The Torah juxtaposes the laws of Nazir upon the previous laws of the sotah, wayward wife. Chazal (Sotah 2A) derive that one who sees a sotah in her degradation should take a Nazarite vow, thereby prohibiting himself from drinking wine. One who witnesses the sotah’s punishment and realizes what led to it understands that he has just been availed a window into how easily people fall prey to temptation. He is able to observe how the yetzer hora, evil inclination, can ensnare a person and pull him down to the nadir of depravity. Let us look at a before and after picture: A young woman attending the finest schools, surrounded by friends who are all observant, all from fine homes, goes off the moral deep end. Adultery is a sin that does not happen in the frum, observant community unless a person snaps – or so we think. This woman did not snap; she swerved slowly at first, and once she had a smell and then a taste of the bitter fruit, she liked it and was willing to follow through to the depths of immorality. She has convinced herself to throw her entire life – family and friends – away, so that she may pursue what she imagines will give her the greatest pleasure.
Now, having this image before our eyes, let us turn to the potential Nazir, who only sees her in her gruesome degradation. He does not see the “before,” the nice, sweet, observant, Bais Yaakov girl; he sees the broken shard of what could have been a proud Jewish mother. She is publicly humiliated, degraded, all so that maybe she might take hold of her senses, confess to her immorality, and save her life. She does not. This troubles the potential Nazir.
The sotah’s refusal to admit guilt, even at the cost of a gruesome death — after which everyone will now know that she, indeed, was guilty — reveals the power of weakness over human character. She succumbs to shame, fear and pride; her moral and spiritual faculties are overwhelmed. Her weakness is not just in her action, but in her soul’s inability to confront the truth. The sight of her degradation is a mirror for anyone who could fall prey to similar pressures. Her loss of self-mastery cries out to all who see: “This is what can happen to anyone. I was not always like this. It evolved with me; it can claim you as a victim as well, if you do nothing about it.”
Witnessing someone else’s degradation can arouse similar vulnerabilities in us: fear, shame and denial. Seeing someone just like us fall so far down can generate a feeling of atzvus, melancholy, a heavy heart, which, if not checked, may invite moral laxity. After all, why bother being careful if this can happen to someone who had once been a fine woman?
By becoming a Nazir, the observer takes the first step toward fortifying himself against personal failure. He separates himself from indulgences which can, if unchecked, compromise his clarity and moral discipline. The Nazir’s vow is temporary – a reminder, a speedbump to slow down, think and not to take life for granted. There, if not for the grace of G-d, go you. The Nazir must protect holiness, and preserve clarity. If he is vigilant, his descent is not inevitable. Witnessing the moral descent and degradation of another is not merely a warning; it can and should be an impetus for personal growth.
Alternatively, Michtav Mei’Eliyahu writes that witnessing evil dulls the protective senses that guard us from evil, thus creating a gravitation to evil. A well-known vignette concerning the Chafetz Chaim underscores this idea. Radin, Poland, which was home to the Chafetz Chaim, was a Jewish community that was wholly Shabbos observant. During the first World War, the battlefield extended toward Radin, compelling its inhabitants to flee for safety to Russia. It was there that the holy sage saw a Jewish brother desecrate Shabbos (smoking a cigarette) for the very first time. The Chafetz Chaim broke out in bitter weeping. The next Shabbos this happened again; only this time, the sage’s reaction was much more intense. His students wondered why his weeping on the second Shabbos was more profound. He explained that, the first time, he wept for a Jew who had been mechallel Shabbos. The second time, he cried because his sensitivity to Shabbos desecration had been dulled, so he cried for himself.
Exposure to sin transforms us. First, it is outrage, which, upon repetition, is followed by familiarity. Once one becomes familiar with a behavior it becomes quietly accepted to the point that, what was once shocking, becomes normal. When something sacrilegious no longer wounds us, we have lost ground and become its victim. The greatest tragedy is not that evil exists; rather, it is that we can learn to live with it.
