions can wreak havoc on one’s emotions, potentially affecting his ability to rely fully on Hashem for protection and guidance.
We wonder why one who possesses a real estate portfolio of hundreds of apartments does not return from battle. If anyone has reason to fear concerning the succession and infighting related to his inheritance, it is he. Likewise, one who has fields and vineyards galore, with hundreds of workers, does not have a “return home” dispensation. Surely, he has more on his mind than one little vineyard. What about the man who has a large family? Who will support them if he falls in battle?
Horav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, zl, gives a practical explanation of what appears to be an anomaly. Someone who has amassed a fortune of real estate, an abundance of fields, who has a large family at home – all of these men have one thing in common: they have been there. They have experienced the anxiety that accompanies one who is successful in business. They understand the meaning of fatherhood, its successes and nachas, and also the trials and tribulations that parents experience in raising their family. They are accustomed to worry, have been there and done that. The poor man who has finally scraped together enough money to make a down payment on a house or invested in a vineyard is consumed with his new venture. He is new at this, and, if he fails, he is finished. Likewise, the anxiety of undertaking to build a bayis ne’eman b’Yisrael, to raise a Toradik family, can be compelling. The novelty of these experiences builds up the momentum for distraction. Thus, they return home, where their distractions will not adversely affect others.
An additional person who returns prematurely from the battlefield is the man who is fearful and fainthearted. A debate in the Talmud (Sotah 44a) ensues concerning the source of this man’s fear. According to Rabbi Akiva, the Torah is addressing the coward who lacks faith in Hashem’s salvation. He fears that he is not worthy of a miracle. He should go home. Rabbi Yossi HaGlili contends that this declaration was directed at someone who fears his spiritual deficiencies will drag him down. He has sinned and feels unworthy of Hashem’s benevolence. Thus, in order to protect the dignity of these men, the Torah added three other categories. Therefore, no one will know the true reason that a soldier has returned home.
We do not accept a soldier’s reason for returning home unless he has witnesses to verify the veracity of his reason. Ramban (20:8) writes that this applies to the soldier who claims to have sinned. He must prove his sinfulness. Otherwise, anyone with anxiety issues will mislead the Kohen into allowing him to return home. The application concerning sinful behavior is explained by the Panim Yafos as resulting from the halachic rule that, Ein adam meisim atzmo rasha, “No man makes himself out to be wicked” (Kesubos 18b). Thus, the sinner has no choice but to confirm his less than appropriate behavior with witnesses.
Horav Yaakov Galinsky, zl, asks a practical question based upon a contrasting statement uttered numerous times in our Vidui, confession. Ein anu azei panim u’kshei oref lomar lefanecha tzaddikim anachnu v’lo chatanu, “We are not so brazen and obstinate as to say to You that we are righteous and have not sinned.” How do we reconcile these two ideas? The Maggid clarifies the dynamics of these contrasting ideas with the following inimitable story.
A drunkard who was addicted to alcohol spent more time unconscious than not. Obviously, this made the community look askance at his family. [We often do not realize the impact our behavior has on our family’s public persona.] They did everything but tape his mouth shut to prevent him from drinking. Finally, they agreed upon a contingency that would, hopefully, curb his drinking. They made him promise never to drink alone. This way, someone would be around to bring him home, so that he would not wallow in the gutter. The next time he had an urge to imbibe, he remembered his promise and waited for someone, anyone, to come along with whom he could share a drink. He was finding it difficult to find a partner. Everyone was either going to work, had an appointment, or was just not in the mood for a drink. He did not know how much longer he could hold out. A promise is a promise. He would keep his word and not drink alone.
He was becoming impatient. In anticipation of that elusive drinking partner, he poured two glasses of bourbon and waited. The fumes of the alcohol, however, were too tempting. As a man of honor, he would not break his word. A promise was a promise. This did not mean he was prohibited from being creative concerning a drinking partner. Suddenly, his morose expression brightened, as he saw a fly alight onto one of the cups of liquor. “Welcome,” he said to the fly. “Let us have a drink together.” He immediately raised his cup and toasted the fly with a loud, L’chaim! The fly was about to take off when the drunkard cried out, “Wait. You have not finished your drink. Oh well, I guess I will finish it for you.”
The Maggid concludes, “If a fly can be considered a drinking partner, then muttering aimlessly can be considered davening, trivial patter can be considered learning, and harassing someone may be considered a joke. After all, no man makes himself into a rasha.”
