Cities of Refuge

This week we are in the Torah portion, Shoftim (pronounced showf-teem). The word itself is the plural form of judge, or magistrate. The portion opens with the command to "...appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements... and they shall govern the people with due justice." - Deuteronomy 16:18

This seems to have been so skewed in this country for so long, worsening by the year. Judge appointments are more often about keeping the good ol' boys' network oiled and greased, nepotism, keeping certain political parties in control, and reinforcing those who have the power, influence, and money, than they are about appointing those who will be unbiased, not take bribes, and rule with true justice. That is a post all to itself. For now, I would like to focus on the part of this Torah portion which also presents the concept of Cities of Refuge. Have you heard of them?

The cities of refuge were established to protect the person who committed accidental manslaughter from the “blood avenger,” assuming there was no premeditation. Though not entirely resolving the problem of ongoing family feuds fueled by revenge killings, it did prevent them in at least some cases.

In our modern society, manslaughter is most often the result of a car accident. The emotional trauma of both the family of the one killed and the one who by accident caused the death is very real. The family of the victim needs to feel that the wrong done to them has been acknowledged. Even where there is no criminal liability, no speeding or drunk driving, there is the terrible loss that has resulted from a misstep of some sort. As well, individuals who caused this kind of accident often need a way to deal with the guilt they feel by the hurt they have caused. Our legal system often prevents perpetrators from being able to acknowledge their feelings of guilt.

I am reminded of the touching 2008 Will Smith movie, Seven Pounds. In this film, main character Tim Thomas (played by Will Smith) was the careless driver in a fatal car accident that led to the death of his fiancee and six others. Now extremely depressed and masquerading as his brother Ben, he makes plans to end his life and donate his organs (7 pounds’ worth) and his home to seven worthy recipients. He gives his bone marrow, a kidney, a lobe of his liver and a lobe of his lung while still alive. He intends to donate his eyes to a blind pianist and his heart to a woman with congenital heart disease. While waiting for the woman to become sick enough to require a heart transplant, he gets to know her and falls in love. She eventually is moved up on the organ-transplant waiting list, but Tim is told that because of her rare blood type, she has a 3% to 5% chance of receiving a compatible heart. Tim confirms that his blood type is compatible, and he conceives a plan in which he would die while in ice, thus preserving his heart.

It's a movie rife with issues and questions, and made me wonder if this is the best way to go about righting a terrible accident and dealing with survivor guilt. And while I still have no definite answer to that, I can say that this is the sort of scenario for which the Cities of Refuge were put in place in ancient times. Minus the automobile, of course.

The ancient Jewish tradition recognizes that the burden of moral responsibility can exist even where there is no legal responsibility. The Cities of Refuge were established to prevent unnecessary bloodshed while meeting the need for recognition of the significance of the loss of life, even when caused inadvertently.

Lest we think that those who committed manslaughter, however inadvertently, were off the hook scot-free by simply moving to a new city, something to which most of us would have few problems adapting these days, in ancient times the ruling of exile, banishment, and isolation from one's family, home, livelihood, and community were a very great hardship to bear. Forced to leave everything and everyone behind and begin anew with nothing and no one to live in a City of Refuge is not exactly living the high life. The refugee could never leave the city of refuge, not even to go visit their family, for if they left the city, the blood avengers were free to kill them. The refugees were only completely free when the current high priest died.

The main reason for exile to the city of refuge was to punish the accidental killer, who caused such a great calamity, by his imprisonment in a city of refuge and separation from his friends and home. There were no telephones or computers on which to Skype in those days.

I find it most interesting that the ancient Cities of Refuge established in the Torah had to meet the following criteria:

1. Ease of access: The roads leading to the cities were especially wide by the standards of the time.

2. The routes to the cities of refuge had to be easy for a refugee to navigate: Valleys were raised and hills were leveled to make it easier to travel; bridges were built where necessary; signs were posted at crossroads; and once a year, in the middle of the month of Adar, the state of the roads was thoroughly examined to make sure they were in good repair.

3. Each city needed to be of average size, located in a populous trading center, and have an independent water source, even if it meant building a canal.

4. Additionally, the cities provided refuge only if the majority of the population were non-refugees, and there was an established court of law in the city. If the city began to decline in any way, it was required to be built up again.

And here is where our story gets really interesting... The cities of refuge even took into consideration that the refugees had needs without family or community to support them, and therefore would require people to provide.

For example, because the refugees could be completely free to leave their city of refuge only when the current high priest died, the mother of the high priest would go to each city of refuge and bring food and clothes to those taking refuge. Why? So that the refugees would not pray for the death of her son, which would free them from their exile.

The mother of the high priest wasn’t the only one providing refugees with what they needed. The court had to supply their needs, including their spiritual needs. If a disciple of a Torah scholar became a refugee, that Torah teacher had to move to the city of refuge so that he could continue to teach the refugee Torah! Or if the refugee were himself a teacher of Torah, his students had to move along with him so that they could continue to learn Torah from him.

How different is this Torah picture than the one we have today in this country for those seeking refuge, asylum, and sanctuary, and not even for manslaughter! It's both maddening and saddening.

Lest we forget, the main theme of this Torah portion is about appointing magistrates and judges who will not pervert justice, take bribes, or show favoritism. It is a stark contrast to the reality in which we currently live.

Perhaps we can close our thoughts here by applying these notes about the cities of refuge and the appointment of fair judges to our own selves.

We might ask: Do I align myself with only those with whom I agree, those who will scratch my back if I scratch theirs, or do I include people in my circle who are vastly different from me and who might never be able to repay a simple kindness?

Do I agree to things because I have been flattered by the one making the request but have no problems turning down requests which don't make me look good in some way? Do I look for what I can get out of a situation more than what I can give to others?

Is that part of myself which is judgmental taking into account the whole story from more than just my limited perspective?

Am I taking some concrete action towards righting the injustices of this day, perhaps by way of donation to a supportive cause?

Do my family and friends consider me to be a "city of refuge," a safe haven where they might discuss anything that might be burdening them, or am I unapproachable? What can I do to shift this, if needed?

In what ways do I put my spiritual nourishment as a priority in my life, even as the student of Torah was provided for in the Cities of Refuge?


All people make mistakes, some mistakes certainly more harmful than others. In the Torah, allowances were made for honest unintentional errors, even ones which led to the death of another person.

How do I treat my own mistakes? Do I repeat them or repair them? Do I use them against myself, judging myself unfairly and banishing myself from people who love me, or do I forgive myself and use it as a learning opportunity? Am I often harder on myself than others are? Do I hold the mistakes of others against them long after they have made amends?

It is Elul, our month of taking account. Let's continue to look for the positive movements we can make towards more wholeness.