Our Gemara on Amud Aleph discusses how the Ben Sorrer Umoreh—the rebellious son described in Devarim (21:18) who is subject to the death penalty—historically never existed. That is, as draconian as the prescribed punishment seems, it never actually came to pass.

One important aspect of the legal procedure is that the parents themselves must bring their child before the court, meaning they are voluntarily participating in a process that could lead to their child’s conviction.

There is a fascinating Zohar (Balak 197b) that records a dialogue between Moshe and God regarding these laws. When Moshe learns this parasha, he protests: “Omit this from the Torah! Is there any father who would do such a thing to his son?” God responds, explaining that the entire passage is actually an allegory referring to the Jewish people’s rebellion against Him. The purpose of its inclusion in the Torah is to serve as a warning: Though God loves His people as a father loves his son, if they violate His commandments, He will still carry out punishment. In other words, one should not rationalize sin by assuming that because God loves us, He would never punish us. Apparently, that is not the case.

However, this answer simply shifts the question rather than resolving it. Instead of asking, “How could the Torah expect a father to do this to his child?” We now should be asking, “How could God do this to His children?”

Three possible answers occur to me:

1.In God’s case, the punishment is only a deterrent. If the passage is meant allegorically, who says God would actually carry out the punishment? This is different from a literal reading of the law regarding human parents, which presupposes the existence of parents willing to do such a thing—something Moshe found unthinkable. However, this answer is problematic, as we do see numerous instances in Tanach, particularly in the curses of Vayikra 26, where divine punishment is not just a deterrent but an actual consequence.

2.God’s punishments are ultimately acts of mercy. When mortal parents hand their child over to the court for execution, even if they philosophically believe in Olam Haba The World to Come, It is not a felt reality in their immediate experience. For example, a person may know intellectually that a safety net is below them, but their instincts still resist jumping. This is why Moshe is incredulous that any parent would go through with it and questions why the Torah would include such a command. However, when God punishes, He does so with the absolute knowledge that it will lead to the person’s atonement and eventual merit of Olam Haba. For God, this reality is immediate and tangible, allowing Him to punish with the intent of ultimate mercy.

3.The Maimonidean approach: punishment as the natural consequence of detachment from God. According to the Rambam, God does not “punish” in an active sense, as He is never the source of evil. Rather, when a person sins, God withdraws His providence, or even more philosophically correctly stated, the person loses their connection with God simulating a withdrawal, leaving the person vulnerable to the forces of nature and entropy, which leads to suffering and loss. Divine punishment, then, is not retribution in the way a parent punishes a child, but rather the inevitable consequence of spiritual detachment. Even the loss of one’s portion in Olam Haba is not so much a punishment as the painful experience of separation from God. Rambam explains this concept in great detail in his introduction to Perek Chelek (Commentary on the Mishna, Sanhedrin 10). The descriptions of the delights of Heaven and the torments of Hell are metaphorical, representing either the soul’s profound joy in closeness to God or its anguish in separation from Him. (See Psychology of the Daf, Sanhedrin 62.)

Admittedly, making reward and punishment such abstractions—while philosophically profound—can reduce a person’s yiras Shamayim fear of Heaven. It is too intellectual, too detached from visceral experience. On the other hand, the more traditional imagery of the fires of Gehinnom and the bliss of Gan Eden serves as a much stronger motivator for many people. The Torah employs these anthropomorphic symbols of a heavenly father, punishments, and rewards because, without them, it would be nearly impossible for most people to relate to divine justice.

I once heard a wonderful insight from Professor Roi Rozevich:

In Shemoneh Esrei, we begin by addressing “our God and the God of our fathers—Avraham, Yitzchok, and Yaakov.” Yet we conclude that opening section with the blessing “Ha-Kel HaKadosh—the Holy God.” This teaches a crucial lesson about how we approach God. Although He is infinitely holy and transcendent —beyond beyond—we cannot begin to grasp Him that way. Our relationship must first be personal: He is our God, the God of our fathers. Only through that intimate connection can we even begin to appreciate His true holiness.

Translations Courtesy of Sefaria, except when, sometimes, I disagree with the translation

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Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, Rabbi Simcha Feuerman, LCSW-R, DHL is a psychotherapist who works with high conflict couples and families as well male sexual health. He can be reached via email at simchafeuerman@gmail.com