Like All the Nations?

by R. Eliezer Simcha Weisz

The State of Israel is approaching another election. In the coming months, we will hear many arguments about security, the economy, education, the judicial system, and the future of the country.

All of these are important questions.

But Parashat Shoftim raises a deeper question:

What are we choosing for?

The Torah commands us in our parashah:

שׂוֹם תָּשִׂים עָלֶיךָ מֶלֶךְ

“You shall surely set a king over yourself.” (Devarim 17:15)

Yet when Bnei Yisrael came to Shmuel HaNavi and asked:

שִׂימָה לָּנוּ מֶלֶךְ לְשָׁפְטֵנוּ

“Give us a king to judge us,”

we are told:

וַיֵּרַע הַדָּבָר בְּעֵינֵי שְׁמוּאֵל כַּאֲשֶׁר אָמְרוּ תְּנָה לָּנוּ מֶלֶךְ לְשָׁפְטֵנוּ

“And the matter displeased Shmuel when they said, ‘Give us a king to judge us.'” (Shmuel I 8:6)

We need to understand: If the Torah itself commands the appointment of a king, what was wrong with their request?

Chazal address this in the Gemara:

זקנים שבדור כהוגן שאלו, שנאמר: ‘תנה לנו מלך לשפטנו’; אבל עמי הארץ שבהן קלקלו, שנאמר: ‘והיינו גם אנחנו ככל הגוים

“The elders of that generation asked appropriately, as it says, ‘Give us a king to judge us’; but the unlearned among them corrupted it, as it says, ‘We too shall be like all the nations.'” (Sanhedrin 20b)

The request itself was not wrong. The problem was the motive behind it.

They said:

וְהָיִינוּ גַם אֲנַחְנוּ כְּכָל הַגּוֹיִם

“We too will be like all the nations.” (Shmuel I 8:20)

There is nothing wrong with Klal Yisrael learning from the nations. We can benefit from their wisdom, science, and technology. We can learn from the knowledge and experience that has developed throughout the world.

But there is a great difference between learning from the nations and wanting to be like the nations.

The Torah itself says:

כִּי תָבֹא אֶל הָאָרֶץ… וְאָמַרְתָּ אָשִׂימָה עָלַי מֶלֶךְ כְּכָל הַגּוֹיִם אֲשֶׁר סְבִיבֹתָי

“When you enter the Land… and you say, ‘I will set a king over me, like all the nations that are around me.'” (Devarim 17:14)

The Ramban makes an important observation on this very pasuk. He writes that the wording “kechol hagoyim” — “like all the nations” hints to what would later happen in the days of Shmuel, when the people asked for a king saying:

שִׂימָה לָּנוּ מֶלֶךְ… כְּכָל הַגּוֹיִם

“Give us a king… like all the nations.”

The Ramban asks why the Torah would mention “like all the nations around me” if Yisrael are not supposed to learn from the nations or imitate those who act improperly.

At the same time, the Torah does command the appointment of a king, and the king of Yisrael is governed by a completely different standard. He is commanded:

וְהָיָה כְשִׁבְתּוֹ עַל כִּסֵּא מַמְלַכְתּוֹ וְכָתַב לוֹ אֶת מִשְׁנֵה הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת… וְקָרָא בוֹ כָּל יְמֵי חַיָּיו

“And it shall be, when he sits upon the throne of his kingdom, that he shall write for himself a copy of this Torah… and he shall read from it all the days of his life.” (Devarim 17:18–19)

The Jewish king is therefore not merely a political ruler. His authority and his life are subject to Torah.

The Gemara records different approaches to the parashah of appointing a king. Rabbi Yehudah teaches that three mitzvos were given to Yisrael upon entering Eretz Yisrael: to establish a king, to destroy Amalek, and to build the Beis HaMikdash. Rabbi Nehorai, however, understands the parashah as a response to the people’s complaint. (Sanhedrin 20b)

The outward form may be similar.

But the foundation is different.

Klal Yisrael can live in the world and make use of the tools that the world provides, but we may not lose our derech and our uniqueness.

This is the meaning of the Torah’s warning:

וּבְחֻקֹּתֵיהֶם לֹא תֵלֵכוּ

“You shall not follow their statutes.” (Vayikra 18:3)

The Rambam explains in Hilchos De’os that a person is naturally influenced by his surroundings. Therefore, he must be careful about the people and environment with which he associates (Hilchos De’os 6:1).

Jewish history teaches us how important this is.

For thousands of years, Klal Yisrael faced the same question: How can a small nation survive among the nations?

In every generation, there were those who believed that the way to survive was to come as close as possible to the surrounding society—to adopt its culture, its values, and its way of life, and to become as similar as possible to the nations among whom they lived.

The temptation is understandable.

Perhaps if we become like all the nations, they will accept us like all the nations.

But history proved otherwise.

Many who chose complete assimilation eventually disappeared into the societies around them and were lost as Jews.

Others sought a different path. They wanted to preserve a Jewish national or cultural identity, but to remove Torah and mitzvos from the center of Jewish life. Movements such as the Bund sought to build Jewish identity on the foundations of Jewish culture, Yiddish language, nationalism, and social solidarity rather than on Torah and mitzvos.

Many of the people involved in these movements were devoted and idealistic Jews. But this approach did not provide the same Jewish continuity that Torah and mitzvos provided throughout the generations. Many who followed these paths eventually disappeared as Jews.

This is one of the great lessons of Jewish history:

We survived for thousands of years because we remained Jewish.

Generation after generation, despite galus, persecution, dispersion, and attempts at assimilation, Jews continued to learn Torah, keep mitzvos, observe Shabbos, build Jewish homes, and transmit the mesorah to their children.

This is precisely the charge of the Torah:

וְהוֹדַעְתָּם לְבָנֶיךָ וְלִבְנֵי בָנֶיךָ

“You shall make them known to your children and your children’s children.” (Devarim 4:9)

And again:

וְשִׁנַּנְתָּם לְבָנֶיךָ

“You shall teach them diligently to your children.” (Devarim 6:7)

The Jewish future has always depended upon transmission—from father to son, from teacher to student, from one generation to the next.

Our uniqueness was not an obstacle to our survival.

It was one of the foundations upon which our survival rested.

We have no reason to be afraid of being different.

The Torah itself commands:

וְנִבְדַּלְתֶּם בֵּין הָעַמִּים לִהְיוֹת לִי

“You shall be distinct among the nations, to be Mine.” (Vayikra 20:26)

We can live in the modern world and be part of it. We can learn, develop, work in every profession, use technology, and contribute to society.

But there is a difference between integrating into the world and giving up our Jewish identity.

There is a difference between living among the nations and being like the nations.

The Navi Yechezkel describes the danger of Yisrael saying:

נִהְיֶה כַגּוֹיִם כְּמִשְׁפְּחוֹת הָאֲרָצוֹת לְשָׁרֵת עֵץ וָאָבֶן

“We will be like the nations, like the families of the lands, to serve wood and stone.” (Yechezkel 20:32)

The desire to become indistinguishable from the surrounding nations is not a new challenge. It is a recurring challenge throughout Jewish history.

Perhaps this is one of the questions at the root of the disagreements within Israeli society today.

The arguments between the religious and non-religious parts of society concern many issues: education, Shabbos, public life, the army, the judicial system, and the character of the State.

But beneath all these questions lies a more fundamental one:

What does it mean for the State of Israel to be a Jewish state?

Some see Judaism primarily as a national and cultural identity. Others see Torah and mitzvos as the foundation of Jewish life.

Therefore, the disagreement is not only about what we should do.

It is also about who we are.

And this is where the words of the pasuk—

וְהָיִינוּ גַם אֲנַחְנוּ כְּכָל הַגּוֹיִם

“We too will be like all the nations”

—speak to our own reality as well.

There is nothing wrong with living in the modern world or being open to it. Chazal themselves teach:

חכמה בגוים תאמין

“If someone tells you there is wisdom among the nations, believe it.” (Eichah Rabbah, Petichta 2)

We can recognize wisdom wherever it is found and benefit from the achievements of the wider world without surrendering our own Torah perspective.

But when the desire to be like the nations becomes a goal in itself, there is danger in it.

The State of Israel can be a modern, developed state and, at the same time, a Jewish state. But its Jewish character cannot rest only upon its name, history, or culture. It must remain connected to the foundations that have sustained Jewish life throughout the generations.

We can disagree, even strongly, about how Yiddishkeit should be expressed in public life. There can be deep disagreements about matters of policy, religion, and education.

But we must not lose sight of the question:

What are we trying to preserve?

The existence of a Jewish state does not by itself guarantee the continued existence of the Jewish people.

A Jewish state will remain Jewish only if Jews themselves remain connected to Torah and mitzvos, to what we received from our fathers and to what has been transmitted from generation to generation.

The Torah describes us as:

עַם זוּ יָצַרְתִּי לִי תְּהִלָּתִי יְסַפֵּרוּ

“This people I have formed for Myself, that they may declare My praise.” (Yeshayahu 43:21)

We are a nation with a purpose and a mesorah to transmit.

And from here, the message applies to every individual as well.

A person, too, can fall into the same temptation.

He looks around and asks: What are other people doing? How are they living? What is considered success? What is expected of me?

He compares himself with others. He sees what they have achieved, what they have bought, where they travel, and what their lives look like.

And sometimes, without realizing it, he begins to live according to the lives of others.

But a Jew must ask a different question:

What does the Torah require of me?

Hakadosh Baruch Hu did not create all of us to be the same. Each person has different strengths, different nisyonos, different circumstances, and a different tafkid.

The Mishnah teaches:

לפיכך נברא אדם יחידי… לפיכך כל אחד ואחד חייב לומר: בשבילי נברא העולם

“Therefore, man was created individually… therefore, every person is obligated to say: ‘For my sake was the world created.'” (Sanhedrin 4:5)

Every person has a unique role and responsibility.

We can learn from others, admire good middos, learn from wisdom, and be positively influenced. But there is no need to become someone else.

A person must recognize his own strengths and his own tafkid, and strive to fulfill his shlichus in the way the Torah demands of him.

This is also a fundamental principle in chinuch.

It is not enough to teach our children what to stay away from. We must teach them who they are.

They are the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. They are part of a nation whose history stretches back thousands of years. They are links in a chain of Torah and mitzvos that has been passed from generation to generation.

If we want the chain to continue, we must give our children something that can be passed on.

Not only Jewish history.

Not only Jewish culture.

But Torah and mitzvos as a way of life.

The Torah gives us this responsibility explicitly:

רַק הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ וּשְׁמֹר נַפְשְׁךָ מְאֹד… וְהוֹדַעְתָּם לְבָנֶיךָ וְלִבְנֵי בָנֶיךָ

“Only take heed for yourself and guard your soul carefully… and you shall make them known to your children and your children’s children.” (Devarim 4:9)

And the Rambam, following the words of Chazal, emphasizes the importance of surrounding oneself with a proper community and environment, because a person is influenced by those around him (Hilchos De’os 6:1).

This is what our fathers carried throughout the generations.

This is what preserved Jewish communities and Jewish homes in Spain and Poland, in Yemen and Morocco, in Lithuania and Iraq, in America and in Eretz Yisrael.

They did not survive because they became like everyone else. They survived because they remained who they were.

And perhaps this is the question we should carry with us into an election.

Not only:

“Who am I voting for?”

But:

“What kind of Jewish society do I want to help build?”

A society whose Jewishness is expressed primarily through its name, its history, and its culture?

Or a society that seeks to build its future upon the foundations that carried our people for thousands of years?

The choice is not between being modern and being Jewish.

The question is whether, while remaining open to the world, we will remain rooted deeply enough to remember who we are.

Parashat Shoftim warns us against the desire to say:

וְהָיִינוּ גַם אֲנַחְנוּ כְּכָל הַגּוֹיִם

“We too will be like all the nations.”

Jewish history has taught us the price of forgetting who we are.

And it has also taught us the strength that comes from remaining faithful.

The Torah’s command concerning the king concludes with a powerful purpose:

לְמַעַן יִלְמַד לְיִרְאָה אֶת ה’ אֱלֹקָיו לִשְׁמֹר אֶת כָּל דִּבְרֵי הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת וְאֶת הַחֻקִּים הָאֵלֶּה לַעֲשֹׂתָם

“So that he may learn to fear Hashem, his G-d, to observe all the words of this Torah and these statutes, to perform them.” (Devarim 17:19)

Even the highest political authority in Klal Yisrael exists within the framework of Torah.

That is the difference between a Jewish society and a society that merely happens to contain Jews.

We survived for thousands of years not because we became like the nations, but because we remained different.

Our future depends on that same foundation: Torah, mitzvos, and the courage to remain who we are.