In this week's Torah portion, three words are often cited as a warning against entering a dangerous situation: "You shall be exceedingly careful to guard your lives." Yet only a few verses earlier, the Torah states: "Only take heed to yourself and guard your soul diligently, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life" (Deuteronomy 4:9).
At first glance, however, a difficulty arises. Two questions present themselves. The first is that these familiar words appear to have been taken out of their original context. Moses is speaking not about protecting oneself from physical danger, but about guarding against spiritual danger. The verses concern preserving the memory of the revelation at Sinai and avoiding idolatry. As the text states: "The Lord commanded me at that time to teach you statutes and ordinances... You shall therefore guard yourselves very carefully, for you saw no form on the day the Lord spoke to you at Horeb from the midst of the fire." The context is clearly one of safeguarding faith and Torah, not protecting the body from physical harm.
The second question arises from the Gemara in Berakhot (32b), which interprets these verses as referring to the obligation to protect oneself from physical danger. Remarkably, the Gemara bases this understanding on the words of a foreign ruler. The Gemara recounts the story of a pious man who refused to interrupt his prayers even when a Roman official greeted him. Astonished by what he considered insolence, the official rebuked him:
"Fool! Is it not written in your Torah, 'Only take heed to yourself,' and also, 'You shall be exceedingly careful to guard your lives'? When I greeted you, why did you not return my greeting? Had I cut off your head with a sword, who would have held me accountable?"
The pious man replied: "Allow me to appease you with a few words. Suppose you were standing before a mortal king, and one of your friends greeted you. Would you respond?"
The official answered, "Certainly not."
"And if you did?"
"They would cut off my head."
The pious man then replied: "If this is true when standing before a king of flesh and blood, who is here today and gone tomorrow, how much more so when I stand before the King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He, who lives forever." The official accepted the explanation and allowed the pious man to depart in peace.
This account raises an obvious question. Why did the pious man not simply answer that the verse had nothing to do with physical danger? Since the verse is discussing the preservation of Torah and the avoidance of idolatry, why not explain that the official had misunderstood its meaning? Furthermore, even if the Roman accepted the argument, why should his assumption serve as proof that the verse also concerns physical danger? One could simply say that the pious man answered according to the official's own line of reasoning in order to save his life, without implying that this is the verse's true interpretation.
As for the second question, perhaps the answer is not so difficult. Our Sages taught that "if there is wisdom among the nations, believe it." Maimonides likewise explains that proper reasoning is itself consistent with Torah, for halakhah accords with sound logic. We find a similar principle in Kiddushin (31a), where the Sages sought to illustrate the extent of the mitzvah of honoring one's parents. Rabbi Ulla directed them to the example of a gentile from Ashkelon named Dama ben Netina.
The Sages once wished to purchase precious stones from him for an enormous sum. The key to the chest containing the stones lay beneath his father's pillow, and rather than disturb his sleeping father, Dama refused to wake him, forfeiting the transaction. The following year, God rewarded him with the birth of a red heifer, enabling him to recover many times the value of the lost sale. Rabbi Chanina concluded: "If one who is not commanded and nevertheless fulfills the mitzvah receives such a reward, how much greater is the reward of one who is commanded and fulfills it."
Accordingly, there is nothing particularly surprising about learning a Torah principle through the reasoning of a gentile, just as the Gemara in Berakhot derives insight from the Roman official's words.
The first question, however, remains unresolved. Indeed, the Maharsha notes that the verse speaks solely about preserving Torah knowledge and does not address physical safety at all. The Ramban adopts the same approach, as does the Minchat Chinuch (Mitzvah 546). Likewise, the Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (3:8) teaches that one who forgets even a single matter of Torah study is regarded as though he has forfeited his life, based on the verse: "Only take heed to yourself and guard your soul diligently, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen." The verse, therefore, appears to speak exclusively about spiritual vigilance and the obligation never to allow the memory of Torah to fade.
Yet Maimonides, in Hilchot Rotzeach u'Shemirat HaNefesh (11:4), and the Shulchan Aruch (Choshen Mishpat 427:8), clearly derive from this verse the obligation to protect oneself from physical danger. At the same time, both rule that one who knowingly places himself in danger is subject to lashes, indicating that the prohibition itself is rabbinic in nature. This understanding also appears to emerge from the Gemara in Shabbat (32a): "A person should never stand in a place of danger and say, 'A miracle will be performed for me,' lest no miracle occur. And even if a miracle is performed, it will be deducted from his merits."
Similarly, Rabbi Yannai teaches in Ta'anit that one should never expose himself unnecessarily to danger. Maharam Schick explains that one who knowingly places himself in danger causes his sins to be recalled before Heaven, hastening divine judgment. As the Meiri succinctly writes: "A person should always be careful not to place himself in danger and should never rely upon a miracle, for he does not know how the scales will be weighed. The guiding principle is that 'the Satan prosecutes at a time of danger.'"
I hesitate to leave this discussion without addressing the reality of our own generation, especially in light of this week's Torah portion. Out of profound appreciation for all those who served during the war in its darkest hours, whether at the Shura military base, where the fallen were treated with sacred reverence and tears as part of the ultimate final kindness, or on the front lines, where countless individuals fulfilled their mission with complete devotion, risking both body and soul, it is impossible not to reflect upon these verses in light of their sacrifice.
The complex reality of this war has also forced us to recognize that the distinction between physical injury and emotional injury has become increasingly blurred. More than ten thousand soldiers have returned suffering from post-traumatic stress. Some bear visible wounds. Others carry wounds that cannot be seen. Many endure both physical and psychological injuries.
Perhaps this reality allows us to understand these verses from a different perspective. The commands, "You shall be exceedingly careful to guard your lives" and "Only take heed to yourself and guard your soul diligently, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen," may speak simultaneously about both physical and spiritual danger, precisely because the two cannot truly be separated. The experiences witnessed by one's own eyes can leave lasting impressions that remain in the heart for a lifetime. Those memories shape the soul just as profoundly as physical experiences shape the body.
Seen in this light, there is no contradiction in the fact that Maimonides and the Shulchan Aruch derive from these verses both the obligation to protect the body and the obligation to safeguard the soul. The body exists as the vessel through which the soul fulfills the will of God, and injury to one inevitably affects the other.
It is worth noting how differently Israeli society approaches this reality today. Following the Yom Kippur War, psychological trauma was rarely acknowledged. One of our own comrades was officially recognized as suffering from combat trauma only forty-seven years after the war had ended. Today, by contrast, awareness is far greater. The military and healthcare systems recognize psychological wounds alongside physical ones and are far better prepared to provide treatment and support.
This profound connection between body and soul is not a modern insight. It also appears in the memorial volume Mayim Chaim, published after the Yom Kippur War in memory of the fallen students of Yeshivat Shalva. There, the Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Meir Schlezinger, discusses the principle of "The Lord protects the simple."
His essay examines a timeless question: When must one fear entering a dangerous situation, and when may one rely upon the principle that God protects those engaged in ordinary human activity? At what point does fear itself become improper if it leads a person to violate prohibitions that would otherwise remain binding, such as desecrating Shabbat unnecessarily? Rabbi Schlezinger concludes that whenever society as a whole accepts a particular level of risk as part of normal life, one may enter that situation ab initio without concern, relying upon that principle.
The inseparable bond between body and soul is expressed beautifully in Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra's Shabbat hymn Tzamei'a Nafshi: "My soul thirsts for the living God; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God." The hymn continues by proclaiming that the soul of every living being rests in God's hand, echoing Job's declaration: "In His hand is the soul of every living thing and the breath of all mankind."
This yearning for God, so powerful that it inspires self-sacrifice, has accompanied the Jewish people throughout our history, including in Israel's wars, where there are times when entering danger, and even giving one's life, becomes not only permissible but a mitzvah.
Another passage in this week's Torah portion expresses this same spirit of self-sacrifice, words that every Jew hopes to recite with complete devotion, even in life's final moments - the Shema Yisrael prayer: "Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is One. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might."
Rashi explains: "'And you shall love', serve God out of love, for one who serves out of love cannot be compared to one who serves out of fear. A person who serves only out of fear may abandon his master when the burden becomes too great. 'With all your heart' means with both your inclinations. 'With all your soul' means even if your life is taken from you. 'With all your might' means with all your possessions, for there are those whose wealth is dearer to them than their own lives."
The Or HaChaim explains that the Torah calls upon us to awaken our love for the Creator through three distinct forms of love. The first is love of the good itself, to love something because it is inherently good and perfect, regardless of any personal benefit. The second is the love of delight, to love because of the joy, sweetness, and profound spiritual pleasure found in closeness to God. The third is the love of benefit, to love because of the blessings and ultimate good that flow from one's relationship with the Creator.
The first, love of the good, is inspired simply by God's Name itself. It reflects His infinite mercy and absolute goodness, as Scripture declares, "The Lord is good to all." We are commanded to love God because He is goodness itself and therefore worthy of love.
The second, the love of delight, arises from the incomparable sweetness of cleaving to God. Citing the verse, "Taste and see that the Lord is good," the Or HaChaim teaches that communion with God surpasses every physical pleasure known to man. To illustrate this, he invokes the concept of "death by a kiss," in which the soul departs the body out of overwhelming love for its Creator. Drawn so completely toward God, the soul experiences no pain in death, for the joy of divine closeness eclipses every earthly sensation.
The third, the love of benefit, is reflected in the words, "the Lord your God," emphasizing the deeply personal relationship between the individual and the Creator. By accepting God's sovereignty, a person gains the greatest possible blessing. As the Sages teach, the entire world was created for the one who serves God. We therefore love Him not only because He is infinitely good and because closeness to Him is the greatest delight, but also because every true blessing ultimately comes through Him.
Thus, according to the Or HaChaim, the declaration of Shema Yisrael calls upon us to love God for three reasons: because He is perfect goodness, because attachment to Him is life's greatest joy, and because communion with Him is humanity's greatest blessing.
At least twice each day, we recite the Shema. Every time I do, I am carried back to a moment during the Yom Kippur War. I was serving as a tank driver. After we crossed the Suez Canal, Egyptian fighter jets suddenly appeared overhead. They spotted our position and released their bombs directly toward us.
I quickly climbed down into the turret while instinctively looking upward. I watched the bombs descending toward us, slowly and relentlessly. It was immediately clear that these were likely to be our final moments on earth.
Those few seconds felt like an eternity. I closed my eyes and quietly recited: "Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad - Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is One."
Inside the cramped tank, every member of the crew waited for the inevitable.
Then came a deafening explosion. Another followed immediately afterward. The tank shook violently as smoke, sand, and the acrid smell of burning dust filled the compartment. My glasses were hurled from my face across the interior of the tank.
Gradually, the smoke began to clear. By the grace of God, we had survived. The bombs had landed just ahead of us. One of the front towing hooks had snapped, and parts of the sighting system had been torn away. But we were alive. "The snare is broken, and we have escaped," as it says in Psalms.
Those moments, moments in which the soul thirsts for God, moments of complete willingness to give body and soul for the People of Israel, the Land of Israel, and the Torah, surely return to many soldiers each time they recite the Shema. "And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might." "With all your soul", even if your life is demanded of you.
Rabbi Avigdor Nebenzahl beautifully summarizes this idea: "All of a person's loves and all of his deeds are ultimately meant to flow toward one destination: the love of God. And He who protects Israel safeguards those who continue to proclaim, 'Shema Yisrael.'"
The author is the CEO of Tzifha International Real Estate