Mishneh Torah, Kings and Wars 6

Shining like a beacon from the sun-drenched courtyards of Al-Andalus to the bustling souks of Yemen, the wisdom of our Sephardi and Mizrahi Sages offers a tapestry woven with devotion, intellect, and profound humanity. Even when delving into the gravitas of war, their teachings, steeped in the rigors of Maimonides, consistently seek pathways to peace, demonstrating an unwavering reverence for life and creation that continues to inspire.

Context

Place

Our journey begins in the vibrant intellectual centers of the Sephardi and Mizrahi world, spanning a vast geographical and cultural landscape. From the golden age of medieval Al-Andalus (Islamic Spain), where Maimonides composed his monumental works, to the diverse Jewish communities nestled across North Africa (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya), the ancient lands of the Middle East (Iraq, Syria, Egypt), and the distinct traditions of Yemen and Persia. These communities, often living in close proximity to diverse cultures, developed a nuanced approach to Jewish law and life, marked by both a steadfast adherence to tradition and an openness to intellectual inquiry.

Era

Our text hails from the 12th century, the lifetime of the towering figure Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, the Rambam (Maimonides). His Mishneh Torah, a comprehensive codification of Jewish law, revolutionized Torah study and became a cornerstone for generations of Sephardi and Mizrahi Jewry. Composed in Fustat, Egypt, during a period of immense intellectual flourishing and cross-cultural exchange, Maimonides' work reflects the philosophical rigor and scientific inquiry prevalent in the Islamic world, integrated seamlessly with the profound depths of Jewish tradition. His legal decisions, often drawing from earlier Geonic and Talmudic sources, provided clarity and structure, shaping the halakhic landscape for centuries.

Community

The Mishneh Torah quickly became the foundational legal text for the majority of Sephardi and Mizrahi communities. In places like Yemen, it was revered as "the Great Eagle's" word, studied with unparalleled diligence. In North Africa and the Ottoman Empire, its rulings formed the bedrock of communal halakha, influencing everything from civil law to liturgical practice. Scholars in Baghdad, Aleppo, Fez, and Salonica meticulously copied, studied, and commented upon his work, integrating its principles into their local customs while preserving their unique communal identities. This rich intellectual heritage, where Rambam's pronouncements were debated, elaborated upon, and applied to new realities, testifies to the dynamic and enduring legacy of Sephardi and Mizrahi Torah scholarship.

Text Snapshot

Maimonides, in Mishneh Torah, Kings and Wars 6, meticulously lays out the nuanced laws surrounding engagement with other nations, even in times of potential conflict. He begins by asserting that war, whether a milchemet hareshut (optional war) or a milchemet mitzvah (obligatory war), should never commence without first offering a peaceful settlement, citing Deuteronomy 20:10.

If peace is accepted, contingent upon the enemy's commitment to the Seven Noahide Laws (basic universal ethical principles, as highlighted by Steinsaltz), they are not to be killed but subjugated, serving with humility and tribute. Rambam clarifies that this subjugation means being "on a lower level, scorned and humble," never appointed over a Jew. The tribute entails supporting the king with "money and with their persons," for tasks like building fortifications or royal palaces, echoing the example of King Solomon.

Crucially, Maimonides distinguishes between nations: while a general milchemet hareshut allows for women and children (males below majority) to be taken as spoil if peace is rejected, the "seven nations" of Canaan and Amalek face a sterner decree—not one soul left alive if they refuse peace. He meticulously traces Joshua's three peace offers to the Canaanites, demonstrating that even for these nations, peace was initially presented.

The text then shifts to ethical conduct during a siege, mandating that cities not be surrounded on all four sides, allowing an escape route. Perhaps one of the most enduring and widely known principles from this chapter is bal tashchit – the prohibition against destroying fruit trees, a law so fundamental it applies "in all situations," not just wartime. Rambam specifies the minimum yield for an olive or date tree to prevent its felling, and extends the spirit of this prohibition to breaking utensils, tearing garments, or ruining food with destructive intent, noting that while these don't incur lashes, they warrant makkat mardut (stripes for rebellious conduct, as explained by Steinsaltz).

Finally, Rambam details regulations for the army camp: besieging cities at least three days before Shabbat (but permitting battle on Shabbat), burying the fallen where they lie, and outlining four leniencies for soldiers (e.g., eating demai, no handwashing before bread, gathering wood freely, no eruv chatzeirot). He concludes with a powerful directive for sanitation, requiring designated latrines and a spike for each soldier to cover their excrement, emphasizing the profound importance of maintaining holiness within the camp, "for God walks among your camp."

Minhag/Melody

The Enduring Call for Shalom: Diplomacy and Coexistence

The Rambam's insistence on offering peace before war, even to the most formidable adversaries, resonates deeply within the historical experience and ethos of Sephardi and Mizrahi communities. Living for centuries often as minorities within larger non-Jewish societies – whether under Islamic rule in North Africa, the Middle East, and Spain, or within the diverse tapestry of the Ottoman Empire – a practical and philosophical commitment to shalom (peace) was not merely an ideal, but a vital strategy for survival and flourishment.

This foundational principle, rooted in the Rambam's interpretation of Deuteronomy, informed a sophisticated approach to diplomacy and inter-communal relations. Jewish communities in these lands often excelled in trade, medicine, and administration, serving as cultural bridges. The emphasis was always on finding common ground, fostering respectful coexistence, and leveraging dialogue rather than confrontation. This is not to say that life was without its challenges or persecutions, but rather that the aspiration for peace, as articulated by Rambam, provided a framework for navigating complex realities.

In Sephardi liturgical traditions, the theme of peace is ubiquitous. From the soulful melodies of Lekha Dodi welcoming Shabbat, often sung with a distinct Moroccan or Syrian lilt, which speaks of Jerusalem as a dwelling of peace, to the myriad piyutim (liturgical poems) woven into daily prayers and festival services. Consider the piyut "Yedid Nefesh," a beloved composition often attributed to Rabbi Judah Halevi, a luminary of Al-Andalus. While primarily a song of divine longing, its yearning for unity and closeness echoes a deeper desire for harmony in all realms. Similarly, the Mi Sheberakh prayer for the community, recited in Sephardi synagogues, often includes blessings for "peace and tranquility" for all members and for the wider world. The recitation of Kaddish, with its profound yearning for "peace from heaven," is another daily reminder of this central aspiration.

The very structure of Sephardi Bet Din (rabbinical court) proceedings often prioritized pesharah – compromise and arbitration – before formal judgment, reflecting a preference for resolving disputes amicably, a micro-level application of the macro-level peace imperative. This deep-seated value of shalom bayit (peace in the home) and shalom bein adam lechavero (peace between people) within communities naturally extended to a hopeful approach toward external relations, always seeking the path of least conflict, even when facing external pressures. The Rambam's detailed legal framework for offering peace first served not only as a halakhic directive but as a guiding moral compass, shaping the communal and individual conscience towards a proactive pursuit of harmony.

Bal Tashchit: A Reverence for Creation in Practice

The Rambam's detailed exposition of bal tashchit, the prohibition against wanton destruction, particularly of fruit trees, holds a profound resonance within Sephardi and Mizrahi cultures, deeply rooted as many of these communities were in agricultural societies across the Mediterranean and Middle East. This is not just a theoretical law but a lived principle, reflecting a deep respect for natural resources and a sustainable worldview.

In lands where olive groves, date palms, and fig trees were the very lifeblood of sustenance, the injunction "Do not destroy its trees" (Deuteronomy 20:19) took on immediate and tangible meaning. Maimonides' specificity – detailing that an olive tree yielding a quarter kav of olives or a date palm yielding a kav of dates should not be cut down – underscores a pragmatic yet deeply ethical approach. This wasn't merely about preserving an abstract principle, but about safeguarding the community's future and demonstrating gratitude for God's bounty. The value of each fruit-bearing tree was understood not just economically, but ecologically and spiritually.

This reverence for trees and the land found expression in numerous minhagim. In many Sephardi communities, there's a special sensitivity around planting trees, particularly on Tu BiShvat (the New Year for Trees), where the act is imbued with spiritual significance, connecting to the renewal of creation. The piyutim recited on this day, often rich with imagery of blossoms and fruits, reflect this deep appreciation. Families would often plant a tree upon the birth of a child, a cypress for a boy and a cedar for a girl, fostering a lifelong connection to growth and sustenance.

Beyond trees, the principle of bal tashchit broadened to encompass a general ethos of conservation and mindful consumption. As Rambam states, it applies to "anyone who breaks utensils, tears garments, destroys buildings, stops up a spring, or ruins food with a destructive intent." This translates into practical habits: repairing clothes rather than discarding them, valuing every scrap of food, and ensuring water sources are respected. In homes across these communities, grandmothers and mothers taught their children to kiss a dropped piece of bread before picking it up, a gesture of respect for sustenance and a tacit acknowledgment of bal tashchit. The Steinsaltz commentary reminds us that while not all destruction incurs lashes from the Torah, the spirit of "do not destroy" is a universal prohibition, with rabbinic makkat mardut for other acts of wanton waste. This emphasis on preserving and appreciating the world around us, a direct echo of Maimonides' teachings, remains a vibrant and cherished aspect of Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage.

Contrast

Rambam's Precision: Quantifying Bal Tashchit

While the fundamental prohibition of bal tashchit (do not destroy) is a universal halakhic principle accepted by all Jewish traditions, the Rambam's unique methodology, particularly evident in our text, offers a distinctive nuance in its application within Sephardi and Mizrahi halakha. Maimonides, ever the systematic codifier, provides concrete, quantifiable metrics for determining when a fruit tree is considered too valuable to cut down: "What is the yield that an olive tree must produce to warrant that it should not be cut down? A quarter of a kav of olives. Similarly, a date palm which yields a kav of dates should not be cut down."

This level of precise quantification is characteristic of Rambam's approach throughout the Mishneh Torah. For communities whose halakhic framework is heavily influenced by Maimonides, such as many Yemenite and North African Jewish traditions, this provides a clear, empirical guideline. When faced with a question about felling a tree, a scholar or layperson might literally assess the tree's yield against these specific measurements. This contrasts with some other traditions, particularly within certain Ashkenazi approaches, where while bal tashchit is equally revered, the determination of what constitutes "destructive intent" or when a tree's yield is "slight" might rely more on general rabbinic consensus, local custom, or a broader, less quantified assessment of its value and the necessity of its removal.

This is not a difference in the halakha itself, as the underlying principle is shared. Rather, it is a difference in the methodology of its application and the degree of specificity provided by the primary halakhic authority. Rambam's detailed metrics, reflecting his logical and scientific mind, offer a direct, almost scientific, route to halakhic decision-making, which has deeply influenced the pragmatic and precise nature of psak halakha (halakhic ruling) in many Sephardi and Mizrahi communities. This approach provides clarity and minimizes subjective interpretation, ensuring consistency in a vital ethical and environmental commandment.

Home Practice

Inspired by the profound principle of bal tashchit and the Rambam's call for mindful care for creation, you can adopt a simple yet powerful practice:

Choose one item in your daily life – perhaps an article of clothing, a household utensil, or even a food item. Before you consider discarding it, take a moment to pause and reflect. Ask yourself: "Can this be repaired? Can it be repurposed for another use? Can I consume this fully, without waste?" Embrace the spirit of preserving and valuing resources. If you have a plant or small garden, spend a few extra minutes tending to it, reflecting on the sacredness of growth and the responsibility we have to nurture the natural world, just as our ancestors cherished their olive groves and date palms. This small act of mindfulness connects you to a timeless Sephardi-Mizrahi ethic of environmental stewardship.

Takeaway

From the meticulous blueprint for peace before battle to the tender protection of a single fruit tree, Maimonides, through the lens of Sephardi and Mizrahi heritage, reveals a Judaism deeply committed to justice, wisdom, and an unwavering respect for life. It is a tradition that balances the loftiest ethical ideals with the most practical and precise applications, reminding us that holiness is found not only in grand pronouncements but in the diligent care for every aspect of our world and our interactions within it. This rich legacy invites us to seek peace, act with intention, and cherish creation in every moment.