There is natural gap between intent and impact, and mistake and malice. We humans are terribly and fabulously flawed and we make mistakes all the time. Sometimes we say the wrong thing. Sometimes we do the wrong thing. Sometimes we hurt others very badly and don’t even realize it. Ideally we care and learn from our mistakes, and we can only do that by noticing the impact our actions have regardless of our (hopefully) good intentions. We make amends by swallowing our excuses. Need I remind you of the famous adage about the road to hell?
And yet, our laws reflect very a clear distinction between an intended crime and an accident. This week, as we prepare our readings of parashat Shoftim, we read something called “cities of refuge.” And what is at the center of each city of refuge? The intersection of intent and impact. Here is the text, I’ll meet you on the other side:
Deuteronomy 19:3-10 – Cities of Refuge
You shall set aside three cities in the land that your God יהוה is giving you to possess.
You shall survey the distances, and divide into three parts the territory of the country that your God יהוה has allotted to you, so that any man who has killed someone may have a place to flee to.—
Now this is the case of the killer who may flee there and live: one who has slain another unwittingly, without having been an enemy in the past.
For instance, a man goes with another fellow into a grove to cut wood; as his hand swings the ax to cut down a tree, the ax-head flies off the handle and strikes the other so that he dies. That man shall flee to one of these cities and live.—
Otherwise, when the distance is great, the blood-avenger, pursuing the killer in hot anger, may overtake him and strike him down; yet he did not incur the death penalty, since he had never been the other’s enemy.
That is why I command you: set aside three cities (in other texts and later Torah will tell us to set up six)...Thus blood of the innocent will not be shed, bringing bloodguilt upon you in the land that your God יהוה is allotting to you.1
So the scenario is set. Someone accidentally kills someone – what we would call manslaughter. According to the Torah, that person does not deserve capital punishment because they did not intend this death. And yet, this person’s only protection against someone who wants to avenge the deceased (“the blood-avenger”) is to travel to another city, specifically set up with laws and messengers to protect them. The idea is that outside of the city of refuge, the blood-avenger can kill the unintentional murderer with immunity, but inside the city the blood-avenger could not.
Furthermore, the Mishnah writes:
"And the court would provide the unintentional murderers fleeing to a city of refuge with two Torah scholars, due to the concern that perhaps the blood redeemer, [a relative of the murder victim seeking to avenge his death] will seek to kill him in transit, and in that case they, the scholars, will talk to the blood redeemer and dissuade him from killing the unintentional murderer.”2
This feels like a sort of biblical witness protection program. But why can’t this person be protected in any city? Why can’t this person just go about their life as usual without any threat of violence towards them? They didn’t to throw their ax! It seems the city of refuge is both a place of protection from undue threat, and also, a place of exile. An overlapping of forgiveness and punishment. Freedom and captivity. It seems that the city of refuge is a compromise. The unintentional murderer does not get to walk free, past the family of the deceased everyday in the market, as a reminder of their grief. And yet, this person doesn’t deserve to die either. The city of refuge is this space between intent and impact.
It is important to note that the unintentional murderer might not have to stay there forever. To read more on this, check out this footnoted explanation from Levi Mendelson, a Chabad.org contributor.3
Before we get into some reflections for today and how this might tie into Elul perfectly, I want to look at text about kavanah. Kavanah refers to intention or attention. Here it is:
Rosh Hashanah 28b - Kavanah
If one was passing behind a synagogue, or his house was adjacent to the synagogue, and he heard the sound of the shofar or the sound of the Scroll of Esther, if he focused his heart, he has fulfilled his obligation, but if not, he has not fulfilled his obligation.
In other words, for the Rabbis, intention is a core ingredient in observing mitzvot. It does not just enrich ones practice, intention validates ones practice. This is to say, intention counts for a whole lot. And well it should. It matters what we are trying to achieve. And yet, mistakes can still bring great damage.
For Elul, here is my thought. As we pour over this last year and consider the ways we have seriously erred, let make sure we include all our unintentional errors that have resulted in great pain. Maybe we can even give our loved ones a chance to share with us how we have hurt them – to teach us our blindspots – so that we may truly repair the torn bits of the relationship.
Let us have the courage to face our impact and go to the city of refuge in our minds. There, may we consider how to hold ourselves appropriately responsible.
It’s hard to admit that we can try so hard to get it right and still miss the mark. Such is life. Such is the messiness of human interaction.
Let us use impact to hold ourselves accountable to our wrongdoings. But also, let us use intention to forgive ourselves. Let us not say, “I did not mean to do such and such, so I am not at fault.” Let us say, “I see what hurt I have caused and I take responsibility.” And when we forgive ourselves, let us say, “I can both appreciate I was pure of heart and recognize my intention did not bear the fruit I thought it would. I will learn from this.”
cities of refuge are also mentioned and elaborated upon in Numbers 35:9–28; Deuteronomy 4:41–43, Joshua 20; 1 Chronicles 6.
Makkot 9b:1-19
“The refugee would stay in the city for an unspecified amount of time. He went “free” only when the high priest died. Several reasons are given for this. In his Guide for the Perplexed, Rambam writes that the national mourning that took place at the death of the high priest distracted the mourners of the family member who was killed by the refugee. Another explanation is that it was a punishment for the high priest, who “should have prayed that no such accident would happen to the Jews in his lifetime.” A third explanation is that the high priest causes the Divine Presence to rest upon Israel and thus prolong their lives, whereas the murderer causes the Divine Presence to withdraw from Israel and thus shorten their lives, so he is not worthy of standing before the kohen gadol. If the refugee died before the high priest did, he would be buried in the city of refuge. After the high priest died, his body could be moved to a different city for reburial.” Levi Mendelson, “Cities of Refuge Demystified.” https://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/2684913/jewish/Cities-of-Refuge-Demystified.htm