The Sins of a Leader
Sometimes the Torah conveys its most profound ideas by a mere nuance, one that becomes apparent only by attentive listening. Parashat Vayikra contains a fascinating example.1Another example is the way in which, in the long list of instructions about the making of various articles for the Sanctuary, the Torah shifts from the second-person singular (“you shall make”) to the third-person plural (“they shall make”) in the case of the Ark, thus conveying that everyone has a share in the Ark, in the knowledge and dignity it conveys. See Covenant and Conversation: Exodus – The Book of Redemption, 207–215.
It occurs in the context of the laws of the sin offering brought in the case of inadvertent wrongdoing (shegaga).2Leviticus 4:1–35.
The Torah prescribes four different kinds of offering, depending on the offender. One is the High Priest, a second is “the whole community” (understood to mean the great Sanhedrin, the Supreme Court), a third is “the leader” (nasi), and the fourth is an ordinary individual. In three of the four cases, the law is introduced by the word im, “if” – if such a person commits a sin. In the case of the leader, however, the law is prefaced by the word asher, “when.” It is possible that a High Priest, the Supreme Court, or an individual may err. But in the case of a leader, the nasi, it is probable or even certain.
To understand why, we must first clarify what the word nasi signifies. Nasi is a generic word for a leader, ruler, king, judge, elder, or prince. It means, in effect, the holder of political power. The nasi is not a Kohen, a priest, a mediator between God and the people; nor is he a navi, the mouthpiece of God to the people and the people to God. Rather, he is one who guides the affairs of the community, settles disputes, and establishes the rule of law.
In Mishnaic times, the nasi, the most famous of whom were leaders from the family of Hillel, had a quasi-governmental role as representative of the Jewish people to the Roman government. Rabbi Moses Sofer (Bratislava, 1762–1839) in one of his responsa3Responsa Ḥatam Sofer, Oraḥ Ḥayim, 12. examines the question of why, when positions of Torah leadership are never dynastic, passed from father to son, the role of nasi was an exception. It often did pass from father to son. The answer he gives, and it is historically insightful, is that with the decline of monarchy in the Second Temple period and thereafter, the nasi took on many of the roles of a king. His role, internally and externally, was as much political and diplomatic as religious. That in general is what is meant by the word nasi.
The Jewish people has experienced many forms of political leadership – elders, judges, kings, community councils, and currently, in the State of Israel, a democratically elected parliament. There may or may not be an ideal form of political leadership in Judaism – depending on the much-debated question as to whether the command in Deuteronomy to appoint a king4Deuteronomy 17:14–20. Maimonides holds that the appointment of a king is a positive command, Ibn Ezra that it is a permission, Abrabanel that it is a concession. is an obligation, a permission, or a concession. There are, however, constraints within which any form of Judaic governance must work. One is the overarching sovereignty of the Torah: the priority of right over might. Any command of a ruler which conflicts with Torah law is ultra vires and need not, perhaps should not, be obeyed.5On civil disobedience in Judaism, see the essays in Menachem Kellner, ed., Contemporary Jewish Ethics (New York: Sanhedrin Press, 1978), 211–253.
Another is accountability to the people. In the phrase adopted by the American Declaration of Independence (a document which owes much to the biblical faith of the American founding fathers), governmental authority rests on “the consent of the governed.”6See Rashi, Commentary to Deuteronomy 1:13.
Why, though, does the Torah consider this type of leadership particularly prone to error? There are three broad avenues of explanation. Rabbi Ovadiah Sforno cites the phrase, “But Yeshurun waxed fat, and kicked” (Deut. 32:15).7Sforno, Commentary to Leviticus 4:22.
Those who have advantages over others, whether of wealth or power, tend to find their consciences dulled. Rabbenu Baḥya suggests that rulers tend to become arrogant and haughty. Implicit in these commentators – it is in fact a central theme of Tanakh as a whole – is the idea later stated by Lord Acton in the aphorism, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”8This famous phrase comes from a letter written by Lord Acton in 1887. See Martin H. Manser and Rosalind Fergusson, The Facts on File Dictionary of Proverbs (New York: Facts on File, 2002), 225.
Rabbi Elie Munk, citing the Zohar, offers a second explanation. The High Priest and the Sanhedrin were in constant touch with the holy. They lived in a world of ideals. The king or political ruler, by contrast, was involved in secular affairs: war and peace, the administration of government, and international relations. He was more likely to sin because his day to day concerns were not religious but pragmatic.9Elie Munk, The Call of the Torah, vol. 3 (New York: Mesorah, 1992), 33.
Rabbi Meir Simcha HaKohen of Dvinsk gives a third account.10Meshekh Ḥokhma, Commentary to Leviticus 4:21–22.
A king or political leader is especially vulnerable to being led astray by popular sentiment. Neither a priest nor a judge in the Sanhedrin were answerable to the people. The king, however, relied on popular support. Without that he could be deposed. But this is laden with risk. Doing what the people want is not always doing what God wants. That, Rabbi Meir Simcha argues, is what led David to order a census (II Sam. 24), and Zedekiah to ignore the advice of Jeremiah and rebel against the king of Babylon (II Chr. 36). Thus, for a whole series of reasons, a political leader is more exposed to temptation and error than a priest or judge.
There is, however, another reason altogether why political leaders are especially vulnerable to making mistakes.11Note that a sin offering was brought only for a breach of Jewish law, not for a mistake in policy. Nonetheless, I believe the biblical text is at least hinting at the difficulties a leader faces in making the right decisions.
Politics is an arena of conflict. It deals in matters – specifically the pursuit of wealth or power – that are in the short term zero-sum games. The more I have, the less you have. Seeking to maximise the benefits to myself or my group, I come into conflict with others who seek to maximise benefits to themselves or their group. Politics is the mediation of conflict by justice backed with power. Whatever course a politician takes, it will please some and anger others. From this, there is no escape.
Politics also involves difficult judgements. A leader must balance competing claims and will sometimes get it wrong. One particularly striking example involved Solomon’s son and successor, Rehoboam:
Rehoboam went to Shechem, for all the Israelites had gone there to make him king…. [Jeroboam] and the whole assembly of Israel went to Rehoboam and said to him: “Your father put a heavy yoke on us, but now lighten the harsh labour and the heavy yoke he put on us, and we will serve you.”
Rehoboam answered, “Go away for three days and then come back to me.” So the people went away.
Then King Rehoboam consulted the elders who had served his father Solomon during his lifetime. “How would you advise me to answer these people?” he asked.
They replied, “If today you will be a servant to these people and serve them and give them a favourable answer, they will always be your servants.”
But Rehoboam rejected the advice the elders gave him and consulted the young men who had grown up with him and were serving him. He asked them, “What is your advice? How should we answer these people who say to me, ‘Lighten the yoke your father put on us’?”
The young men who had grown up with him replied, “Tell these people who have said to you, ‘Your father put a heavy yoke on us, but make our yoke lighter’ – tell them, ‘My little finger is thicker than my father’s waist. My father laid on you a heavy yoke; I will make it even heavier. My father scourged you with whips; I will scourge you with scorpions.’”
Three days later Jeroboam and all the people returned to Rehoboam, as the king had said, “Come back to me in three days.” The king answered the people harshly. Rejecting the advice given him by the elders, he followed the advice of the young men and said, “My father made your yoke heavy; I will make it even heavier. My father scourged you with whips; I will scourge you with scorpions.” So the king did not listen to the people. (I Kings 12:1–15)
Rehoboam had inherited a fraught political situation. Solomon, his father, had been a wise and successful king, but the people had grown restive. The building of the Temple was hugely demanding. Israel, for a while, resembled a vast labour camp. Besides this, the royal court was expensive and sustained by high taxation. Solomon himself had grown rich while the people groaned under the burden.
Jeroboam, one of Solomon’s officials, led a rebellion. Solomon sought to put him to death, but he escaped to Egypt, returning after the king died. Rehoboam now had to make a strategic decision. Should he strengthen his authority by a show of power? Or should he win the people over by loosening and lessening their burdens? The senior advisors counselled the second course. The “young turks” argued the opposite, anticipating Machiavelli’s famous rule that it is better for a ruler to be feared than to be loved.12Machiavelli, The Prince, ed. Quentin Skinner, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 59.
It was the wrong advice, and the result was tragic. The kingdom split in two, the ten northern tribes following Jeroboam, leaving only the southern tribes, generically known as “Judah,” loyal to the king. For Israel as a people in its own land, it was the beginning of the end. Always a small people surrounded by large and powerful empires, it needed unity, high morale, and a strong sense of destiny to survive. Divided, it was only a matter of time before both nations, Israel in the north, Judah in the south, fell to other powers.
Rehoboam and Jeroboam were both actors on the political stage. Yet a not dissimilar rift occurred at a later era, this time not between politicians but between sages. On three occasions, Rabban Gamliel, the nasi, and R. Yehoshua, head of the Beit Din, disagreed on matters of Halakha. On each occasion Rabban Gamliel asserted his authority at the cost of humiliating R. Yehoshua. The third time was, for the sages, one too many:
Rabban Gamliel remained sitting and expounding, and R. Yehoshua remained standing, until all the people there began to shout and say to Ḥutzpit the expounder, “Stop!” and he stopped. Then they said, “How long is [Rabban Gamliel] to go on insulting him?… Come, let us depose him.13Berakhot 27b.
Rabban Gamliel was then stripped of office until he made an act of apology to R. Yehoshua.
Again the issue was authority versus respect. We do Rabban Gamliel an injustice if we see his high-handed behaviour as simply the mark of an authoritarian personality. The more likely explanation is that he had lived through the last days of the Second Temple period, during which Jewry was fatefully divided between Pharisees and Sadducees and moderates and zealots. The rabbis themselves were divided between the schools of Hillel and Shammai, to the point that it was said that there was a danger of the Torah itself being split into “two Torot.” Rabban Gamliel’s assertion of authority was an honest attempt to avert further fragmentation. Yet it was the wrong policy. The rabbis resented the attempt to curtail debate, and Rabban Gamliel was removed from office.
There are no universal rules when it comes to leadership. It is an art, not a science. There is no procedure that can guarantee that the ruler will get it right. Leaders make mistakes. As the Torah signals, it is only a matter of “when,” not “if.”
Besides the impossibility of knowing in advance the consequences of your decisions, there is another reason why leadership is fraught with risk. This is alluded to by the Mishnaic sage, R. Neḥemya, commenting on the verse, “My son, if you have put up security for your neighbour, if you have struck your hand in pledge for another” (Prov. 6:1):
So long as a man is an associate [i.e., concerned only with personal piety], he need not be concerned with the community and is not punished on account of it. But once a man has been placed at the head and has donned the cloak of office, he may not say: “I have to look after my welfare, I am not concerned with the community.” Instead, the whole burden of communal affairs rests on him. If he sees a man doing violence to his fellow, or committing a transgression, and does not seek to prevent him, he is punished on account of him, and the Holy Spirit cries out: “My son, if you have put up security for your neighbour” – meaning, you are responsible for him…. You have entered the gladiatorial arena, and he who enters the arena is either conquered or conquers.14Exodus Rabba 27:9.
A private individual is responsible only for his own sins. A leader is held responsible for the sins of those he leads, at least those he might have prevented. The Talmud puts it simply:
Whoever can prevent the members of his household from sinning, and does not, is seized for the sins of his household. If he can prevent his fellow citizens and does not, he is seized for the sins of his fellow citizens. If he can prevent the whole world from sinning, and does not, he is seized for the sins of the whole world.15Shabbat 54b.
With power comes responsibility, and the greater the power, the greater the responsibility.
There is no textbook for leadership. Every situation is different and each age brings its own challenges. A ruler, in the best interests of his or her people, may sometimes have to make decisions that a conscientious individual would shrink from in private life. He may have to decide to wage a war, knowing that some will die. He may have to levy taxes, knowing that this will leave some impoverished. In many cases, only after the event will the leader know whether the decision was justified, and it may depend on factors beyond his control.
The Jewish approach to leadership is thus an unusual combination of realism and idealism – realistic in its acknowledgement that leaders inevitably make mistakes, idealistic in its constant subjection of politics to ethics, power to responsibility, pragmatism to the demands of conscience. What matters is not that leaders never get it wrong – that is inevitable, given the nature of leadership – but that they are always exposed to prophetic critique and that they constantly study Torah to remind themselves of transcendent standards and ultimate aims. The most important thing from a Torah perspective is that a leader is sufficiently honest to admit his mistakes. Hence the significance of the sin offering.
Rabban Yoḥanan b. Zakkai sums it up with a brilliant double entendre on the word asher, “When a leader sins.” He relates it to the word ashrei, “happy,” and says:
Happy is the generation whose leader is willing to bring a sin offering for his mistakes.16Tosefta, Bava Kamma 7:5.
Leadership demands two kinds of courage: the strength to take a risk, and the humility to admit when a risk fails.