Pinchas, son of Elazar son of Aaron the priest, has turned back My wrath from the Israelites by displaying among them his passion for Me, so that I did not wipe out the Israelite people in My passion.
Bamidbar 25:11
Parashat Pinchas is the most dangerous parashah in all of the Torah, seeming as it does to allow one to take the law into one’s own hands. It appears not only to justify, but even to praise, outright murder.
The Torah tells us that the Moabite women had seduced the men of Israel on a grand scale and lured them into worshipping Baal Peor, the god of Moab. Seeing a man and a woman copulating before the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, Pinchas, the son of Elazar son of Aharon the priest, ran his spear through them and killed them.[1] Our parashah identifies the man as Zimri son of Salu, and the Midianite woman as Cozbi daughter of Zur.
All this takes place in front of the entire assembly of the children of Israel at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.
The actions of Aharon’s grandson not only violate ordinary moral standards of justice, but also the Torah’s own demand that wrongdoers be tried by a duly constituted court of law, on the basis of witnesses and evidence. Pinchas acts on his own spontaneous initiative, apparently in a fit of anger. Neither God nor Moshe, nor any court, told him to act. And yet, to our great surprise, not only is Pinchas not accused of murder in the first degree — God praises him for his actions!
God spoke to Moshe saying: “Pinchas the son of Elazar, son of Aharon the priest, turned back My wrath from upon the children of Israel when he zealously avenged My vengeance among them, so that I did not consume the children of Israel in My vengeance… Therefore say: Behold, I give him My covenant of peace… and he atoned for the children of Israel.”[2]
The Rabbinic dilemma
The Sages were deeply troubled by this story. How is it possible that Pinchas is blessed for this act when, under normal circumstances, he should have received the death penalty?
They explain that had Pinchas killed Zimri and Cozbi before or after the act of cohabitation, he would indeed have been guilty of murder.[3] Had Zimri turned against Pinchas and killed him in self-defense, Zimri would have been declared innocent.[4] Furthermore, had Pinchas consulted Moshe or a Beit Din, he would have been told explicitly that killing Zimri and Cozbi was prohibited.[5]
And yet God praises him and grants him a “covenant of peace.”
The Talmud then makes its most startling observation: the halakhah is in agreement with Pinchas, ve’ein morin ken — “but we do not teach it and we do not publicize it.”[6]
In other words, it may be a halacha, but it is one that must remain hidden.
When Law must remain silent
This introduces us to a principle of the utmost importance, yet rarely acknowledged: occasionally, the law must be violated for the sake of a greater good — even when that greater good is not obvious and the price is very high.
This tension runs through every legal system. There is morality on an individual level and morality on a communal level. A country may have to go to war to defend its citizens, even though soldiers and civilians on both sides will be killed. A government may have to curtail freedom in order to save lives, as we saw during the Covid pandemic, even though such measures cause enormous emotional and social damage. Every year, vast numbers of people die in car accidents. Should driving therefore be forbidden? Perhaps — but such a ban would cripple society.
There is no such thing as perfectly equal justice in all circumstances.
Pinchas realizes that the spiritual state of Israel is at stake. The nation is on the verge of moral collapse. Zimri and Cozbi are not an isolated case; they are merely the most blatant symptom. Something dramatic must be done immediately.
The law has no ready answer for such a situation. It cannot legislate for moments of total breakdown. And so someone must act — but this “law” cannot be written into any code. It is halacha, and yet it must remain unspoken.
Pinchas knows that he risks his life and his moral standing. He acts anyway.
That is why God grants him a covenant of peace.
The inner turmoil of God and man
But this covenant does not solve the moral dilemma. After the act, Pinchas must have been tormented by doubt: Am I a saint — or a murderer?
The Sages also detect turmoil from the Divine perspective. God commands Moshe: “Assail the Midianites and strike them, for they assailed you with their trickery”.[7] In modern language, this sounds dangerously close to a call for collective destruction.
Pinchas’ act halts the plague and prevents escalation into wider catastrophe.
Later halacha confirms this movement away from absolutism. While the Torah forbids Moabites and Ammonites from entering the congregation of Israel (Devarim 23:4), the Sages limit this to males only, permitting Moabite women, as evidenced in the story of Ruth.[8]
The law itself is refined by moral insight.
There are many instances in which the Sages quietly reshape or soften biblical law because they sense that its literal form does not reflect God’s deeper will.[9] Some laws exist “on the books” as warnings, ideals, or boundaries — but not as executable commands.
Pinchas stands at the edge of the precipice where law, morality, and responsibility collide. He saves the people — and then pays the inner price.
This is not a model for imitation. It is a warning about how fragile moral order truly is.
Questions to Ponder
- According to Rabbi Cardozo, this parashah does not teach what to do. It teaches what it costs to act when nothing is safe—not even morality itself. The Torah praises Pinchas for an act that, under almost any other circumstance, would be murder. What does this suggest about the limits of law in moments of moral collapse?
- The Sages insist: ve’ein morin ken—“we do not teach this law.” Can a law that must never be taught truly be called a law? Why do you think the Torah preserves this episode at all, rather than suppressing a precedent so dangerous to moral order?
- If Zimri would have been innocent had he killed Pinchas in self-defense, what does this say about the moral symmetry of the situation?
- How do we distinguish between moral courage and fanaticism when both may appear as acts of zeal? Is it possible that God’s praise of Pinchas reflects not approval of the act itself, but recognition of the tragic necessity forced upon him?
- Finally, if you were Pinchas—standing alone, with no instruction, knowing that action would save the people but destroy your innocence—what would you do?
[1] Bamidbar 25:6–8.
[2] Bamidbar 25:10–13.
[3] Sanhedrin 81b (Vilna).
[4] Sanhedrin 82a (Vilna).
[5] Ibid.
[6] See Sanhedrin 82a: s.v. “Halakhah ve’ein morin ken”.
[7] Bamidbar 25:17–18.
[8] Yevamot 76b; Ruth Rabbah 2:9.
[9] See also N. L. Cardozo, Jewish Law as Rebellion: A Plea for Religious Authenticity and Halakhic Courage (Urim, 2018), chap. 27.
