What the Rebbe Taught Me
What Was Zimri Thinking?

The leading scholars of Mezhibuzh once visited Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov in his sukkah.

After closely inspecting the structural design of his sukkah, the scholars unanimously declared it invalid.

The Baal Shem Tov began bringing various proofs from traditional sources to demonstrate that his sukkah did fulfill the mitzvah as prescribed by the Torah. The two sides debated back and forth—the Baal Shem Tov maintaining the validity of his sukkah, the scholars maintaining their opposition.

Finally, the Baal Shem Tov opened his hand. Inside lay a small piece of parchment. The scholars took the parchment and found it to be a note from heaven. “The sukkah of Reb Israel [Baal Shem Tov] is kosher,” they read. The note was signed by the archangel Metatron, keeper of the “inner spheres.”

On Sukkot of 5727 (1966),1 the Lubavitcher Rebbe recounted this extraordinary tale and asked the obvious question: While the story demonstrates the Baal Shem Tov’s unique spiritual clout—his ability to pull heavenly strings to make a point—we are left wondering why this saintly Jewish leader would construct his sukkah in such a questionable manner to begin with.

The Rebbe explained that what motivated the Baal Shem Tov to construct his sukkah in such a dubious way—just falling within the bare minimum of halachic requirement—was the desire to find merit for the masses. Knowing that there were plenty of ignorant Jews who didn’t know how to properly construct a sukkah, the Baal Shem Tov built his sukkah in the most lenient manner possible in order to validate every sukkah with similar issues to his own, and thus declare the practice of less-educated Jews to be within the pale of Jewish observance.

The moral of this story is less about the kosher status of one man’s sukkah than it is about the role of a Jewish leader. The Baal Shem Tov was trying to impress upon the scholars of Mezhibuzh that a true Jewish leader must be willing to make not just material, but also spiritual, sacrifices for his people. He must be ready to compromise his lofty religious standards for the sake of uplifting his charges. This quality of self-sacrifice has defined Jewish leaders2 throughout all time.

Making a Scene

It’s one of the uglier Biblical episodes.3

Israel settled in Shittim, and the people began to commit harlotry with the daughters of the Moabites. They invited the people to the sacrifices of their gods, and the people ate and prostrated themselves to their gods. Israel became attached to Baal Peor, and the anger of the L‑rd flared against Israel.

The L‑rd said to Moses, “Take all the leaders of the people and hang them before the L‑rd, facing the sun, and then the flaring anger of the L‑rd will be removed from Israel.” Moses said to the judges of Israel, “Each of you shall kill the men who became attached to Baal Peor.”

Then an Israelite man came and brought the Midianite woman to his brethren, before the eyes of Moses and before the eyes of the entire congregation of the children of Israel, while they were weeping at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.

Pinchas the son of Elazar the son of Aaron the kohen saw this, arose from the congregation, and took a spear in his hand. He went after the Israelite man into the chamber and drove [it through] both of them—the Israelite man, and the woman through her stomach; and the plague ceased from the children of Israel. Those that died in the plague numbered twenty-four thousand.

In order to get to the bottom of this dark story, a few notes are in order.

Firstly, a later verse4 puts a name and face to the anonymous “Israelite man” who flaunted his Midianite companion “before the eyes of Moses and the entire congregation.” His name was Zimri the son of Salu, and he was no common sinner but a prince of Israel—the tribal leader of Simeon.5

Also relevant is the account of Zimri’s public confrontation with Moses recorded in the Talmud.6

Zimri grabbed Cozbi by her plaited hair and brought her to Moses. Zimri said to Moses: “Son of Amram, is this woman forbidden or permitted to me? And if you say that she is forbidden, who permitted to you the daughter of Jethro [who is also a Midianite woman]?”7 At that moment the ruling that zealots may kill one who cohabits with an idolatress escaped Moses, and all the people wept loudly; and this is the meaning of that which is written: “And they were weeping at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.”

Now there’s nothing terribly unusual about the first part of this unfortunate saga, which features promiscuity, idol worship, divine wrath and retribution. We’ve encountered those themes in the Bible once or twice before. It’s midway through the story where it takes a novel turn.

Zimri’s behavior is unprecedented. Never before had a prince of Israel openly, and as a matter of principle, behaved sinfully—publicly advocating intermarriage, and by extension, the breakdown of the Jewish family unit!

This epic desecration of G‑d’s name and His law, and the accompanying personal attack on Moses’ religious integrity—especially when perpetrated by a public servant and a role model—is shocking and demands explanation. Moses’ uncharacteristic amnesic moment only heightens the sense of mystery that pervades this drama.

A Well-Intended Sinner

The key to making sense of Zimri’s actions lies in the Talmudic account8 of the events leading up to Zimri’s faceoff with Moses.

When people from the tribe of Simeon saw that capital punishment was being meted out to the other members of their tribe for participating in the idolatrous worship of Baal Peor, they went to Zimri son of Salu. They said to him: “They are judging cases of capital punishment against members of our tribe, and you, our leader, sit and remain silent!” What did Zimri do? He arose and gathered twenty-four thousand Israelites and went to Cozbi, a Midianite woman. He said to her: “Cohabit with me . . .”

Zimri’s obnoxious and sacrilegious behavior was motivated not by lust or rebellion, but by his deep commitment to the people he represented. He set out to demonstrate that even an honorable man like himself—chosen by G‑d to be a prince of Israel9—was not immune to carnal desire and seduction. If he could succumb to temptation, shouldn’t his more earthy constituents be treated less harshly, and have their capital punishments rescinded? Moreover, didn’t G‑d’s most chosen servant, Moses, himself take one of these “forbidden” woman as a life partner? Shouldn’t what’s fine for the saintly Moses be fine for the commoner as well?

This kinder reading of Zimri is not a Talmudic attempt at whitewash, but emerges from the scriptural account itself. A closer look at the timing of Zimri’s escapade reveals that he was slow to join his sinful colleagues. Only after G‑d sentenced them to death by the sword did he approach Cozbi (“Then an Israelite man came and brought the Midianite woman to his brethren”). Now, could it be that his passions were aroused only after he knew about the death sentence attached to their fulfillment? Not unless the passions referred to weren’t lustful, but devotional, directed not at Cozbi, but at the threatened members of his tribe.10

Ironically, it was through that inglorious and misguided public confrontation with Moses that Zimri came to embody the ideal Jewish leader, who is willing to sacrifice his physical wellbeing and spiritual standing—in our case, undoubtedly to a fault—for the sake of protecting his people.

It’s the depths of his depraved image and legacy that bring into focus the depths of his commitment to the people he loved.

What’s in It for Me?

We live at a time of increasing ignorance and indifference among Jewish youth towards their heritage. It’s easy to take our knowledge and background for granted, and ignore the decreasing level of involvement of the broader Jewish community.

From Zimri we learn to sacrifice some of our spiritual luxuries—the exclusive focus on self-development, and pursuit of meaning and inspiration—and provide for the spiritually impoverished of our people.

Even if we’re not super-knowledgeable, we all know of at least one person who knows even less than we do. So, as one chassidic teaching has it, “If you know the letter aleph, teach aleph,” even if, at the moment, it comes at the expense of your learning the letter bet.

More for Me . . .

The great Talmudic scholar Rabbi Akiva Eiger once invited a poor man to his home on Friday night. At the meal, a beautiful white tablecloth covered the Shabbat table. When the poor man lifted his glass of wine, it slipped out of his hand, and the red liquid spilled over the pure white cloth, leaving an ugly blotch. Seeing the poor man squirm in embarrassment, Rabbi Eiger immediately lifted his own glass of wine, and also “accidentally” spilled it over the tablecloth. As the poor man looked on in great relief, Rabbi Eiger remarked, “It seems as if the table or the floor is shaking, doesn’t it?”

True sacrifice is being prepared to give up that which is most precious to us, and for many, it is our image and reputation that matters most.

It’s natural to want to make people feel comfortable and help them out of sticky and humiliating situations. It’s much less natural to do so at the expense of our appearance. We like to feel and act magnanimous and generous of spirit with those less fortunate, but not when, in doing so, we might be perceived of as one of them.

From Zimri we can learn that not being afraid to come across as a loser is part of what makes a true winner.

Based on a talk given by the Rebbe on Shabbat Parshat Pinchas 5725 (1965).11