This week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, begins with a striking divine declaration: “Therefore I grant him My covenant of peace (בריתי שלום).” (Numbers 25:12).
Pinchas, grandson of Aaron the Priest, had just committed an act of zealous violence—killing an Israelite man and a Midianite woman in the midst of a public transgression. His action halted a plague ravaging the Israelites. Yet the Torah’s reward—a brit shalom, a covenant of peace—feels jarring. How can violence lead to peace?
This question echoes through both ancient and modern commentaries. Rashi explains that the covenant is meant to calm the fury of the moment: God grants Pinchas peace so that people won’t seek revenge against him for his act. The Kli Yakar (Rabbi Shlomo Ephraim Luntschitz, 16th c. Prague) takes a more psychological approach: the brit shalom is not just outward peace, but inward healing. After such a traumatic, soul-wrenching act—even one deemed necessary—Pinchas needs God’s assurance to restore his spiritual balance.
The Torah scroll itself adds another layer of nuance. In the word shalom, the letter vav is written as a broken or smaller letter—vav ketia. This scribal tradition hints that Pinchas’ peace is incomplete. He is changed by what he has done. The broken letter is an acknowledgment: some acts, even if justified, leave scars. The covenant of peace exists, but it is fragile.
This insight resonates deeply with my work as a Jewish military chaplain in the Australian Defence Force. This past week, I participated in the annual Jewish Chaplains Conference in Melbourne. We gathered not just to study Torah and build camaraderie, but to ask hard questions: How do we care for those who have borne the weight of duty—who may have done what was necessary, even righteous, and yet now carry wounds we cannot always see?
The field of mental health now names this experience moral injury—the internal conflict that arises when one’s actions, or the actions one witnesses, transgress deeply held moral beliefs. Unlike PTSD, which is rooted in fear, moral injury is rooted in guilt, shame, and loss of meaning.
Our tradition offers more than judgment; it offers compassion, ritual, and re-integration. As a chaplain, I do not condone violence, but I do care for those who have walked through it. Like the broken vav, we recognize that peace after violence is not whole—it is a peace stitched together with care, community, and ongoing support.
The covenant of peace given to Pinchas reminds us that our tradition acknowledges complexity. Peace is not a binary state—it is a process. It is a promise to walk alongside those who have borne heavy burdens and still return to us. It is a call to see not just the act, but the person who carries it.
As we reflect on Parashat Pinchas, may we be inspired to build communities that welcome the broken letter, the fractured soul, and strive toward a wholeness that includes, rather than denies, the wounds of the journey.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Rafi Kaiserblueth
Beautiful expressed. However, the moral question remains: Is it permissible to kill somebody without authorization of az Bet Din? What happens with “Lo Ta-arog”? There should be a difference between a moral action and a political one. This one by Pinhas was a political one, more than a moral issue – the invasion of the Moabites into the Jewish camp.